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Stay Forever Gold – A Eulogy

John Fang guest blogs to eulogize the demise of 2 Gold, the lost diner-bar-restaurant in the 2 Gold St. building:

Like so many wannabe-yuppies of my generation (those of the quote-unquote millenials—God how I loathe that pseudo-sociological-study moniker!), 2 Gold was never quite comfortable with its identity as a bar-restaurant in the financial district. On the one hand, it wanted to be like its power-broker-Goldman-Sachs-backyard-cougar-hunting-intern-b*nging cousin/neighbor Ulysses, with its exorbitantly priced draft beers ($9 for a f*cking Bud Light draft??) and full bar. Yet, we all knew that its Sunday morning brunches, jam packed with hung-over couples and barely solvent recently post-college grads longing for a semi-affordable non-easy Mac lunch, reeked of a desperate longing for a altogether simpler, more suburban or better yet “I haven’t quite graduated, is this the dining hall?” experience.

For all of its existential equivocation, however, there was one thing that 2 Gold emphatically encompassed: satisfaction.

How could I forget its delicious Kobe beef sliders, packed with flavor but packed in three bite-size portions so as to delude the sweat-glistened-post-gym-investment-banking-analyst into thinking that he was not, actually going to eat the caloric equivalent of a Big Mac?

Or the tangy but salty tomato soup—most likely poured from a Campbell’s can but garnished with a sprig of parsley (to convey sophistique, obvi)? M’m! m’m! Overpriced!

Or the side of sausages orderable at brunch—fried in their own juicy fat and served in portions so large so as to insure that any hangover or black out recollection from the night before would be smothered in a bite of f*ck-you-organic-loving-vegans-triumphalism?

No—I must cherish and hold on to these delectable memories, just as I must dutifully endure my flashbacks of stumble-home-post-2-AM-order-one-too-many beers consumed or Sunday morning brunches nibbled at in awkward silence with the flooze from the night before at that wondrously imperfect bar/restaurant.

For, despite all of its flaws, 2 Gold was and will forever be the ultimate embodiment of my post-college youth—a place offering an overabundance of good food and bad decisions, a place as uncomfortable with the pretension of a six-figure white-collar job as it was with the paternalistic womb/bubble of a still freshly-reminiscent life back on campus.

And that, my friends, is why I will miss it terribly.

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