Heart disease is the leading cause of death for both men and women in the United States, so it is important to prevent and manage it. With 14 locations across the Southern Tier of New York and Northern Tier of Pennsylvania, Guthrie’s Cardiac and Vascular Center provides you with expert treatment that includes:
• A Team Approach to Cardiac and Vascular Care: Our team is the largest and most experienced in the region, all trained in specialized care for your heart. We work together across specialties to create a heart care plan that’s right for you.
• Top Cardiovascular Care in the Nation: Named one of IBM Health’s Top 50 in Cardiovascular nationwide 11 times, you have expert heart care available right where you live.
• Advanced Treatment and Technology: Hybrid operating room, 17,000 –square-foot Heart and Vascular Center, TAVR and Watchman.
Visit www.Guthrie.org to schedule your appointment online with the Guthrie cardiovascular team or call 866-GUTHRIE (866-488-4743).
By Gayle Morrow
Toe jam on ice.
A local southern boy imbibes the history of the Pennsylvania Whiskey Rebellion.
By Lilace Mellin
Guignard Chillin’ in the Crystal City at Nasser Ice Rink.
Krooked Tusker distills community on Keuka Lake.
Finger Lakes Distilling slings classic cocktails with New York spirit(s).
plunge.
Cover design by Gwen Button. Cover photo by Wade Spencer. This page (top) Jimmy Guignard by Wade Spencer; (middle) Jennifer and Sam Keir by Maggie Barnes; (bottom) Art Hunt, courtesy Hunt Country Vineyards.
Shaken and stirred at Bradford County’s Keir Family Distillery.
A hunt for ice wine.
www.mountainhomemag.com
E ditors & P ublish E rs
Teresa Banik Capuzzo
Michael Capuzzo
A ssoci A t E P ublish E rs
Lilace Mellin Guignard George Bochetto, Esq.
d ir E ctor of o PE r A tions Gwen Button
M A n A ging E ditor
Gayle Morrow
s A l E s r EP r E s E nt A tiv E
Shelly Moore
c ircul A tion d ir E ctor Michael Banik
A ccounting Amy Packard
c ov E r d E sign Gwen Button
c ontributing W rit E rs
Maggie Barnes, Jimmy Guignard, Carrie Hagen, Roger Kingsley, Don Knaus, Karin Knaus, Terence Lane, Dave Milano, Brendan O’Meara, David O’Reilly, Linda Roller, Karey Solomon
c ontributing P hotogr AP h E rs Bernadette Chiaramonte, Tricia Haegele, Matt Kelly, Nigel P. Kent, Wade Spencer, Linda Stager, Sarah Wagaman d istribution t EAM Brian Button, Grapevine Distribution, Linda Roller t h E b EA gl E Nano Cosmo (1996-2014) • Yogi (2004-2018)
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As soon as they can walk, C&N Youth Clubs help kids get off on the right financial footing. Sign yours up today. It’ll reap rewards tomorrow. You & Us. That’s C&N. cnbankpa.com/YouthClubs
Born in North Carolina, I always feel like an outsider in Pennsylvania. I absorbed the South the way I learned my accent—effortlessly, through a kind of cultural osmosis. My Southern knowledge and habits are a part of my DNA, like grits, barbecue, sweet tea, collard greens, and sweet corn. In the South, a lot of that corn makes its way into bourbon. I grew up with Maker’s Mark and Wild Turkey 101, and a splash of one of those takes me home.
I’ve lived outside the South for over twenty years, seventeen of those in
Wade Spencer
By Jimmy Guignard
Pennsylvania, and I’ve realized I’ll never soak up another place like I did the South. Which bothers me, because I like to know, really know, the place I live. I want to know the land, the seasons, the flora and fauna, the food traditions. The booze. I have to work to know Pennsylvania, and have learned the northcentral terrain and seasons from thousands of miles of cycling. At some point, I heard about the Whiskey Rebellion and started paying attention. After all, it involved whiskey, rye to be specific, and it’s got a cool flag that doesn’t adorn a Dodge Charger.
Good spirits: A meeting of the Unofficial Tioga County PA Whiskey Co-Op, with (l to r) Francis Craig, Dan Styborski, and Jimmy Guignard in attendance.The Unofficial Tioga County PA Whiskey Co-Op was distilled in the flames of a northcentral Pennsylvania ritual I love—the fire ring. During the pandemic, Francis, Dan, Tom, and I started drinking whiskey regularly around a fire after our weekend bike rides. We avoided people, because the last thing a cyclist wants is a lung-scorching sickness. As the fire rings and covid continued, we expanded our whiskey range from bourbon to rye. Our motto is “Your whiskey is my whiskey.”
One post-ride fire ring, Francis brought Pikesville Rye. I found it a bit spicier than the bourbon, and I liked it. The whiskey seemed to match my attitude better than bourbon. I find as I get older, I’m a little less patient, a little more ornery, a little more likely to say “I ain’t doing that.” Later, I learned that Pikesville Rye is a Maryland-style rye, which means it is closer to bourbon than the hotter Pennsylvania and New York ryes. Pikesville Rye is a rye on training wheels, though a tasty one.
Then McKenzie Rye Whiskey from Finger Lakes Distilling in New York made the fire ring. Not a Keystone State rye, but the localest I could find at the time. Rye grains don’t care about state lines anyway, just regions. The Co-Op started sending each other articles about rye and learned that Pennsylvania has a tradition of rye going back to the 1700s.
Whiskey rebellion remix 2023: Warming up after a winter bike ride is easy with New York ryes (top); flying the Whiskey Rebellion flag proudly (center); Wigle Whiskey, Liberty Pole Spirits, and Stoll & Wolfe are at the forefront of the Pennsylvania rye renaissance.
Rye whiskey makes sense in Pennsylvania. Rye is a hearty grain that survives harsh northern winters and cooler climates better than corn does. Back in the day, whiskey distillers had to largely stick to the grain that grew closest to home. These days, many distillers source their grains from anywhere, which has led to grains called VNS, for variety not sourced. Unlike wines, distilling whiskey requires more steps, which means, in the eyes of some whiskey experts, the grains matter less.
But some Pennsylvania and New York distillers aren’t buying it, and they have revived the market for local grains. Dick Stoll, the Stoll of Stoll & Wolfe Distillery, in Lititz, and Laura Fields, of the Delaware Valley Fields Foundation (more on them later), encouraged Penn State professor Greg Roth to borrow a few ounces of Rosen rye seeds from the federal government’s seed bank and re-establish Rosen rye, popular in the 1700s. Roth succeeded, and, in 2019, Stoll & Wolfe began to distill limited quantities of whiskey from Rosen rye. Stoll had a chance to taste just one batch of Rosen rye whiskey before he died.
Liberty Pole’s Jim Hough, who we’ll meet later, uses Bloody Butcher corn, which produces a red kernel and was popular in the nineteenth century, in his rye. Tom Richtmyer at Finger Lakes Distilling, in Burdett, shared with me (over rye, of course) that Finger Lakes buys its grain from a farmer just a few miles from the distillery. “We tell him how much we need,” Tom says. “He figures out where he can grow it locally and makes it happen.” Finger Lakes Distilling is one of six New York distillers to found Empire Rye, “an homage to New York State’s pre-Prohibition rye whiskey-making heritage.” The distinctive New York style of rye meets certain standards that address things like where the whiskey is distilled, for how long, and in new oak barrels at what proof. The standard that grabs me requires that 75 percent of the mash bill, the mix of grains that forms the basis for whiskey, “MUST be New York-state grown rye grain, which may be raw, malted, or a combination.” To this Southern boy, using
local grains in the process of distilling rye whiskey is like buying a brown paper bag stamped YELLOW CORN GRITS from an old North Carolina gristmill. Knowing where the grains come from warms my heart as much as my mouth and belly.
In this age of corporate this and hipster that, it’s hard to get a true sense of a place. Unaged Pennsylvania ryes taste like 1792. History in a bottle, at once young and old. Roots in the Whiskey Rebellion that ran from 1791 to 1794 help make the connection. The Whiskey Rebellion grew out of farmers wanting to own the full worth of their rye, which they made from excess rye crops. Whiskey was portable and didn’t rot. However, President George Washington and Treasurer Alexander Hamilton found themselves needing to pay for the Revolutionary War (another rebellion of sorts, I reckon). Hamilton asked Washington to levy an excise tax on the rye whiskey being produced in the Monongahela region of Pennsylvania. The excise tax was based on the capacity of the still rather than the amount produced, and the feds wanted their payment in cash, which farmers did not have. Whiskey was their cash. According to whiskey historian Clay Risen, stills were as common as barns in the early days of distilling, and the potential payout for the feds was huge. Of course, the farmers and distillers did not like Hamilton’s plan, so they rebelled at paying, and Washington sent troops to enforce the tax. The farmers got mad, tarred and feathered a few tax collectors, flew some cool flags, and still didn’t pay any taxes.
Many think the Whiskey Rebellion is the reason bourbon started being produced. I did until recently. The myth goes like this: the farmers in the Monongahela region high-tailed it south to Kentucky with their stills to avoid paying taxes. Corn grew better than rye there, so it became the grain of choice. And just like that—the Whiskey Rebellion gave us bourbon.
Except whiskey historians like Clay Risen and Laura Fields will tell you that’s not accurate. What happened is even better. A few skedaddled to
Kentucky, but most farmers disappeared into the hills around the Monongahela region and kept on making rye. Which reminds me of North Carolina moonshiners in the 1900s, without the soupedup cars. Nothing says rebel like spiriting your still away into the hills and carrying on.
My wife threw whiskey on the fire when she ordered me a bottle of Liberty Pole Spirits Bassett Town Whiskey, the taste of which set wheels in motion for a Pittsburgh trip and set me to wondering why there were no distilleries in northcentral Pennsylvania. An unaged rye, the label on my bottle says “aged a minimum of 1 days” (not a typo). I taste Pennsylvania in the rye, like I taste North Carolina in moonshine.
Bassett Town Whiskey carries a flavor with a little rebellion in it. The rye is not for someone looking for sweet. It’s edgy, a little in-your-face. It demands attention. You don’t have to like it, but you’re not going to ignore it if you drink it. Unlike the South, whose history needs to be constantly smoothed over by good manners and sweet bourbons, Pennsylvania rye lays it out there. A gustatory rebellion that I can get behind. It’s paradoxical that I find a style of rye that’s trying to capture a 1700s spirit brings a stronger sense of belonging to my displaced twenty-first century Southern soul.
Francis and I juked our way through Steelers’ fans picking through memorabilia, headed toward the Pennsylvania Libations shop in Pittsburgh’s Strip District. The Steelers were playing the Ravens later, but all we cared about was Pennsylvania rye and answers. The night before, we had visited Wigle Distillery a couple of blocks away. Wigle makes good rye, but the place felt more hipster than rebellious to us old farts. Maybe it was the guy sitting next to us at the bar with the perfectly coifed beard and flawless flannel shirt. Maybe it was the guy on the tour with us who told us he came for the peach whiskey(!). Maybe it was the premixed cocktails sold in bottles. (A practice that goes back to the 1800s, turns out. Still don’t seem right.) The place felt more CGI than analog. Since Pennsylvania Libations sold alcohol distilled only in Pennsylvania, we thought maybe they knew whether Monongahela rye referred to a region or a variety. I was hoping for some Stoll & Wolfe rye, a main player in the Pennsylvania rye whiskey renaissance.
We walked into a narrow room with bottles of whiskey, gin, vodka, and other alcohols lining shelves that ran from the floor to out of my six foot two reach. Toward the back, a salt-and-pepperhaired man with round glasses, a scarf around his neck, and a sociable vibe stood at a short bar. He asked, “Would you like to taste something?”
Francis said, “We’re writing a story on Pennsylvania ryes. You got any of those?”
News to me that “we” were writing the story. I added, “We’re looking for Stoll & Wolfe. We’re interested in the history of Pennsylvania ryes.”
“I’ve got Stoll & Wolfe right here.” Tony Merzlak set bottles of clear rye and aged rye on the counter and reached for a stack of small plastic cups. “You should try the clear rye first.” I’d read the White Rye Whiskey was an attempt, like Bassett Town Whiskey, to capture the taste of the rye Hamilton wanted to tax. I took a sip, let it roll
around in my mouth, and swallowed. Excellent. The Steelers fans in the streets became people hawking wares in the late 1700s. Electric lights became torches and oil lamps. Jerseys became waistcoats and breeches and long dresses tight at the waist. I felt a little closer to the spirit of Pennsylvania.
That hour in Pennsylvania Libations felt like one of our pandemic fire rings. Like any good whiskey drinker, Tony felt compelled to share, even pouring us some Liberty Pole after we told him we were headed there next. We left with two bottles of Stoll & Wolfe, a bottle of MLH Distillery’s Monongahela Rye Whiskey, and a bottle of bourbon. (One of Tony’s favs—it was superb.) We made him a member of the Co-Op, with all its non-existent benefits, then headed south toward Liberty Pole Spirits in Washington. We were feeling better about the trip, like we had found our people. Tony and his co-worker, Tessa Simpson, had assured us that Monongahela rye was a region, and Jim might be able to explain the lack of distilling in northcentral PA.
After a much-needed lunch stop, we walked into Liberty Pole Spirits, named after the liberty poles erected during the Whiskey Rebellion. There’s a bar set to the right lined with six bottles of Liberty Pole Spirits. A Whiskey Rebellion flag hung to the left, its bald eagle clutching a red and white ribbon in its beak surrounded by thirteen stars on a blue background. An upside-down portrait of Alexander Hamilton hung behind the bar. Two men mixed drinks. Maybe ten people were drinking and talking and waiting for the Steelers game. “You Jim?” I said to the older one sporting a gray sweater, a grizzled beard, and crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. He nodded.
I ordered an old-fashioned, which was super. Jim said later the secret was burnt simple syrup. (Sounds simple to make but it’s not.
I tried.) I told him about my experience with Bassett Town, and he asked if I had tried the aged rye. Hearing my “no,” he reached for the ubiquitous plastic cups. “You’ve got to try them in order. You can really taste what aging does to the whiskey.”
I tasted the unaged rye, Hamilton’s upside-down visage staring at me disapprovingly. I looked back at him, appreciating how helpless he looked, and glanced at the flag as the whiskey rolled across my tongue. I believe the eagle winked. After the Bassett Town left my palate, I tasted the aged rye. The rye tasted complex, older, wiser, but no less rebellious. “Wow,” I said to Jim. “That’s really something. Thanks.” He nodded.
“So, why don’t we have a distilling tradition up in northcentral PA?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I’ll send you Laura Fields’ email address. She knows a lot about the history of whiskey in Pennsylvania. She should be able to help.”
“Thanks. Any chance we can tour the distillery?”
Jim waved us toward the back and said he’d join us after making a few more drinks. We strolled toward the rear of the former monuments company, admiring the pot still and fermenters and the overhead crane Jim said came in useful at times. We tasted some “white dog,” whiskey fresh out of the still and destined to become Bassett Town. We met Todd, the distributor, who told us that Liberty Pole had spirits in the Westfield and Mansfield Fine Wine and Spirits stores (the bourbon cream is great, but ask for the rye!). We looked at the barrels of whiskey aging downstairs and talked about how the location of a barrel affects the whiskey. Warm temps cause barrels to expand and suck the distillate into the wood while cool temps cause the barrel to contract and force the distillate back into the barrel. That process gives aged whiskey much of its
State Route 414, Hector, NY (5 miles north of Watkins Glen)
Imagine this semi-gross scenario. You walk around without shoes, and then you use your tongue to clean the bottoms of your feet and between your toes. Yuck. Of course, dogs, cats, and their wild brethren do this all the time (one more reason to perhaps not be so ecstatic when our feline and canine pals want to give us a slobbery swipe across the mouth), since, as Gary Larson might point out, they lack opposable thumbs, so using a washcloth is not an option for them. The tongue works just fine—until they’ve walked through something that doesn’t agree with them or, worse, is poisonous.
My little dog, Hildy (above), loves the snow—under certain conditions. When there is an accumulation of the light, fluffy kind, her walks are joyous events. She capers and twirls, she scoops up mouthfuls, her gait is brisk, her ears bouncy. If the temperature is not in the Arctic range, she can sniff all the things that need to be sniffed, and take her time finding just the right spot to do her thing.
Not so much when the digits are single, however. Then her digits don’t cooperate—
she puts on her best sad dog face, she hitches one foot up and hobbles on three legs, and, if that doesn’t get us back in the house ASAP, she’ll sit and just refuse to walk. Cue the violin music, right? We’ve been outside only thirty seconds and I know she has to pee! So, inside we go, and she then proceeds, somewhat dramatically, to lick the nonexistent ice balls from between her tortured toes. Hildy has an amazing bladder, but I don’t need Ancestry.dog to tell me she doesn’t have any close husky or malamute relatives.
We’re lucky, however, that none of the places we walk have salt or other chemicals on them, but you and your dog (or cat, for that matter, as some folks do walk their kitties) may not be so fortunate. What to do?
You can wipe your dog’s paws off when you get back in the house, before she has a chance to get the tongue out. Hildy is not a candidate for canine footwear, but perhaps your four-legged companion is—doggie boots, on the feet of a willing pooch, can be an easy solution to the problem of trekking around on salt or other foot-irritating substances.
Shoveling is, obviously, an option. If
all you and your pet need is traction, try sand, sawdust, kitty litter, wood ash, or cinders. You might also try animal-friendly ice melting products on the walkways under your jurisdiction, and you can ask your neighbors to do the same. There are lots of different brands out there (just make sure to read the labels), and many of them are available at your local hardware or pet supply stores. If that afore-mentioned neighbor needs convincing, you could offer to share your favorite product—“See how well it works?” you might say with a big smile.
You can also make your own non-toxic de-icer. Mix equal amounts of water and white vinegar, then pour or spray on snowy or icy surfaces. Or, try mixing a half-gallon of warm water, 4 tablespoons of rubbing alcohol, and 1 teaspoon/six drops of Dawn dish detergent—pour that over the surface that needs de-icing.
Check out grist.org/article/de-salt-ofthe-earth/ for more helpful info, then go get comfy with the dog, peruse the seed catalogs, and pretend it’s spring.
and Sam Keir wanted to start a new family business. They had land, a family farm in fact. And they knew how to grow things. They undertook raising hemp on generational acreage in Warren Center in Bradford County and distilling it for the profitable CBD oil. But the idea was harder to execute than they expected.
“The regulations around it were massive,” Jennifer says. “It got frustrating pretty quickly.”
They abandoned the project, leaving them with a pile of exasperation and a homemade still.
“What else can you do with a still?” Sam shrugs, recalling the conversation the couple had. “We could try making alcohol.” Did they know anything about making booze? Nope. But Jennifer is a born researcher who works in healthcare
administration full time, and she started digging.
That Plan B is now the Keir Family Distillery, the only distillery in Bradford County, on Painter Road in the midst of family land. Vodka, whiskey, bourbon, and a menu of liqueurs were the initial creations, written on a slate board above a handmade bar top, illuminated by pendant lights attached to cattle yokes. Fitting, since the building is an actual barn, a fact that the owners have embraced. The space doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is, leading to a truly authentic experience. There are handsome stools and a few tables, all built to fit the rustic decor.
The second wave of still experimenting added ginger jalapeño vodka and rye whiskey. The holiday season included peppermint liqueur. You can do flights to taste a few at a time, or try one of the
cocktails Jennifer has invented. She distills ten gallons at a time and is familiar with every drop.
Have a Mildred’s Betty Boop, which involves swirls of orange and lemon liqueurs together with lime and cranberry juices. (It practically counts as vitamin C!) Try a Shotgun Joe, a tangy bourbon mixed with lime juice and brown sugar that warms nearly as well as the cheerful company. There is a wood-fired whiskey with bitters and simple syrup called an Angry Billy. Billy must not have stayed long enough— being angry here would be a real challenge. The trial and error mixology goes on, so expect more creations in the future.
If you aren’t paying attention, you could blow right by the business, and it would be a shame to miss it. There is just one small sign, so you have to pay
attention. The place has a vibe to it that is hard to describe. You feel like you’ve come to visit family, and they’ve brought out some bottles with a genial “What do you think of this?” approach.
The space is long and narrow and seems to have been invented to define the word “cozy.” Customers include local residents and visitors on casual tours of the region. There is chatting between friends and strangers (just friends you haven’t met yet, right?), while the popcorn machine chirps along, and the crockpot bubbles with meatballs or whatever Jennifer tossed together. Food offerings are simple, but substantial. Chicken salad sandwiches, cheesy breadsticks, soft pretzels, and a charcuterie board. (You can even buy the board.) It makes for the perfect nosh to complement the beverages. The opposite wall features vintage newspapers that were found when the barn was gently renovated, including scenes everyone agrees are in tribute to the local Camptown Races that inspired the long-ago Stephen Foster song. Family photos show the Keir tribe through the decades.
Jennifer and Sam wanted more than just a place to sit and sip. They offer gatherings for trivia contests, classes on craft cocktails, chocolate and wreath making, and parties for most holidays. Halloween brought a costume contest and a piñata suspended from the hay loft, enthusiastically whacked with a metal pole to spring the goodies. Their philosophy is not based solely on making alcohol, but on creating community and fostering friendships.
This branch of the farm family is the third generation of Keirs to build their life on these 300-plus acres. Family has helped out with the distillery, including Jennifer’s dad making much of the furniture, and others lending a hand during busy times. Their son and his guitar sits in with a variety of regional bands. Open only weekends, there is live music every Saturday in the other side of the barn, with musicians on a makeshift stage in front of the back wall of the barn—missing boards and all. A couple of couches and a small bar allow for some serious relaxing.
The young couple wear the slightly shocked expressions that come with a greater-success-than-you-hoped-for in the first year of any enterprise.
“Four hundred people for the grand opening in June,” Jennifer says with a disbelieving smile. “Rows and rows of 4x4s and side-by-sides across the field. We had a tent and sold out of nearly everything. It was crazy.”
Just before the turn of the year, they sold their one thousandth bottle, well ahead of schedule. “We are so appreciative of all the support we have received,” she says.
They produce a fine product with a sincerity you don’t find much anymore, and they are gracious and welcoming to all who cross their door. If they weren’t succeeding, that would be a shock.
The Keir Family Distillery, 469 Painter Road, Warren Center, is open Friday 6 p.m. to 10 p.m., Saturday 2 p.m. to 10 p.m., and Sunday noon to 4 p.m. There is a small field for parking on the other side of the road. Follow them on Facebook to know the latest news, call (570) 250-3580, or visit kfdistillery.
Looking slick: At the Nasser Civic Center Ice Rink in Corning, you can take lessons or come to an open skate to show off your moves and have fun.
Believe it or not, we have something to thank Hurricane Agnes for—after it devastated downtown Corning, the powers-that-be decided to build a new city hall, this time with an ice rink. Construction began in 1972, and the winter of 1974 saw the first skaters loop their loops. It’s been open every year since.
This was almost one hundred years after an artificially frozen ice rink opened in the old Madison Square Garden in 1879, ensuring that New York State would rank first in U.S. rinks. It’s probably good we rebels waited for the Europeans to work out the rink kinks, so we didn’t have to suffer through the versions of artificial ice that were composed of salts, copper, aluminum, and hog’s lard. Even in 1844 no one wanted
to smell that for very long.
But people (and by people, I mean very rich people) wanted to skate in summer, and in 1876 John Gambee finally came up with a system of pipes filled with coolant that ran below the floor, and the Glaciarium in London became the first artificially frozen ice rink. Fully indoors, skaters were surrounded by murals of the Alps. Across the (unfrozen) pond, Americans mocked the pretentious Europeans and their fake nature scenes, and claimed our naturally frozen rivers and ponds represented our superior American values.
Then we got rink mania too, but luckily it doesn’t seem to have weakened us as a nation.
On the contrary, we now can come
together with our neighbors from November to mid-March, whether they use hockey or figure skates, get some fresh air, and zoom off the winter gloom even if the ponds aren’t frozen. The Nasser Civic Center Ice Rink is not indoors, but it is covered and protected from the worst of the elements. In the last few years, several phases of an ongoing improvement project have been completed—replacing the rink floor and cooling equipment, painting the trusses and columns, and adding new glass that allows spectators to get a better view of the glee and terror on skaters’ faces.
The extra warm weather pushed this year’s opening back to the week of
Thanksgiving. Recreation Director Alex Hamilton explains they rely on the weather to help, and “can handle warmer temps on cloudy days better than on sunny days.”
“It was designed to be a recreational rink,” says Alex, “so it’s shy of regulation [hockey] length in both directions.” But many players ages four to fourteen get their start in youth hockey here.
Open skating times are offered weekly, with some specified as “Family & Adult Skate”—that means those under eighteen need an adult present. It’s okay to watch your kids from the concrete bleachers, balcony, or warming room (which has small lockers). Food and drink are allowed in the spectator areas, but no glass containers or alcohol. They do not currently sell concessions. On the ice, the rules are simple: skate in one direction, no more than three people holding hands at a time, and obey the Rink Guards. Ages three to three hundred are welcome. You can even take your wheelchair right on the ice.
Say a group of your friends wants to meet at the rink but you have never skated, or last skated as a kid. Rather than trust your friends to initiate you in a safe and enjoyable way—the Rink Guards don’t teach during open skate times, but they will help you up if you fall—why not sign up for a lesson? Or maybe you want to learn some new moves or how to skate backward. There are drop-in lesson times offered each week. When you arrive and pay your $8.50, which includes skate rental, you’ll be assigned to a group based on your level. Lessons are one hour, which includes a fifteen-minute warm-up, thirty-minute lesson, and fifteen-minute practice.
You can get a ten-punch class pass for $75; punch passes are available for general rink admission as well. Drop-in prices range from $1.50 for tots five and under to $10 for drop-in adult hockey. Skate rentals are $2.75 (they have 220 pairs), and skate sharpening services are available for a fee. There are discounts for senior and youth ages and group discount rates for Thursdays. Want to throw an extra special birthday party for that ice lover? Rent the rink.
Everyone at the rink looks pretty happy, but no one is happier than Corning’s Mayor Bill Boland, who has a great view of skaters from the hall outside his office. “It’s such a pleasure to watch people enjoying it and exercising even when it’s real cold,” he says. “There aren’t many venues where people gather publicly anymore.” He has been instrumental in promoting the use of the rink year-round as a venue for public gatherings, including concerts. The covered open-air format makes it ideal. Warm weather also sees the rink transformed into pickleball courts, a craze that the mayor thinks is here to stay. Being sheltered from the hot sun helps its popularity in Corning, and the game itself is more social than tennis because people are closer together. “It’s too fun to be a fad,” he says.
No matter what activity you come to enjoy, the location is ideal to leave your car parked and walk a few blocks to have dinner or go shopping on Market Street. The rink is located at the Nasser Civic Center, 8 Civic Center Plaza. Park on Pearl Street or in Municipal Lot Ten. For full details, go to cityofcorning. com/parksrecreation, scroll all the way down, and click on Winter Program 2022-2023. This will give you prices, times, and descriptions. You can also call the Parks and Recreation Office at (607) 962-0340 ext. 1125.
Anise seed, date oatmeal cookies, citrus custard tart—these distinctive flavors might conjure up images of a sophisticated tea in the English countryside or an afternoon at Grandma’s kitchen table. But, with a refined gin palette, you can taste them all in one glass at Krooked Tusker Distillery on Keuka Lake. These flavors, as described by judges for the Beverage Tasting Institute, won Krooked Tusker’s gin—The QKA Navy—a score of 95/100 points and a spot in a Forbes magazine article on the best gins of 2022.
While gin isn’t the only spirit brewing at Krooked Tusker, it does hold a special place in the heart of Carlton Reeves, president and distiller of the business. The QKA Navy is just the latest in a cadre of gin varieties, this
one featuring fifty-one botanicals, “some of which are not even indigenous to the states,” says Carlton.
If you make a stop at Krooked Tusker during the warmer months to try it out, you’re likely to pass a few jovial souls relaxing on the lawn in Adirondack chairs, or a couple on a Saturday afternoon relishing the music of a local artist on the deck. When it’s winter, come inside and find a warm space as open and colorful as the people serving the craft cocktails and tasting flights. If you’re fortunate enough to have Carlton join you while you sip, you’ll hear some merry tales about the imagination in the soul of all they do.
A look at their popular gin, Frolic, for example, leads to an entertaining yarn about
Carlton building the structure with a group of Amish builders. “They’d say things like ‘we can’t work Thursday; we’re going to a frolic,’” Carlton recalls. He liked the sound of that, and who wouldn’t? So, he created a gin with a label that features a quilt pattern and a maiden frolicking through a pasture. His stories include credit where it’s due, especially for those who took part in creating any of their products. He’s quick to point out, for example, that one of the women offering tastings that day created some of the labels’ art.
Both Carlton and his tasting room manager, Christina Skelly, make it clear that developing new gin varieties is the root of the business’s distilling.
“If I could do whatever I want, every
day, it’d be screwing around with gin. . . I try to use my imagination: the yin and yang,” he says. “If I use something sharp, I balance it with something botanical.” And he’s every bit hands-on in the distilling room, weaving tales about chopping mountains of strawberries and crying while grinding horseradish, both of which are flavors infused into their vodka varieties.
Prior to his “quality of life” move here with wife Anita, Carlton worked in the corporate world, traveling all over and taking him too far from home. One of the things that struck him during those years is that Americans don’t take vacation like the rest of the world. We’re never “heading off to the south of France for the month of July” to be ourselves. He wanted to create a space that allowed people to do just that—take a break, relax, and be who they are.
There’s a spirit of community at Krooked Tusker—they know that on the lakes, when one business thrives, all are better for it. Carlton believes community is the finest part of his business. So much so, the label of their Sleepless in South Pulteney barrelrested gin features images of other South Pulteney establishments, including another distillery. Aren’t they the competition? Not for Carlton or his employees. As he puts it, “We’re all in this together. We’re better together.”
Carlton tells me, as I sip on the South Pulteney Pink gin, that it’s the people he’s met and the relationships he’s made that are the best part of the Krooked Tusker venture and experience. The slight pink hue in that gin comes from currants grown and gifted to him by the owners of Hunt Country Vineyards down the road. And convening at the bar this particular afternoon are Justin Recktenwald, owner of Wild Brute winery in Arkport—Carlton is collaborating with him on a brandy product—and another neighbor and friend who supplies the roses Carlton uses as a botanical.
Still crazy: Carlton shows off his still named Cherry (top); guests enjoy the deck year-round thanks to heaters—both electric and liquid.
The distillery also creates corn whiskeys, vodkas, bourbons, and even an absinthe. Carlton and Christina estimate they release a couple of new products each year—twenty-four in total during their six-year run. They’re particularly proud of their barrel-rested gins, including Midnight Frolic, the result of resting the original Frolic, which Carlton describes as a “thing to do on a sleepless night.”
The creative minds here work year-round. Carlton already has a few witty names scrawled on the white board in the distilling room to use when inspiration strikes on a new product. There’s a Bloody Mary bar each week for Sunday Funday around Keuka, where you can choose A Horse is a Horse horseradish-infused vodka. In early August each year, the distillery hosts a BBQ benefit with raffles and live music, this year benefitting Mercy Flight Central, a regional critical care air service. Each month, the Krooked Tusker designates a charity to receive 1 percent of all cocktail sales.
Visit Krooked Tusker at 10303 County Route 76 in Hammondsport on Monday, Thursday, and Sunday from noon to 6 p.m. and Friday and Saturday from noon to 8 p.m., with expanded hours when the weather turns warmer. Or call (607) 868-3006, go to krookedtusker.com, or find them on Facebook.
Karin Knaus is a high school English teacher, and while she didn’t distinctly taste citrus custard tart, she was genuinely blown away by the flavors of that gin.
(2) Karin Knaus
Aquestion I often get at work and in my personal life is: “What is your favorite wine?” It’s a question that, for whatever reason, puts a lot of pressure on me. To choose just one always feels unfair, as I will inevitably have to exclude dozens of other favorites in the process. The dilemma is that I often choose my wines according to the time of year. Now that it’s February, the dark month, I generally look to the red wines in my collection. I may open an older bottle, something I’ve been patiently holding onto for years, and invite members of my inner circle over to try it and wax oenophilic. Having a dedicated group of wine friends is a good thing overall, but a necessity in the winter. On these spontaneous occasions, I like to have a fortified wine on hand or an ice wine to
sip around the table, extending the evening. Again, sweet wine is a seasonal libation for me that never even crosses my mind in the summer. But in February, sipping an ice wine after dinner with my inner circle, in a world turned to ice, just seems to make sense.
What is ice wine? Maybe it conjures thoughts of Canada and pencil-thin bottles filled with a dubious, sweet elixir. Syrupy is an adjective that sometimes gets floated around, perhaps due to a Canadian-maple connotation. Yes, they are sweet, and frequently made in Canada. But syrupy? Not always. Canadian? Not entirely.
Ice wine starts with frozen grapes. Vineyard specialists will forge out into the fields and hand-pick the frozen berries at first light sometime in December. French
hybrid grapes, such as the popular vidal blanc, are a top candidate for ice wine production. Vidal is a tough-skinned, disease-resistant variety suited to extended hang time. A green grape when ripe, vidal turns a chocolate-brown when frozen, not much different than a raisin. Like a raisin, the dehydrated fruit is lusciously sweet.
In the Finger Lakes, ice wine has been produced for over forty years, beginning with the Taylor Wine Company in Hammondsport. Taylor produced the first ice wine ever made in the United States in 1981. Six years later, Art Hunt, winemaker at Hunt Country Vineyards, Branchport, was visiting a Taylor Wine vineyard and happened to get his teeth around one of their frozen vidal blanc grapes. It was an inspiration. That was the seminal moment
when Art decided to make ice wine a part of his portfolio.
“We’re in a really great location to make it,” Art explains. “Keuka Lake has the highest and coolest sites in the region. Those cool nights and sunny days really concentrate flavors in the fruit.”
Concentration is further increased as the water content in the grapes evaporates, leaving only a small amount of saccharine juice behind. While grapes slated for ice wine remain in the fields long after the fall harvest, awaiting the frozen kiss of winter, there are plenty of challenges that go along with it. Harsh winds and storms can knock down the frail clusters, and predation by birds and deer can steeply diminish the final haul.
“At a certain point, we throw nets over the grapes to protect them from the animals,” says Art. “If you don’t do that there’ll be nothing left.”
An alternative method is to pick the grapes during an earlier freeze, while the yield is still robust and the elements have yet to lay their claim, but you run the risk of pulling the bacon out of the oven before it’s ready. Earlier harvests result in a less remarkable wine, whereas as a delayed collection brings fruit of a higher standard—sweeter and far more complex. Picked in ten-to fifteen-degree weather, workers rapidly fill the shallow bins, aptly known as “lugs,” and hurry the fruit back to the press house. At Hunt Country, an old Bucher basket press is used expressly for processing the frozen vidal grapes. The process can take as long as twelve hours, employing multiple pressings to maximize the yield. Their annual ice wine production clocks in at 500 gallons and retails at fifty bucks per 375 ml bottle. If you shuddered with sticker shock, don’t forget about the intrepid folks who had to pick the grapes. Any time human suffering is involved, you can expect the price to rise.
With any wine, a balanced profile is the goal. An ice wine that is merely sweet will fall short of the tape. The most enjoyable examples showcase an opulence of fruit underpinned by a livewire of mouthwatering acidity, something taut and irresistible that renders you powerless to the appeal of another sip.
By the time the ice wine makes its appearance, I know that there can be nothing after. It heralds the end of the evening, somehow italicizing the laughter of the last joke told around the table. But it doesn’t always have to. Food pairings with ice wine abound and are not limited to peach galette, Danish blue cheese, pecan pie, Linzer cookies, vanilla ice cream, and foie gras. I’ll even go so far as to include buttery beef sweetbreads, a new love affair of mine acquired after a recent trip to Argentina.
The small-bottle formatting makes ice wine the perfect singleuse portion for large groups, but if it doesn’t get used up initially, fear not. Due to its high residual sugar content, a bottle once opened will last for a couple of weeks in the refrigerator. Unopened bottles can cellar well for years, quietly evolving, preparing for just the right time. It can pair with dessert or it can be the dessert. Either way, a splash of ice wine on a cold night instills a memory, has a cool story, and is always a smart way to sweeten the deal.
Terence Lane is a Certified Sommelier. His short fiction and wine writing has appeared in a number of magazines including Wine Enthusiast. Since leaving New York City after the closure of city dining in 2020, he now lives in the Finger Lakes and works at Lakewood Vineyards where he is the tasting room lead.
By Terence Lane
Cold evenings call for warm drinks. In this case, I’m talking about spicy and booze-forward cocktails to keep off the chill. Whiskey cocktails always leap to the forefront of my winter drinking repertoire, and I tend to alternate between a Manhattan or an old-fashioned. The Manhattan’s addition of sweet vermouth (a wine infused with aromatic herbs and barks) adds a layer of complexity unmatched by the bourbon-centric old-fashioned, and the use of rye whiskey specifically makes a whole world of difference. New York Times’ renowned beverage specialist Eric Asimov said it best: “Nothing against bourbon Manhattans, I just love the spicy, dancing-in-
the-mouth sensation that comes from a good rye whiskey.” In fact, in The Essential New York Times Book of Cocktails he specifically recommends McKenzie Rye from Finger Lakes Distilling (see cover story for more on rye).
Tom Richtmyer, the daily manager and bartender at Finger Lakes Distilling on Seneca Lake, recently prepared me a classic Manhattan made with their McKenzie Rye. I make this cocktail a lot at home and love to order it out at restaurants, curious to sample different variations. I had one recently at a hotel bar where the bartender didn’t add any bitters and only a paltry splash of sweet vermouth. I asked him why he didn’t use
bitters and he said that he didn’t have any bitters today. Nonetheless, the drink came out ice cold and delicious. Cocktails are always a little mysterious.
Tom’s FLD Manhattan had a beautiful, oxblood-red appearance. A dark Luxardo cherry lurked in the chilly depths. The aroma coming off the top was sweet, herbal, and spiced. I took a sip. Everything I detected on the nose showed up on the palate. High quality Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters added a tannic, woody kick that cut through the vermouth perfectly. I had expected something a little spicier, typical of a rye, but was surprised by its rounder, more polished mouthfeel.
“Our nuance is that we finish it in sherry barrels for about two weeks at the end of its four-year maturation,” Tom explained. “It adds a gravitas, a fuller flavor-profile. You get that kind of spiciness to it, but the sherry barrels help temper out a little bit of the back-end flavor. Rye whiskeys are typically known to have a real long hit at the top of the throat. In this case, the sherry barrels bring that down.”
Rye adds an important lift to the mouthfeel of the cocktail, a freshness that balances out the sweeter components. Nursing my drink, I asked Tom for his professional advice for newbies looking to begin their own cocktail adventure at home.
“Identify what flavor profiles you like: sweet, tart, sour, something more booze-forward, and go and find recipes that work within your preferences,” Tom explained. “From there you can start to branch out, experimenting with your own variations. If you like a Manhattan, start switching out vermouths, switching out bitters. Use your base and then feel free to expand on it.”
With mixology, less is often more. A good cocktail is all about quality ingredients, restraint, and the perfect garnish. A small spritz of fruit peel, for example, imparts an enormous flavor. Just a dash of bitters can add a profound new depth to a cocktail. Harmony is the objective and harmony comes with experience.
I tried the FLD Bloody Mary next, and was happily surprised by the use of un-aged corn whiskey instead of vodka. It really brought out the savory side of the cocktail and married up well with the bacon salt rim. Herbaceous celery bitters, again from Fee Brothers, mingled throughout. In cocktail culture, glass rims can go way over-the-top, with entire sides of glasses coated in some questionable seasoning, but the rim should always elevate the cocktail in a purposeful way. Priming a small portion of the rim by rubbing with a wedge of lime and then inverting it into a thin layer of salt or sugar is really all that’s needed. Rimming the entire glass with salt, for example, is a preference, but not a necessity.
For something a little fresher and more spring-like, the Sassie Lassie is a bright way to meet the sunshine. This one calls for muddled cucumber. To muddle, place the cucumber slices at the bottom of the glass and grind them down into a pulp. Muddling sticks are sold at Target, Walmart, and specialty grocery stores, although a wooden kitchen spoon usually works just fine. The Sassie Lassie includes a little ginger ale, too, so be sure to serve this one on the rocks. Soda drinks don’t like to be shaken!
To the right are some excellent cocktail recipes to get you started. Heed Tom’s advice and feel free to experiment with different ingredients. Think about combinations of sweet and sour which, when used in the right ratios, achieve a favorable balance. Get creative with garnishes and glassware. Think about fresh local products, such as maple syrup, honey, and cold-pressed juices. If you like mint leaves, consider basil, or maybe even a blend of the two. Start collecting bitters. Explore vermouth, both dry and sweet. Use flavors you love with spirits you love, and with a little practice you’ll undoubtedly stumble upon your new favorite creation.
Be fearless. Even failure can be flavorful.
Terence Lane is a Certified Sommelier. His short fiction and wine writing has appeared in a number of magazines including Wine Enthusiast. Since leaving New York City after the closure of city dining in 2020, he now lives in the Finger Lakes and works at Lakewood Vineyards, where he is the tasting room lead.
FLD Manhattan
2 oz. McKenzie Rye Whiskey
1 oz. Method Sweet Vermouth
1 dash Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel-Aged Bitters
1 dash Fee Brothers Whiskey Barrel-Aged Orange Bitters 1 Luxardo cherry
Serve up or on the rocks.
FLD Bloody Mary
1.5 oz. Glen Thunder Corn Whiskey
4 oz. Longbranch Bloody Mary mix
2 dashes Fee Brothers Celery Bitters
Demitri’s Bacon Rim Shot Lemon wedge
Serve on the rocks.
Sassie Lassie Muddled cucumber
1.5 oz. Seneca Drums Gin Splash of ginger ale Lime wedge
Serve on the rocks.
100 proof: Irrefutable documentation that Dan’s glove did, indeed, catch on fire.
Rye continued from page 13
flavor, and varying temps in a warehouse affect it. One barrel was crafted with clear “heads” or ends so people can see the amount of whiskey lost to evaporation, what distillers call the angel’s share. Jim shared images of the new facility he and his sons were building to house their expanding operations. My mouth waters just thinking about it.
Back in Wellsboro, I emailed Laura Fields to ask her why there were no rye whiskey distillers around these parts. Laura started the Delaware Valley Fields Foundation to educate people about the issues facing small farmers, and she’s the force behind the American Whiskey Convention. Laura has been researching Pennsylvania whiskey distilling for years. She says the “northern central part of the state was exposed to the disastrous effects of alcohol quite early on.” Hunters and trappers of the time interacted with Native Americans frequently and did not care about the effects of the whiskey on the native population. Locals saw the effects of over-indulgence first hand, which primed them for the temperance movements that spread in the latter part of the 1800s. Another issue involved the lack of railroads to haul grain in and whiskey out. Laura points out that there were sizable distilleries in Centre, Montour, and Lycoming counties in the 1800s, though those were affected by the demise of the logging industry and, later, Prohibition. Laura adds, “Too many people believe that rye was simply a precursor to bourbon, but that is far from the truth. Rye was different in almost every way a whiskey could be different. It’s like comparing single malt scotch
a single grain whisky. There’s a lot more implied in the name than just what it’s made from.”
Laura’s mention of the temperance movement brought to mind George Washington Sears, Wellsboro’s famous outdoor writer, better known as Nessmuk. Also a poet, Sears wrote a song called
“Wellsboro as a Temperance Town” in which he claims that “The bar-rooms are like the dhry [sic] sand of Sahara.” In another poem, “Lotos Eating,” he sings the praises of rye, what he calls “the liquid cereal.” It must have been hard for Nessmuk, nicknamed Bacchus, to survive the temperance movement. No wonder he argued that living in town was roughing it. The fact that he and I both like the outdoors, writing, and rye, however, brings me a stronger sense of belonging.
The weekend after the Pittsburgh trip, the Co-Op convened around a fire behind my house to taste some ryes. (My whiskey is your whiskey.) Snow covered the ground, and the Whiskey Rebellion flag hung from the shed. Venison chili simmered in the crock pot. Stoll & Wolfe White Rye Whiskey and Rye Whiskey, Liberty Pole Bassett Town Whiskey and Rye Whiskey, Wigle Rye Whiskey and Deep Cut Rye Whiskey, Dad’s Hat Pennsylvania Rye Whiskey, and MLH Distillery’s Monongahela Rye Whiskey represented the Commonwealth; New York was represented by McKenzie White Dog, McKenzie Rye Whiskey, and Hudson Valley Do the Rye Thing. We started with Liberty Pole Bassett Town and then moved to its rye. We did the same with Stoll & Wolfe—unaged rye to aged rye. We appreciated how the aging added complexity to the whiskey, though Tom said he preferred the unaged to the aged. (I have a warm spot for the unaged rye myself.) Dan threw more wood on the fire, his glove catching on fire at one point. (Maybe.) We talked for the umpteenth time about which hill in Tioga County is most difficult to climb on a bike. (For my money, Tiadaghton from the Pine Creek Rail Trail.) Firelight glinted in our whiskey glasses.
The next day, I walked down to the fire ring and felt the heat coming off the coals. Thought about the flames from the fire and the heat from the whiskey the night before. I appreciate how I bond with my friends and the land over rye whiskey. I appreciate how I forget about work invading my every waking moment, about being too busy, about Facebook and Twitter, about whether I’ll ever be able to retire. I travel back to my early twenties don’t-give-a-damn attitude, hard to capture in my mid-fifties, but which I like to visit from time to time. Don’t get me wrong, though. I like my older self better. I’m a little more complex, maybe more spicy, a little angry. Like a good rye.
I’m proud of my Southern roots and appreciate a rebel spirit, but the Whiskey Rebellion flag hanging on the shed represents a rebellion that, unlike the Civil War, I can embrace without conflict. It’s one thing to tar and feather a few tax collectors and then take to the hills to avoid paying taxes on homegrown hooch. It’s another to fight to preserve slavery. I like rebellions involving whiskey.
I’ve got some distilleries yet to visit. Keir Family Distillery in Warren Center (read the story on page 16) started selling rye in December (woo-hoo!), and Barrelhouse 6 in Hammondsport tempts me with its Brothers’ 1910 Empire Rye. I’ll keep imbibing my Northern home one splash at a time.
Born in North Carolina, Jimmy Guignard teaches at Mansfield University and tries to keep up with his family. Northcentral Pennsylvania reminds him of the North Carolina mountains, though with more bears and bald eagles and fewer barbecue joints.
I’m not a big fan of winters, but when it gets really cold I have to head up to the Finger Lakes waterfalls. Rather than being intimidated by these giant beauties, I find their massive presence peaceful. The water crashing down amidst the ice at Ithaca Falls is a reminder that we are all changing form, every moment.
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Blood pressure. Cholesterol. Glucose. Weight. And family history. These are just a few of the things doctors use to identify risk factors for heart disease, the leading cause of death in the country for both men and women. February is American Heart Month. Don’t put off getting your heart checked — in-person or through virtual visits — to know your risk factors. Learn more at UPMC.com/CheckYourHeart.
