The Hots for Lone Starr: Wellsville to Alfred

^{[jump to itinerary]} Contrary to its name, the “Texas Hot” did not originate in the Lone Star State. Ask anyone in Dallas what a Texas Hot is, they’ll probably think you’re a Yankee who can’t handle the weather. Rather, hots is the Western New York term for a specific type of hot dog, and a Texas Hot adds three key ingredients to the bun: mustard, diced onions, and Texas Hot sauce. No, it’s not a chili dog. It’s a Texas Hot.

Rochester might have its white hots and garbage plates, but real OG’s know the best hots are found at the eponymous Texas Hot diner in Allegany County’s largest town of Wellsville, New York. Nestled in the early beginnings of the Genesee River Valley, Wellsville emerges like an oasis of civilization in the otherwise wild Allegany Mountains. You drive down on a gray but comfortable morning in November, dreaming of the savory treat you’ve heard so much about. Parking in front of Texas Hot is sparse– a good sign. The place is popular, and it takes a couple drives around the block before you parallel nicely in front of its glowing neon sign.

Take a step back in time to 1921 at Texas Hot in Wellsville, NY

Texas Hot is a diner straight out of Back to the Future: cash only, wooden booths, marquee menus, and photographs of celebrities who passed through eons ago. This joint is jumping, from the young guys settling up their tab and nabbing lollypops from the candy dispenser to the waitresses calling out hand-written orders to the cooks. You settle into a booth and immediately notice the personalized Rock-ola jukebox affixed to every table, with hits ranging from Elvis to Pat Boone to the Doobie Brothers. You had used your last quarter on the meter outside, so the music will have to wait for another day.

Despite being so busy, the waitress comes around quickly to check on your drink orders. You notice a cooler filled with colorful Stewart soda pops, Coca Cola glass bottles, and even bottles of beer. It’s a little early in the day, so you elect for a classic Coke. As you take in the scene, you become aware of someone staring at you. No, it’s not a patron or the staff. Up on the wall actor Bill Pullman gazes over you and your companion. You’ve discovered the Bill Pullman booth. It’s not every day you get to dine with the President of an entire generation. Today, you get to celebrate your Independence Day.

Nothing beats a classic American diner.

The waitress returns and you place the remainder of your order: the signature Texas Hot, a side of fries, and a slice of graham cracker cream pie. It doesn’t get any more American than this. The Texas Hot is swimming in Texas Hot sauce. You pause thoughtfully, contemplating the best plan of attack to eat this thing. Knife and a fork? You’ll be tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail. It’s going to be messy. You dive in, take it with both hands, and open wide. There is a soft sweetness of the bun and a satisfying crack of the dog, the warm cinnamon mouthful of sauce neutralizing the spice of the onions. It’s a dream in a bite and worth the drive. You gobble it down and ask for a second.

By now your neighbor booths have turned at least once over, so you ask for the check and pay up front in classic diner style. The staff are polite, pleasant, and friendly. There’s no sign of pretense here: just good old-fashioned American food served quickly and inexpensively. As you head back to your table to leave the tip, your eyes meet Bill Pullman’s once again. You salute the booth and whisper, “Thank you, Mr. President.”

The Bill Pullman booth at Texas Hot

Outside, a stroll through Wellsville reveals a quaint American Main Street that may have seen better days but continues to press on boldly and bravely into the new century. Anchored by an impressive large library in the center of North and South Main Streets, downtown Wellsville stretches for a little more than a mile and features a vacant theater, department stores, a brewery, pubs, and an interactive greenspace equipped with music-making chimes.

You relent the empty store fronts, especially the theater. In a past life you basically lived in a theater. You lived and breathed the stage, the seats, the smells of the concession stand and the sounds of the crowd. Film and performing arts alike, you believe every town needs an independent theater. If you had a billion dollars, you would fix up every single one and start programming again. Here in Wellsville, the theater may be shut down, but– as theater is by definition a function of time and space– the library appears to be putting on the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Thankfully there are still spaces for community to gather and to enjoy art in each other’s presence.

Scenes from downtown Wellsville, New York

On your way out of Wellsville, you pay a visit to one more landmark that’s “as seen on Instagram,” apparently. The Pink House of Wellsville is exactly what you expect it to be– a Victorian home that’s emblazoned in pink paint and white trim, standing proudly on a large lot across the Genesee River from downtown Wellsville. The property lives on the corner lot of a prim and proper middle-class neighborhood, and it appears to be occupied (though quiet that day). You park easily across the street and grab a photo-op. You’re contractually obligated to include their hashtag in your post.

Wes Anderson, eat your heart out.

Twenty minutes through woods and valleys, you arrive in Alfred, New York. You’d hardly tell when you’ve approached it from the south, as the village limits lie along a narrow road surrounded on both sides by steep hills and thickets. The downtown business district along Main Street is bustling with students, many of whom are swarming a large coffee shop. You pass the entrance to Alfred University on the right, stroll past a few restaurants, banks, convenience stores, and even a fraternity house before you land at a tiny terra cotta house. Across this Ceramic Corridor, a colorful mascot stands guard at the sign for Alfred State.

Scenes from the Village of Alfred, New York

You head back to the car to shake off the crisp, chill air. You notice a roadblock to your next destination, the Ceramic Art Museum, so you might as well take the long way through Alfred University’s campus. The grounds of Alfred slope steeply but are staged with an army of redbrick buildings organized neatly on the side of the mountain. In the center there is a large greenspace, and as you turn a curve up the hill, Alumni Hall proudly displays purple and gold banners for Admissions and Financial Aid. When you finally clear the summit, you can see across the valley of Alfred over both campuses and to the Allegany Mountains beyond. From below, you hear a crowd cheering for a Saxons football game at Yunevich Stadium. You creep down the hill and park easily at the museum.

The museum is tranquil and absolutely silent today, so you feel a little awkward walking the long hallway up to the front desk. You and your companion might not be their typical clientele on a Saturday afternoon, but the docents are happy to check you in. There are no other patrons, so you each split up and start on opposite sides of the gallery hall. The current exhibit features ceramic pieces by Ashley Lyon as well as the late Reuben Nakian, a Queens native whose body of work placed him in the ranks of “one of the most distinguished American sculptors of the 20th century,” per the New York Times. The sculptures tend to depict human forms, from busts to legs and even a hand propping up a birthday cake (with a real lit candle on top). The pieces are beautiful, and you’re reminded of how much you missed going to museums. Memories of MoMA, the Air and Space Museum, and the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame come flooding back from your personal ancient history. A different kind of space for community to gather and to enjoy art in each other’s presence.

Scenes from the Ceramic Art Museum at Alfred University

Daylight Savings Time ends tomorrow, so these are your final late-afternoon hours for the season. You climb back into the car and work your way up the mountain, back around the bend, and out onto Alfred’s Main Street once again. Along Route 21, you duck over to nearby Hornell before the road north. It’s only appropriate to pay homage to the birthplace of the Texas Hot guardian, Bill Pullman. So you land at another establishment straight out of a bygone era: Hush Cocktail Lounge, a 1920s-era speakeasy not unlike the one you encountered in Ellicottville this past winter. You settle into a sofa lounge tucked away in the back and order an Old Fashioned. Tin Pan Alley music croons over the radio while dapper patrons exchange laughs at the bar. The place feels like any moment a guy with a straw hat and cane is going to pop out and sing, “Hello! Ma Baby.” What would Bill Pullman do?

“Check please!”

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