Few events have weighed more heavily on Beijing than the imminent chai job to be given to Nan Jie, and so it was with some trepidation that I took the trek to the new manifestation of this beloved institution. The new Nan Jie, opposite Salsa Caribe, appears cleaner and more reputable than its antecedent. The bar isn’t yet covered in drunken graffiti, the bathrooms are almost shockingly sans filth, and the second floor wrap-around balcony makes the new locale seem a little bit–dare I say–romantic.

Still, I feared these so-called upgrades might undermine what was truly wonderful about Nan Jie to begin with. They might be serving tequila with lime now, but where were the public displays of idiocy? Where were the dancing Chinese girls with bellybutton jewelry, and where were the laowai who love them?

So, after two tequila trays, six car bombs, three absinthe shooters, two B-52s, four proclamations of love and one Puerto Rican asshole, my assembled party decided to put the new Nan Jie to the test. As it turns out, sword fighting with the tequila trays yielded no admonishment from the staff (although one waitress did ask us to stop briefly so she could bring some beers upstairs). And after hearing it was for a prank, the waiters actually helped my friends rearrange the potted plants to trap me on the balcony. Finally, the bartenders understood that I wanted another round of Tsingtao even when we reached the point in the night where my pronunciation made it sound more like “The room is spinning. I think I need a minute.” Yes, she may be easier to introduce to your parents, but the new Nan Jie certainly hasn’t forgotten where she came from. Now, where the hell did I put my phone?
-Jonnie Haagen