[itinerary | lodging] If you are the parent of a toddler, you understand that “going out” means hitting up Walmart on a Saturday night to buy diapers and multi-vitamins. (This may also be true even if you’re not the parent of a toddler, but hey, live and let live as Paul McCartney may or may not have sung.) This can become a challenge to any travel writer’s routine. A new milestone must be met: it’s time to find a dedicated babysitter and take a leap of faith on your very first date night in years. Anniversary dinner and a show in Rochester? You’ll take it.

The Revelry

And so, with the babysitter secured and the stars aligned, you find yourself pulling up to The Revelry—a Charleston-inspired gem tucked into Rochester’s North Winton Village, just down University Avenue from your NOTA adventure. The exterior, with its warm brick façade and flickering gas lanterns, hints at Southern charm with a modern twist. Inside, the atmosphere hums with warmth—soft music, the occasional burst of laughter, and the comforting clatter of a busy kitchen. After a friendly check-in, you’re guided up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where your window booth awaits. Nestled above the street, the view offers a quiet moment to take in the soft glow of lanterns below and the occasional passerby. It’s a far cry from sippy cups and pacifiers, and for the first time in ages, you’re not just out—you’re out on purpose.

^{Nice view from the table at The Revelry on University Ave in Rochester, NY (yes, image is flipped horizontally)}

There’s an immediate sense of being cared for at The Revelry, the kind that doesn’t need to announce itself—it simply unfolds. McKenzie, your server, greets you with a genuine smile and a quiet confidence that suggests she’s not just here to take orders, but to make the evening feel special. Before you’ve even glanced at the menu, she’s arrived with a champagne toast, compliments of the house, setting a celebratory tone that feels both effortless and intentional. They took your note about this being your anniversary seriously. The staff moves with a kind of practiced grace, attentive without hovering, and the space itself—warm lighting, thoughtful details, and a gentle flow of activity—invites you to settle in and let the night stretch out. It’s hospitality that feels personal, not performative.

^{Anniversary champagne toast courtesy of the Revelry}

You decide to lean into the evening’s easy elegance with a cocktail that feels just as considered as the setting: the Slow Hand. It arrives in a chilled glass, the pale effervescence of gin and tonic lifted by a slice of grilled lemon that adds a smoky citrus edge, a call-back to the gin bar you found in Manhattan many years ago. A whisper of rosemary syrup threads through each sip, grounding the drink with a subtle herbal sweetness that lingers without overpowering. It’s the kind of cocktail that doesn’t demand attention but earns it anyway—balanced, refreshing, and quietly complex. As you take your first sip, you realize it’s not just a drink; it’s a small, deliberate pleasure, the kind that reminds you why you made the effort to go out in the first place.

^{Revelry’s Slow Hand (gin, tonic, grilled lemon, rosemary syrup)}

The meal begins with a Southern staple reimagined: Revelry’s Pimento Dip for the table, served warm and velvety with just enough kick, paired with toasted crostini that vanish faster than you’d like to admit. Your travel companion opts for the Nashville Hot Sliders—three petite powerhouses layered with fiery fried chicken, tangy pickles, and a cooling swipe of aioli, each bite a satisfying contrast of heat and crunch. You can’t wait to try your Brisket Cheesesteak, a decadent crescendo of tender smoked beef, melted cheese, and caramelized onions tucked into a soft roll, with golden fries piled alongside like a well-earned indulgence. It’s a lineup that feels playful yet polished, comfort food elevated without losing its soul.

^{Revelry’s Pimento Dip, Nashville Hot Sliders (back), Brisket Cheesesteak w/ fries (front)}

On your exit from The Revelry, you pause by the host stand to take in the scene around you: two glowing, ornate chandeliers droop from the ceiling above the lavish bottom-lit bar, while behind you a giant metal pineapple looms over diners like an all-powerful god of high class and good taste. You back up to take a quick photo — nearly bumping into the hostess.

“Sorry,” you blush. “Trying to get a perfect shot of the pineapple.”

“All good,” she grins. “It’s a popular one.”

“My husband?” your travel companion interjects with a raised eyebrow. “Definitely a popular one.”

You smile sheepishly and grab the picture you need to set the mood. Indeed, Revelry’s elevated style is a welcome and cosmopolitan change of scene. It’s nice to feel fancy again, to indulge in a little play time with your travel companion once in a while. Stuffed toys and pop-up books are fun, but champagne and upscale low country food are your main M.O.

^{At least it’s not upside down}

Back out on the street, the night feels different—cooler, quieter, like the city’s giving you a moment to linger. The Revelry didn’t just deliver a meal; it offered a recalibration. Between the champagne toast, the staff’s easy warmth, and the indulgent comfort of sliders and brisket, you found something that’s been missing: space. Not just physical space away from toys and tantrums, but mental space to laugh, to taste, to remember what it’s like to be together without a tiny human wedged between you. It’s not a grand transformation, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s a reminder that even in the thick of parenting, there’s room for elegance, for spontaneity, for grilled lemon and rosemary-infused gin — both of which currently sitting comfortably in your belly as you elect to walk to your next destination: Comedy @ the Carlson.

Comedy @ the Carlson

Just a few blocks away, the Stromberg-Carlson building stands as a proud remnant of Rochester’s industrial legacy—its brickwork weathered but dignified, its tall windows catching the last glints of streetlight. Once a hub for telecommunications manufacturing, the space has been thoughtfully transformed into a dynamic venue for entertainment and community gatherings. As you and your travel companion walk briskly up — with only 5 minutes until curtain — a gleeful cast member pokes his head outside from the side entrance and promises they aren’t doing anything bad in the green room. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good show.

Inside, the original architecture remains intact, but it’s been softened by rich textures, ambient lighting, and a sense of anticipation that builds as guests filter in. Tonight, it’s the stage for Comedy @ the Carlson, but its versatility allows it to shift effortlessly between roles—hosting weddings, concerts, and cultural events with equal ease. It’s a place where the past lends character to the present, and where connection takes on new forms.

^{Atrium bar in the Stromberg-Carlson building in North Winton Village}

Just beyond the main entrance, the atrium bar stretches out beneath a vaulted ceiling, its polished surfaces catching the glow of pendant lights. It’s a space that invites lingering—whether for a pre-show cocktail or a casual conversation with strangers who feel like fast friends. Along one wall, a gallery of caricatures pays tribute to comedy’s departed legends: Pryor, Rivers, Carlin, Dangerfield—each rendered with exaggerated charm, their expressions frozen mid-punchline. The drawings aren’t just decoration; they’re a reminder that this venue is part of a larger lineage, where the spirit of stand-up lives on in every raised glass and well-timed laugh.

Comedy @ the Carlson has set up a red-carpet style backdrop for photos, and your travel companion can’t help but strike a pose. You prefer instead to take one from the opposite angle, forming your facial expression into what can only be called “desperate comedian head shot.” You’ve carried this expression around with you for many years, having dabbled in theater since high school but really getting your hands dirty with sketch comedy back during your Rust Belt city days. Maybe it’s time to dust off the ol’ typewriter, pull your clown nose and rubber chicken out of storage, and climb up on that comedy horse once again. Will tonight’s performance serve as a catalyst for new creative outlets to come?

^{The travelers out on the town}

With a couple waters in hand, and the comedian caricatures offering a silent send-off, you make your way toward the Rickles Room—a cabaret-style black box tucked behind a set of double doors that feel more speakeasy than showroom. Inside, the space is intimate and low-lit, with small round tables scattered across the floor and a modest stage framed by Fresnel-style lighting booms and a keyboard. You find your seats just as the lights begin to dim, the crowd settling into a hush that signals the shift from mingling to anticipation. Tonight’s performance by Nuts and Bolts is about to begin, and the room feels perfectly tuned for it: close enough to catch every raised eyebrow and punchline, yet spacious enough to let the laughter breathe.

^{Comedy @ the Carlson display next to the entrance for Nuts and Bolts}

The cabaret crowd is a lively cross-section of Rochester’s social fabric—young professionals unwinding after work, couples on casual dates, birthday groups clutching cocktails, and seasoned comedy fans who know to grab seats close to the stage. There’s a shared eagerness among them, a readiness to lean into the unpredictable and laugh at whatever unfolds. Some come dressed for a night out, others in hoodies and sneakers, but all arrive with the same unspoken agreement: they’re here to participate, to react, to be part of something ephemeral and unscripted. It’s a room full of people who understand that the best punchlines are often the ones no one saw coming. Improv shows can also be a time for audience members to shine — a good prompt and suggestion can almost be as rewarding as taking center stage in the spotlight itself.

Nuts and Bolts is an improv troupe of seven players, plus a keyboardist who provides mood and transition music as well as the occasional song-styles game accompaniment. The MC moves the games along at a swift but engaging pace, soliciting ideas from the audience without lingering too long or favoring different areas of the room. The players are tight — they step into roles immediately with a metaphorical yes, and to keep the momentum going. One highlight from the evening is the audience favorite, Party Quirks, wherein the players each take on personality quirks suggested by the audience, and the unknowing host tries to guess them.

You shout out “has a little man standing on his back,” to which the MC replies, “Now that is a solid party quirk.” The ensuing scene leads to a surreal party where one guest can’t stop reaching over his shoulder while another keeps laughing at everything he sees. The MC manages to guess all the quirks eventually, much to the satisfaction of the crowd.

^{“Freeze!”}

You already know you’ll be back—there’s something magnetic about a black box theater. As you step out into the night, you find yourself wondering what else Comedy @ the Carlson might have up its sleeve. The improv is sharp, the stand-up solid, but maybe there’s room for something new—a sketch comedy series, perhaps, with local writers and performers carving out characters that linger long after the lights come up. It’s the kind of idea that feels possible here, in a place where the past has made room for invention.

From the first sip of champagne at The Revelry to the last laugh in the Rickles Room, your evening in Rochester has unfolded with a kind of quiet intentionality. It was never about escaping the life you’ve built—it was about stepping just outside it for a few hours, hand in hand with the person who helped build it. The food was indulgent, the cocktails thoughtful, the comedy sharp and surprising. But more than anything, it’s the act of being together—without a diaper bag, without a schedule—that makes the night feel expansive. North Winton Village offers not just entertainment, but a reminder: that even in the thick of parenting, there’s still room to be partners, adventurers, and travel companions. And sometimes, all it takes is a window booth and a well-timed punchline to bring that back into focus.

^{The aristocrats}

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