PLANT PAIRINGS FOR THE 2026 COLORS OF THE YEAR

Color trends do not stay confined to the indoors. For 2026, several major brands have announced their colors of the year, and Terra Nova nurseries in Canby, Oregon, has paired each selection with complementary plants, creating curated palettes sure to transform any garden into a vibrant retreat.

Perhaps the most anticipated is Pantone’s 2026 pick, Pantone 11-4201, Cloud Dancer. It embraces an understated elegance, as the airy white reflects a broader desire for simplicity and visual quiet. Terra Nova answers with twenty varieties that mirror the hue through delicate blooms, subtle variegation, and pale-cast textures.

“Cloud Dancer’s calming character naturally aligns with Terra Nova’s 2026 companion plant selections,” says Chuck Pavlich, director of new product development at Terra Nova Nurseries.

Among them are ajuga Nova ‘White,’ dicentra ‘Amore Titanium’, echinacea ‘Fragrant Angel', leucanthemum ‘Mt. Hood,’ penstemon Nova ‘Pearl’, and thalictrum Nimbus ‘White’. The collection layers bright whites, soft ivories, and luminous accents suited for containers, borders, and larger plantings. 

Beyond Pantone, Terra Nova also developed pairings for three major North American paint brands’ picks: Dutch Boy’s Melodious Ivory, Valspar’s Warm Eucalyptus, and Glidden’s Warm Mahogany. 

Melodious Ivory, a gentle neutral with beige undertones, is reflected in varieties such as Echinacea ‘Fried Egg’, Acanthus ‘Whitewater’, Agastache Poquito ‘Butter Yellow’, and Sedum ‘Peach Pearls’, all of which enhance its inviting charm.

Valspar’s Warm Eucalyptus, a muted green, finds harmony in texture-driven choices including brunnera ‘Alexandria’, pulmonaria ‘High Contrast’, athyrium ‘Pewter Lace’, and heuchera varieties such as ‘Green Spice’ and Little Cuties ‘Shimmer’. Its silvered and patterned leaves accentuate the color’s earthy, grounded presence.

Glidden’s Warm Mahogany, a deep red-brown, is amplified through richly colored selections like heucherella ‘Redstone Falls’, heuchera ‘Fire Alarm’ and Northern Exposure ‘Red’, begonia T Rex ‘Stardust’, and heucherella ‘Solar Eclipse,’ each bringing saturated depth to garden compositions.

“Plants and colors share the ability to shape the way spaces feel,” Pavlich says. Terra Nova demonstrates how thoughtfully assembled living elements matched with any color scheme can make outdoor landscapes feel connected, balanced, and inviting.

ROC HOME & GARDEN SHOW RETURNS TO ROCHESTER

The ROC Home & Garden Show & Sale returns March 21–22, 2026, at the Joseph A. Floreano Riverside Convention Center in downtown Rochester. Produced by the Rochester Home Builders’ Association (RHBA), the annual event brings together homeowners, gardeners, DIY enthusiasts, and anyone looking for fresh ideas for their surroundings.

With more than 200 exhibitors, the show features specialists in remodeling, landscaping, roofing, solar energy, cabinetry, outdoor living, and more. Attendees can explore new products, compare services, and speak directly with local experts about projects ranging from simple updates to full renovations. Live demonstrations and on-site consultations offer practical insight and inspiration.

Whether you’re planning a backyard overhaul, researching sustainable upgrades, or simply curious about emerging design trends, the ROC Home & Garden Show provides a welcoming setting to gather ideas, make connections, and envision what’s possible for the spaces you call home. rochomeandgardenshow.com

GNOME ROAM AT CUMMING NATURE CENTER

The Gnome Roam at RMSC Cumming Nature Center transforms a stretch of the Helen Gordon Trail into a playful winter quest. From mid-December through March 31, visitors follow a roughly quarter-mile path through the woods, discovering cleverly placed gnome displays tucked among trees, bridges, and boggy overlooks. Stops along the route include spots such as Belcher’s Bog, Troll Bridge, and Eagle Nest, each adding a bit of storybook wonder to the snowy landscape.

Designed as a self-guided experience, the trail is accessible for a casual winter walk and is included with general admission. A map is available at the Nature Center front desk to help guests navigate the route and locate each hidden scene. The seasonal event offers a lighthearted way to explore the outdoors during the colder months while enjoying the quiet tranquility of the Bristol Hills. rmsc.org/exhibits/gnome-roam

NATIONAL GARDEN BUREAU ANNOUNCES 2026 ‘YEAR OF THE’ PLANTS

The National Garden Bureau (NGB) has unveiled its picks for the 2026 “Year of the” program, showcasing six plants that promise to contribute color, dimension, and ambiance to gardens and homes across North America. From early spring bulbs to vibrant perennials, these selections are as eclectic as they are unique—perfect for bringing distinctive natural beauty both indoors and out.

Year of the Crocus—Bulb

Crocus are tiny heralds of spring, often bursting through late-winter snow in cheerful shades of white, yellow, and purple—some even featuring striped or feathered patterning. A delicate waxy coating shields their slender blades and petals from frost, allowing them to appear while much of the garden still rests. Their early arrival offers a much-needed food source for awakening insects, and over time these small florets multiply into colorful carpets that feel like a secret celebration of warmer days ahead.

Year of the Impatiens—Annual

Impatiens bring simple appeal to tucked-away corners, filling low-light areas with saturated reds, pinks, oranges, and purples. Traditional varieties favor shelter from direct sun, while New Guinea types do well in brighter spots with surprising stamina. Their velvety blossoms and signature “touch-me-not” seed pods—which pop open at the slightest tap—add whimsy, personality, and dynamism to beds and containers, reminding gardeners why impatiens have been beloved for generations.

Year of the Hot Pepper — Edible

Hot peppers ignite both garden beds and kitchen counters with lively energy. Their pods—from milder jalapeños with a bit of bite, to fiery habaneros, and beyond—shine in bold, warm color schemes, each one signaling a different degree of heat. Some are elongated and tapered, others squat or twisted, creating a visual array of shapes and sizes. Beyond their vibrant aesthetic, hot peppers offer endless culinary flair—from fresh salsas and roasted sides to pickled snacks—adding zest and panache to any plate.

Year of the Ficus — Houseplant

Ficus make a striking impression indoors—their lustrous, sculptural leaves and dramatic forms commanding notice. From fiddle-leaf figs to sophisticated rubber plants, each variety brings a sense of refinement and vertical interest, transforming overlooked corners into verdant sanctuaries. Adaptable and forgiving, these plants flourish in indirect light with steady moisture, offering both refreshing greenery and natural air-purifying benefits that elevate interiors with ease.

Year of the Sedum—Perennial

Sedum, or stonecrop, are succulent gems that thrive in sundrenched locations, bringing effortless refinement to rock gardens, borders, or container displays. Their fleshy, water-holding foliage forms a textured base for small late-season accents, which offer rich autumnal hues as surrounding plants fade. Low-maintenance and highly drought-resistant, these perennials reward gardeners with enduring interest and subtle brilliance, creating serene green pockets that require minimal care.

Year of the Azalea — Flowering Shrub

Azaleas turn springtime gardens into vivid tapestries, spanning soft pastels to deep crimsons and coral-like oranges. Both deciduous and evergreen types provide layered structure, while their profuse blooms create depth and movement in shaded beds or woodland borders. Their fragrant flowers offer a sensory delight, making these shrubs a cherished favorite for gardeners seeking lasting seasonal impact in both formal or naturalistic landscapes.

These six “Year of the” plants spark inspiration for indoor and outdoor arrangements offering adaptability, versatility, and character wherever they are introduced. Each selection transforms ordinary living spaces into captivating showcases of growth and seasonal cadence. With mindful placement, every area invites discovery and quiet enjoyment throughout the year. ngb.org/2026-year-of-plants

Elise Williams is a Rochester-based writer who always takes time to stop and smell the roses—and of course, the lilacs.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of Upstate Gardeners’ Journal.

Last March I took a trip with my best friend to New Orleans. I’ll never forget taking that first walk around the city after arrival—the sun was out, people were wearing shorts, and the flowers were blooming. A week down south during the spring was just what I needed. It reminded me of the springs I spent in Virginia before I moved here twenty-five years ago. While the rest of the year I wasn’t thrilled to live below the Mason-Dixon line, spring made up for the blistering hot summers and the snowless winters. I can vividly remember returning from the hospital after my daughter was born in Williamsburg in April 2001. The irises were blooming and the tulips were already fading. I don’t think that little newborn ever wore long sleeves or long pants until we moved up north to the Rochester area.

While upstate New York springs are a little less dramatic, they are lovely in their own right. Just read Bonnie Warriner’s article about spring ephemerals; it will surely get you excited by the region’s delicate, pretty little plants and flowers that remind us that the snow is gone, and we can bask in the sunshine once again.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of Upstate Gardeners’ Journal.

The year is 1978. There’s disco glam, Grease playing at the drive-in, Jimmy Carter in the White House, Sony Walkmans blasting “Stayin’ Alive,” and nineteen-year-old Wayne Coyle serving drinks at the Ontario Center Hotel.

“I drove my ten-speed to work,” Coyle says. Now sixty-seven, Coyle’s been a friendly face behind the bar for nearly fifty years—and he’s not stopping any time soon.

It all started at the Ontario Country Club. Coyle worked in the bag room and as a caddy when he was eleven years old, and he taught golf there during his senior year of high school. When he went off to Boston for college, his passions followed him.

“I went for soccer and to have a good time—that’s where I really learned how to be in the restaurant business. I had all the parties. Even the social coordinator came to some of my parties. One time he showed up and said, ‘so this is where all the people are.’ They had a band playing at school, and nobody went ’cause they were all at my party,” Coyle says. 

After college, Coyle decided to teach golf again. He worked as the assistant golf pro at the Bethlehem Management Club and then moved to the Country Club of Buffalo. But when word got around that a friend of his bought a bar, Coyle couldn’t resist going back into the hospitality scene.

“I was around twenty-three or twenty-four at the time,” Coyle says. “He wanted me to work for him, so I did. And then someone came in that was working at Crawdaddy’s Night Club and asked if I’d go work for them. So I did. I worked both until I couldn’t do both and then just kept to Crawdaddy’s and became the manager there. We had four bars, two restaurants—it was the lit dance floor back in the disco days. I loved the nightclub scene. Everybody used to dress up to go out—they don’t have clubs like they used to anymore.

When asked how many places he’s worked at, Coyle joked, “How long do you have? It’s been a lot of places. After two or three years I’d move around, go somewhere else. But I’ve been here at Mike’s Ridge Terrace Pub & Grill for six years now. I started as a bartender and then became the manager.”

Coyle worked at the Ocean Club, the Strathallan, and on Rochester’s fast ferry, the Spirit of Ontario. He also managed Jonathon’s Seafood Restaurant, which was located where Tully’s Good Times Rochester currently is, and was the director of food and beverage at Midvale Country Club. The list goes on, but his favorite places were Granskofskis Restaurant, which everyone called Gran’s, and Zaz’s in Webster.

“At Zaz’s in the ’90s when the Buffalo Bills were playing Houston in the playoffs, Buffalo was down maybe thirty-five to three, and we were packed that day. The score kept getting worse and worse and we just emptied out. We had like two or three people at the bar. All of a sudden, the Bills started to come back. Frank Reich comes in, and its touchdown, touchdown, touchdown—people start trickling back in. Then we were packed. Then we needed somebody at the door because we had no more room—people were looking through the windows—that had never happened before. I’ll never forget that day,” Coyle says.

“We were packed again for the Super Bowl, and we had a big buffet out. The owner just put food out for everybody—you don’t see that much anymore.” 

A lot has changed in the industry, and being a beer guy, Coyle had to mention craft brews.

“If it’s cold, I don’t care what is, I’m drinking it—as long as it’s not craft,” Coyle says. “I’ll do Bud Light, Coors Light, Miller Light ... my father would drink Utica Club, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Black Label, all the regular beer ’cause there was no craft beer back then. Now a lot of people are opening up their own craft breweries, and then they go around to bars and try to sell their products. The craft cocktails as well. You have to go in an hour early just to get everything prepared, like your fruit tray. It wasn’t like that before—they didn’t have all that.”

Coyle’s gone from making fancy drinks at nightclubs, working until four in the morning, hosting New Year’s Eve, to slowing down a bit and working days instead of nights.

“It really was a show; I don’t want to do that anymore. I could do it if I wanted, but I just don’t want the fast pace anymore. I’ve had MS for fifteen years and just try to keep busy. I go to the gym, play golf, and keep moving here,” Coyle says.

But there are other Coyles still working the whole shebang—the knack runs in the family. One of his sons works part-time at Branca Midtown, the other part-time at Patron Saint.

“I trained them both when I was at the country club,” Coyle says. “They were in a band at the time, and I told them if they were going to be traveling around, they’d need to be in the restaurant business and really know the restaurant business because you can always get a job in the industry—whether it’s serving or bartending.”

The nights, the drinks, the events, the disco and karaoke ... Coyle’s loved it all, but he’s stayed in the business this long for other reasons.

“The people that come in here keep me working. You get a following, and it’s a community. That’s the best part about it, and that’s the only reason I come back—because of the people. It’s always been that way. And hey, if you ever want to know something, you don’t need to read the paper, you come to the bar—everybody knows what’s going on,” Coyle jokes.

Mike’s Ridge Terrace Pub & Grill is located on Ridge Road in Webster. Grab a sandwich, catch up with friends, make some new ones, or grab a drink with Coyle—he’ll have a cold one waiting for you.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).

Black skinny jeans with home-cut holes in the knees, my mom’s vintage Levi’s jean jacket, and a pair of tattered Vans stomped me up the cement steps of Dicky’s Corner Pub on the night of my twenty-first birthday. It had to be the first stop—my best friend loved going there, and she was on a mission to make sure we went to all the good places that night. Now, this isn’t a piece about the adventures of my twenty-first—although I’m sure that could get itself published somewhere—but after that night, Dicky’s became a special place to me; years later, it still is.

I don’t go there with just anyone, only people I want to share a little piece of myself with. It makes it all the more special every time I find myself digging into the free popcorn while I wait to claim my favorite seat tucked around the corner of the bar. And sure, maybe I’m a little biased about the pub because it’s one of my spots, but what I’m not biased about is the food—if it wasn’t worth writing about, we wouldn’t be here. 

Shall we talk nachos? I’m an absolute fiend. Give them to me for days on end, please. And hands-down the best I’ve ever had (and we’re talking a lot of nachos) are from Dicky’s Corner Pub. 

Perfect-sized tortilla chips layered with smoked gouda cheese sauce, cheddar jack cheese, olives, jalapeños, pico de gallo, and sour cream. You can add protein if you’d like—I always go with grilled tofu, and it’s flawless—but they also offer grilled chicken, buffalo chicken, jackfruit, pulled pork, and steak.

From the exterior, Dicky’s looks like any regular joint—nothing too fancy, no modern frills—and while the simplicity adds to the charm, the interior shows a different story. Wood board walls, sections of old tile on the floor, art, posters, a Bills flag here and there—still simple, almost a bit of a dive, but jam packed with his tory. It could be glanced over as just any neighborhood pub, but Dicky’s happens to be the oldest operating bar in Rochester. Bartender Matt Lauer has been serving drinks there for the past five years.

“We’ve been here since 1949, and it was a saloon in the 1880s, so if you come walking in, there’s plenty of history. We have a photo from 1949 so we can give you a little more context; the historic part about it is just really cool. We’ve got so many different regulars and so many people that come in and keep this place going. I’m three years sober and this place is one of the big things that’s helped me get sober and keep me sober—there’s no pressure behind it, so if you don’t drink, this is a good spot to come as well,” Lauer says.

As I look over the menu, two fellas chirp up asking about my camera and what I am taking photos for. Lauer proceeds to grab their drinks—he knew their order before they did. Turns out Tom and Tim Berl (father and son) have been going to Dicky’s together for years.

“I’m eighty-four and have been coming down here for at least fifty years,” Tom says. “I raised four boys, and we used to walk down here and get fish fries and take them back home. The boys called it the beer shop. This has always been our place.”

“It’s one of the, if not the best, fish fries in the city—you can’t go wrong. I have yet to have anything on the menu that has disappointed me at all,” Tim continues.

“The Reuben is spot on,” the Berls say in unison. “It’s dog friendly, the wings are amazing, and Matt’s a god,” Tim says.

That conversation made ordering food a breeze. First up was a fish fry—classic beer battered with coleslaw, tartar sauce, lemon, and hand-cut fries. And this was my first time trying one at Dicky’s. 

Growing up near Lake Ontario, I went on countless “Friday night fish fry” dates with family. I haven’t had nearly as many fish fries as I have nachos, but the number is still up there. Needless to say, I was eager to try Dicky’s, but also a little hesitant.

I was blown away. Soft, flaky, full of flavor, buttery, perfectly crusted skin, not greasy at all ... I think it’s the best I’ve had. The fries were great too—they were on the saltier side, in a good way.

Last on my order was half a dozen wings. These I have tried before—my best friend had Dicky’s wings on her weekly rotation for a long time. However, I had never tried the Carolina Gold sauce, which is what Lauer recommended. 

Once again, I was blown away. I’m a pretty picky chicken wing eater—they have to be cooked just right. I take flats over drums, but the sauce on these had me devouring every bite regardless of shape. The meat came right off the bone, and the sauce was a perfect mix of sweet and tangy. Dicky’s offers wing specials every Wednesday—it’s worth the trip.

The menu is loaded with numerous entrées, wraps, sandwiches, burgers, and vegan and vegetarian options as well. Lauer recommends the Neil Clark—turkey, cheddar, bacon, green apple, and cranberry mayo served on grilled sourdough. I think the free popcorn deserves a little praise as well. It’s the perfect complement to a game of darts.

There’s a chef’s special menu on Saturday, a taco menu on Tuesday, and signature sandwiches on Thursdays. The long bar is always serving, there are customers of all ages, the staff is friendly, and the food is top-notch. Whether you’re in the mood for dinner or a lowkey evening out with friends, I couldn’t recommend Dicky’s enough.

More information can be found online or on Facebook at Dicky’s Corner Pub.

Dicky’s Corner Pub

791 Meigs St., Rochester

355-4939

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).

Asking your boss out for drinks is risky. Inviting them to a speakeasy with a secret bookshelf entrance? Now that’s just good career strategy.

At least, that was my gamble visiting Vanni’s, the new jazz lounge inside the Inn on Broadway. 

With two kids, visiting a bar that’s open only three days a week requires intense planning. So when researching this article, I did what any logical millennial would do—left my husband at home, abandoned the fantasy of finding a sitter, and asked my boss if she wanted to grab a drink after work.

We have a good relationship, which helped. But I also had zero idea if I was about to look like the coolest coworker alive or lead her to a total dud.

I pulled into the Inn on Broadway, a historic building with a dark wood- paneled lobby. Beyond the foyer, the older hotel felt unchanged since the Bush era. (Either Bush.)

Expectations: officially lowered.

I popped my head into Gio’s Prime 26—the restaurant that replaced Tournedos—and asked the hostess where the jazz lounge was. She waved us toward a very unassuming carpeted stairwell. You’ve likely walked down 100 of them in your life without a second thought. But then we hit a landing with a man sitting in a chair next to a very large bookshelf.

From what I knew of Vanni’s, we needed to pull the right book to enter. What followed was the playful—and slightly frantic—dance of yanking every spine off that shelf until we found it.

No, I’m not going to tell you which one. It’s part of the fun, and also, I don’t want to ruin your own bookshelf flailing.

The door swung open.

We walked into one of the most beautiful lounges I’ve ever seen. Despite it being 5 p.m. on a Thursday, the space was dimly lit but warm—all brushed brass accents and textures that shouted velvet and elegance.

We were the first people there, so we had our pick of seats. A band was setting up: saxophone, guitar, drums, piano. I’d heard Vanni’s featured live jazz, but I was honestly expecting a girl in a sparkly dress crooning into a keyboard. This was a full ensemble.

The plan: talk work over drinks and snacks. Instead, we ended up sharing a life check-in where I confessed my growing obsession with winter hiking, and she revealed her newfound passion for making tortillas.

We stayed for nearly two hours.

That surprise is what the Inn on Broadway is betting on: You’ll walk in with low expectations and leave telling everyone about it. It’s a gamble that feels both new and familiar for a building that’s been taking risks for decades.

Since 1929, the Georgian Revival building at 26 Broadway has been where Rochester’s elite went to be seen—first as the members-only University Club, then as Tournedos Steakhouse starting in 2000.

The New York–style steakhouse was ahead of its time. It was (and still is) one of the only restaurants in upstate New York doing in-house dry-aging, with a 350-bottle wine list and a certified sommelier. Chocolate truffles arrived with your check. Servers cleared crumbs between courses. A decade ago, their average entrée price was rumored to be the second-highest in Rochester fine dining—$75 for a Wagyu ribeye in a city where people still debated whether garbage plates counted as cuisine.

And then everyone caught up. By 2014, Char, Black and Blue, and Max’s arrived. Today, Redd Wood and Patron Saint sling cuts past $100. Suddenly, $75 Wagyu feels quaint.

So in a changing landscape, what do you do when you’re the restaurant that invented the game, but everyone else showed up with better lighting and a social media strategy? Start over—sort of.

When ownership changed last year, Tournedos became Gio’s Prime 26 named for building owner Giovanni LiDestri (also the chairman of LiDestri Foods) and the street address. General manager Laura Eldridge says they’re making gradual updates—paint, floors, menu tweaks—without closing for a major overhaul because you can’t close a steakhouse in a hotel for three months.

While change is slow, the vision is clear.

“We don’t want to be a spot just for Valentine’s Day,” Eldridge says. “Come have a burger and a cocktail for happy hour.”

A burger. At a steakhouse that used to charge $75 for Wagyu.

But also—it’s a half-pound patty topped with crispy pork belly, cheddar, lettuce, and tomato—and it costs $25, which tracks for a place still figuring out whether it’s approachable or aspirational.

The classic creamed spinach ($12) and twenty-ounce dry-aged rib steak ($87) remain, but now there’s a tomahawk pork chop ($49) with caramelized Japanese sweet potatoes and apple brandy purée.

It’s still a work in progress. The reviews reflect that—slow service, the occasional existential crisis from diners who want the old Tournedos back. Still, Eldridge isn’t pretending otherwise. Everyone knows the place is in transition.

Meanwhile, Vanni’s—also named for Giovanni—was their answer to what’s missing in the city’s dining scene. Yes, we have steakhouses and cocktail bars galore, but few venues with live music year-round. To change that, the team took the functioning wine cellar—a private dining room for corporate parties and the occasional small wedding—and transformed it into something that feels like a secret even once you’re inside.

“It’s the fun of finding the right book to get into the jazz lounge and creating an experience,” Eldridge says. “It’s not just, ‘Oh, you’re going to watch live music.’ You have to find it.”

The cocktail menu, which Eldridge developed herself, are classics with a twist that lean into a subtle literary theme.

I ordered the Paper Crane ($17) because I heard it came with a tiny origami crane balanced on a lime wheel (I’m a sucker for gimmicks). The Toki Suntory whisky, combined with Amaro Nonino and Aperol, should have been boozy but somehow wasn’t. It went down smooth and kept pace through two full jazz sets.

The food menu is small plates designed for grazing—though I’ll confess, they ended up replacing my dinner entirely, which wasn’t the plan but also wasn’t a problem.

The beef sliders ($15) arrived as a trio on mini brioche buns. Caramelized onions, deliciously smoky bacon, melted cheddar—the kind of sliders that make you eat faster than socially acceptable because you don’t want to share.

The whipped ricotta ($14) was a completely different vibe: creamy, faintly sweet (perhaps honey), and indulgent in that way you didn’t know you needed until it arrived. It came piped into a wide glass dish normally reserved for an ice cream sundae, which felt right for something this decadent.

And then there was the band.

I’d braced myself for the kind of background noodling that’s pleasant enough. Instead, we got a full quartet: saxophone, piano, drums, guitar. The saxophonist had the kind of stage presence that made you stop mid-sentence and listen. They opened with something bebop-adjacent that I couldn’t name but felt like it belonged in Miles Davis’s arsenal. My boss leaned over during the second song and said, “Okay, this is actually really good.”

Vanni’s takes limited reservations for the VIP seating area—a velvet-roped section stage right of the band that seats up to nine and books out about a week in advance on Gio’s Tock page. Everything else is first-come, first-serve, which Eldridge insists is intentional.

“We want to be approachable for everyone,” Eldridge explains. “It adds to the exclusivity and the appeal of the very small, curated, intimate space. You only have so many people in there, and you gotta wait your turn.”

We arrived at 5 p.m. to an empty room. By 7 p.m., every table was full, couples lined the bar, and the bookshelf entrance had people descending that staircase like they’d discovered Narnia.

I texted my husband on the way to my car, “We should come back to this place. The jazz is great.”

He didn’t reply because our toddler was having a full-blown meltdown.

The Inn on Broadway isn’t trying to compete with the new steakhouses on spectacle or Instagram moments. It’s betting on something slower—the kind of night that turns into four hours without you noticing, the kind of place that makes you text your friends unprompted. Tournedos was ahead of its time once. Maybe Vanni’s will be too.

Vanni’s

26 Broadway

232-3595

vannisjazzlounge.com

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).

I’ve been painting wooden bunnies for so long that I can’t feel my fingertips. My little sister is right beside me at the kids’ table, running sandpaper across wood in a frenzy; beads of sweat hang off her nose. At the big table behind me, my aunt uses a miniature paint brush to dot the irises of the bunnies’ eyes. The aggressive whirr of a band saw hums up the stairs from my mom’s station in the basement, which currently looks like the Seventh Circle of Woodworking Hell. I think about scrawling the words “HELP ME” in the piles of sawdust, which are spread so deep and wide that my message could be easily spotted by a rescue chopper.

Every Thanksgiving during my childhood, my mom and Aunt Terre participated in the pre-holiday craft show circuit, and theirs were not your usual pipe-cleaners-and-Elmer’s-glue type of products. The ladies had an array of creations they put out every year, and their ideas were all original. Wooden soldier ornaments made out of clothespins, swaddled babies with cherubic painted faces nestled inside of an empty walnut shell, mini wooden magnets and animals painted to perfection. Mom and Terre had their customers in a chokehold because they had great ideas, high standards, and detailed execution.

What mom and Terre also had was an unofficial sweatshop at their disposal to bring their ideas to life. It was an unspoken rule in our circles that craft show prep meant everyone within a ten-mile radius was sentenced to one month of hard labor at our house—and this was non-negotiable. As it turns out, the arts and crafts world was the perfect place for mom and Terre to combine their creativity and their authoritarianism. No one dared question them, for their minds were full of beauty and whimsy, but their hearts beat with the sadistic rage of two wardens at a state penitentiary.

During craft prep, there was a job for everybody, no matter how young. The little kids got sandpaper duty, as their brains were not sophisticated enough to protest the drudgery that lay ahead. The bigger kids did light painting and gluing; adults did basic sewing. Pol Pot and Mao Zedong (née Mom and Aunt Terre) split duties on the band saw, cutting thirty wooden animals at a time. Terre was so exacting and precise that she was the only one trusted to paint eyeballs. It was just one of the tedious jobs normally assigned to torture prisoners in Attica that she accepted happily. 

I must admit, their system was efficient. Once everyone knew their role, the workers entered a flow state; Mom and Terre settled into a sort of dictatorial Zen. Products rolled out at a pace that would make Henry Ford jealous. Like any true assembly line, this job also came with the threat of repetitive strain injuries—though it had none of the union benefits. In fact, the only real compensation for the kids who joined the table was access to coveted adult gossip and the occasional dessert.

One year, my cousin Krystal found family gossip was a mighty tempting mistress. It pulled her away from normal teenage activities and soon she was part of the labor camp. If she found third-degree burns from a hot glue gun preferable to a life of drugs and crime, who was I to argue? She was the older, cooler cousin that I and my sister idolized. I was a taciturn child who hated only two things in this world: crafts and my family. But once Krystal got involved, my attitude changed; I took a seat at the table and happily enlisted in the crafting gulag. Besides, my surliness was no match for the catering, which included a raspberry Danish so powerful it neutralized concern about the obvious child labor violations.

Soon enough, I was as caught up in the gossip as the rest of the kids, and even though we were too little to understand most of it, we loved listening. There’s nothing better than learning that someone else’s life is completely off the rails when your own situation isn’t great; we would hear the stories and shake our heads in judgement. “Oh, my God, get it together,” we’d laugh and then go back to aspirating spray paint and chewing our blisters.

In a way, my mom and Terre were destined for this: Their father was a talented carpenter. He had a small wood shop behind his house that he toiled in, utilizing his craftsmanship and creativity to make furniture. Every grandchild was gifted either a handmade cradle, a toy box, or a high chair that he built in his shop; they are one-of-a-kind heirlooms that we still have to this day. The high chair he made for me held up to the wear-and-tear from me, my siblings, and all who came after.

So, Mom and Terre had absorbed enough carpentry acumen to have no fear about using a saw during their craft show era. They decided they needed a name and chose “Chips Off the Old Block” as an homage to their father. It should be noted that my grandfather once had a minor shop accident and sawed off three of his fingertips, so we hoped that Mom and Terre’s career wasn’t an exact copy of his, and we hoped hard. Those of us who still had all our fingers kept them crossed.

Like all tough conditions, my time in the hot glue gun trenches shaped who I am. It was a great first lesson on what it means to buy and produce local. It also introduced me to hard work, which gave me a leg up among my peers. After all, no one else in my class was a manufacturing expert with time served in an oppressive factory setting before they hit the double digits.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).

In 1990, Monroe County’s daytime television viewing habits were disrupted by a TV first: the live broadcast of The People v. Arthur J. Shawcross. Never before had home viewers anywhere been given access to gavel-to-gavel coverage of a sordid murder trial. The show lasted eleven weeks, September to December. Viewers who normally followed daytime dramas or game shows were instead focused on the trial of a serial killer who’d confessed to killing ten women in Monroe County and one more in Wayne County, but whose lawyers claimed he was insane and not responsible for his actions.

Fans of courtroom dramas like Perry Mason now saw the real thing, sometimes lazy in its pacing but raw and unfiltered in its subjects and language. The show ran on cable station WGRC (Greater Rochester Cable) and was set in teak-paneled Courtroom 206 of the Monroe County Public Safety Building, which had been equipped and wired as a TV studio.

A few watched the first day’s broadcast, were repulsed, and changed the channel. 

Most viewers, however, were fascinated and watched for the rest of the fall.

It was all you heard, in a tone of disbelief: “You watchin’ Shawcross?”

One woman, Mary Colangelo, who passed away in 2017, bought $100 worth of blank videotapes and taped every second of the trial. She called those tapes her “treasures.”

“If I must go out, I go during the lunch recess,” she said during the trial. “I’ve fallen behind in my errands, but I’ll catch up when the trial is over. It is good entertainment. No one could’ve written a script like this. When this is over, I’ll feel lost. I’ll have to replay the tapes.”

The show’s villain obviously was Shawcross, yet he put no work into his role. He was the subject of just about everything that was said, yet in appearance he was an unremarkable slope-shouldered schlub. Throughout, he sat at the defense table motionless and silent, staring at his shoes.

The hero was the soft-spoken assistant district attorney Charles Siragusa, who led the prosecution. By the trial’s third week, Siragusa was receiving fan mail and baked cookies from “groupies” who were watching him on TV. High school classes viewed the trial in school and formed field trips to the courtroom to watch the action “in person.” (Siragusa was appointed in 1997 by President Bill Clinton as a senior United States District Judge, a position he still holds in the Western District of New York.)

Not every witness fared well under the lights. One defense witness, a forensic psychiatrist on the stand for many days, while trying to convince the jury of Shawcross’s insanity, drew unwanted laughter and was eventually satirized by morning radio shows because of her rambling answers and disorganized demeanor.

For several weeks, videotapes were shown in the courtroom (and on Channel 5) of the defendant supposedly under hypnosis, describing horrific acts that went well beyond what we’d ever heard discussed in our own homes: necrophilia, cannibalism, atrocities in Vietnam, cruel incestuous abuse. In one hypnotic session, Shawcross went back in time and spoke as “Ariemes, the thirteenth-century cannibal,” who taught young Artie to eat human flesh. In another session, Shawcross claimed in falsetto that his mother took over his brain when he killed, much like Alfred Hitchcock’s twisted villain Norman Bates in the movie Psycho.

The prosecution’s star witness was forensic psychiatrist Dr. Park Dietz. He, too, had extensively examined Shawcross but not under hypnosis. He concluded that Shawcross was faking his mental illness, that he was not psychotic but rather a malingering psychopathic—not crazy just extraordinarily mean.

“He is an anti-social. He lacks moral scruples and any sense of empathy,” Dr. Dietz testified.

Viewers were horrified to learn that Shawcross as a young man had killed two children near Watertown, NY, ten-year-old Jack Owen Blake, murdered on May 7, 1972, and eight-year-old Karen Ann Hill, killed May 7, 1972. For those crimes, Shawcross served only fifteen years in prison and was released into Rochester in 1987 to kill again.

Faithful trial viewers learned the names of the ten Monroe County victims and the locations where their bodies were found. Dorothy Blackburn, twenty-seven years old, Salmon Creek on March 24, 1988; Anna Marie Steffen, twenty-eight, on an embankment overlooking the Genesee River gorge just south of the Driving Park Bridge on September 11, 1988; Dorothy Keeler, fifty-nine, on an island in the Genesee River, October 21, 1989; Patricia Ives, twenty-five, on a west embankment overlooking the river gorge just south of Driving Park Bridge; Franny Brown, twenty-two, November 15, 1989 in the gorge near Seth Green Drive on the river’s east bank; June Stotts, thirty, November 23, 1989, off Boxart Street beneath a cement plant beside the river; Felicia Stephens, nineteen, December 31, 1989, in Northampton Park; June Cicero, thirty-four, January 3, 1990, frozen into the ice of Salmon Creek; Maria Welch, twenty-two, January 5, 1990, in a woods in Greece, off Island Cottage Road near Edgemere Drive; and Darlene Trippi, thirty-two, January 5, 1990, in a culvert off North Redman Road in Brockport. Shawcross killed with increasing frequency, seven victims in the final two months, until he was caught.

It was mid-December when the last witness testified, the lawyers gave their final arguments, and the jury deliberated. After an evening and early morning of thinking it over, the jury sent word that a verdict had been reached.

Faithful viewers in the courtroom and on their couches at home sat riveted, as jury foreman Robert Edwards announced, “We find the defendant guilty of ten counts of second-degree murder.”

After that there was a break, weeks passed, the holidays came and went, but The Arthur Shawcross Show had one episode left: the sentencing. On the morning of February 1, 1991, Courtroom 206 was noisy at first, folks catching up, but went silent when Shawcross entered through a side door. When conversations in the gallery resumed, everyone spoke in whispers.

The court bailiff said, “Please rise,” and Judge Wisner, robe billowing, entered through a door behind his bench.

The judge gave Shawcross one last opportunity to speak: “You have remained mute throughout these proceedings. All of us wish to understand what it is that happened. Here is your last chance to speak.”

Shawcross continued to look glumly at his feet. Then, barely audible, Shawcross spoke, “No comment at this time.”

Charles Siragusa had a final comment: “Your Honor, what type of man is it that stands before this court? He is a real-life monster, a killer without a conscience. Judge, I want to remind you that years before Shawcross killed the ten women he’s been convicted of here, he killed two children in Watertown, New York. I ask you to consider the impact his actions have had on his victims and their families and the impact these slayings have had on our community.”

Thomas Cocuzzi for the defense said, “Your Honor, we stand firm to our beliefs that this is a man who cannot control his violent urges. The record does not demonstrate that Mr. Shawcross does this for enjoyment. It does demonstrate that Mr. Shawcross remains and has always been a severely emotionally and mentally disturbed individual.”

Family members of victims were invited to give statements, but only a few did, one of them in the form of a letter written by Theresa Trippi-Caldwell, sister of Darlene Trippi, read aloud by Siragusa: “Arthur Shawcross has changed many—even hundreds—of people’s lives forever. We still have sleepless nights dreaming of Darlene fighting that man off, trying to gasp for her last breath of life.”

Liz Vigneri, Maria Welch’s mom, was there in person and rose to speak. “Shawcross has robbed me of the chance to see my twenty-two-year-old daughter one last time. If someone died on a hospital bed you can sit there and hold their hand and say good-bye. He didn’t give me the opportunity.”

Siragusa rose and said, “Your Honor, Mrs. Vigneri has also written a poem which she has asked me to read to the court.”

I see her murdered in my nightmares.

I see her murdered in images that come at me.

I see her fighting, trying to get free.

I hear her screams.

I feel her fear.

Greater Rochester, as one, cried.

“One last thing, Your Honor,” Siragusa said. “I’d like to read something Mr. Shawcross said to investigators when being questioned. He said, ‘I should be put in jail for the rest of my life, because if I am ever released, I will kill again.’”

Judge Wisner then put a happy bow on The Arthur Shawcross Show. He sentenced Shawcross to 250 years in prison, ten twenty-five-year sentences running back-to-back. Monroe County District Attorney Howard Relin later said that it was the longest sentence in the history of New York State.

Following Shawcross’s sentencing, now forever out of the TV camera’s view, the killer was driven by sheriff’s van to the Sullivan Correctional Facility in Fallsburg, NY, where he was imprisoned until his death from cardiac arrest in 2008 at the age of sixty-three.

For the television industry, the experiment had been a huge success, clearly showing the proceedings to exceptional ratings and without legal consequences. The success led to the launch of cable channel Court TV in 1991 and national-sensation TV trials, such as the O. J. Simpson trial in 1995.

In the meantime, because he’d been tried and convicted in the living rooms and bedrooms of the (585), Arthur Shawcross became “our serial killer,” a demon vanquished, now a mere sinister stitch in the hometown tapestry of lilacs, snow, Red Wings, garbage plates, and Wegmans.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).

When the Rochester Broadway Theatre League (RBTL) embarked on a multi-year revitalization of the West Herr Performing Arts Center, the goal was never a simple face-lift. Known as Project Restouration, the effort seeks to preserve one of Rochester’s most architecturally significant buildings while also reimagining how it serves performers, patrons, and the city’s arts community today. At the heart of the design work are Emily Steinbacher, architect and project manager at LaBella Associates, and Stephanie Steinman, interior designer at the firm. In close collaboration with Pike Construction and RBTL, they approach Project Restouration as both stewards and problem-solvers—protecting the building’s legacy while reshaping it to meet present-day needs as the project unfolds. Their work requires constant coordination, flexibility, and thoughtfulness, often responding in real time as the site reveals both its challenges and its hidden character.

Building around the curtain call

Project Restouration unfolds in strategically sequenced phases, dictated as much by performance schedules and funding as by design intent. Early work focused on critical infrastructure and access: replacing original elevators, opening connections between the auditorium and Masonic sides of the complex, and creating a family restroom. These changes addressed accessibility issues and laid the groundwork for public-facing areas.

Subsequent phases included the second-floor lounge and its restrooms, the vestibule and corridor at the west entrance, and the transformation of the Floreano Room, now more welcoming for gatherings and events. Current work at the front of the building includes new stairs and railings and a repositioned retaining wall along East Main Street.

Not every phase has unfolded exactly as planned, in part because construction must work around a full performance schedule. Much of the work is intentionally scheduled for summer months, when fewer shows are running and access is easier. “We’ve been doing a lot of construction during the summer months because that’s not usually when RBTL shows are. From late spring to early fall—that’s our very short window to try and push things through,” says Steinman.

Linda Glosser, chief revenue officer at RBTL, emphasizes the need for precise scheduling and flexibility to ensure performances and renovations coexist seamlessly. “We cannot pause operations while the restoration goes on. Every section is actively used for rehearsals, performances, or patron services, so finding the right time to take a room offline requires careful planning between many stakeholders.”

What an old building teaches you

The undertaking of such a storied landmark provides lessons no blueprint can anticipate. In this case, that truth is literal. As project manager Emily Steinbacher explains, “We didn’t have existing drawings—or if we did—very limited existing drawings showing the construction of the building.” Without a complete roadmap, the team relied on investigation, teamwork, and constant adjustment as conditions revealed themselves. “There’s only so much prep work we can do,” Steinbacher says. “We come across unforeseen unknowns, and then we figure out the next steps together.” 

That adaptability extends beyond construction logistics into the regulatory process. For Steinman, Project Restouration marked her first time presenting work to a historic preservation board. “You have to really understand what they care about, how to advocate for your design, and where latitude is allowed,” she says. Preparing for those meetings required a deeper level of clarity and restraint—demonstrating how proposed changes would improve functionality while preserving the property’s character and integrity. “That was an eye-opening experience for me.”

Much of the most intricate work, however, remains invisible to patrons. Steinbacher notes, “These are often parts that nobody sees, like the mechanical, electrical, and plumbing.” Integrating modern systems into a historic structure is both delicate and imperative. “Upgrades are crucial not just for comfort and safety,” she adds, “but for the evolution of this space.”

A dialogue between old and new

Blending authentic features with modern elements calls for mindful consideration. In the Floreano Room, original leaf reliefs and glazing were left intact. Steinman explains, “When we dictated how they were going to repaint this room, we had them leave the original glazing because there was no way we could replicate that now.” Lighting, flooring, and other design choices were reinterpreted rather than copied, blending Art Deco inspired motifs with contemporary style.

Even elements once considered expendable were salvaged creatively. Original copper elevator doors with leaf detailing now flank the second-floor bar, while wood wainscoting in the Ethan Allen Lounge is being repurposed to enhance the bar area. On the second floor, century-old original flooring was uncovered. “We found this beautiful maple wood floor underneath the carpet,” Steinbacher recalls. “We incorporated it into our design plan, refinishing it, and returned it to its former glory.” 

Designed for the people who use it

Every decision in Project Restouration is guided by how the building is actually used—by performers, staff, and patrons alike. The team observed how cast members moved backstage and how those spaces functioned, identifying opportunities to make them more supportive and comfortable. “Watching how performers and crews navigated and utilized those areas really highlighted where we could expand wig rooms, laundry facilities, and costume storage so future shows can operate smoothly and efficiently,” Steinbacher says.

Public areas were shaped with similar care, keeping visitors’ experience and safety in mind. New stairs and a repositioned retaining wall were designed to prevent crowds from gathering right at the curb before performances. “The retaining wall will help manage large groups outside,” Steinbacher explains. “It keeps people safe and gives them room to comfortably wait before a show.”

Transparency and communication have been equally important. Laura Polisseni, communications coordinator for RBTL, says, “We aim to be as forth-coming as we can about the work being done around the building,” often sharing close-up photos and videos to show progress, especially when changes aren’t immediately obvious. Glosser adds, “Even with shifting entrances and parking, audiences have adapted remarkably well. Keeping people informed has been key to making that happen.”

The next act

With multiple phases still ahead, Project Restouration remains intentionally flexible. The Masonic side of the building, Polisseni notes, has six floors with “endless possibilities” for classes, event spaces, and creative programs.

Steinman shares her hopes for the space: “I’d love to see it become a hub for creatives. Where everyone that walks through the door can get their creative juices flowing.”

The vision extends beyond the building itself. Steinbacher notes that visitors can enjoy a full night out—attending a show, trying a new spot for dinner, and experiencing everything the Neighborhood of the Arts has to offer. “We hope the transformation will encourage more small businesses, restaurants, and cultural experiences to grow around the center,” she says, highlighting the potential ripple effect on Rochester’s arts community.

Project Restouration is more than a renovation—it’s the culmination of Steinbacher and Steinman’s deliberate vision, a space where audiences, performers, and the community can gather, connect, and be inspired for years to come.

This article originally appeared in the March/April 2026 issue of (585).