I was especially tired in Saturday morning’s yoga class. My ears were still buzzing from Big Ditch’s show the night before and the Three Heads‘ “The Kind” was still swimming around. It was our first class inside the Rochester Yacht Club facilities. The weather, now pretty much around the corner, has put an end to the outdoor adventure in the Port of Rochester. If I had to join a social club it would be this one. I don’t think you need a boat or anything.
Near the end of class, when we had been on our backs with a rolled up towel in lumbar curve for about a half hour, Jeffrey had us pretending to lift our arms. In doing so you become acutely aware of the muscles involved with such a simple act, muscles all over your body working together. Isometrics, I guess, but it stuck me as imaginary yoga. I asked Jeffrey if he could do a whole class of imaginary yoga and he laughed. That could but him out of a job.
The Cub Room on South Clinton is surely modeled on the Mad Men craze for cocktails and meat. Rat Pack photos line the walls above the booths and there is an air of glamour days gone by in the unofficial dress code. It is the city’s version of the Yacht Club. We ordered the only vegetarian dish on the menu, Crispy Chickpea Cake with roasted vegetables surrounded by a Romescu sauce. And we split an order of Grilled Octopus with Beluga lentils, grilled chicory, smoked paprika and Sherry vinegar. The octopus, like the cocktail club culture, was a bit overdone.
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