Gillibrand is good at having it both ways, and not just when she's splitting the difference between looking healthy and authentic at Beef Day. This upstate native who once bragged about keeping shotguns under her bed also raises more money from the financial sector than any of her Senate colleagues (her haul included $89,700 from Goldman Sachs last cycle, the most among current members of Congress). Self-adorned with the humble goal of giving a "voice to the voiceless," she spent 15 years representing, among other clients, Philip Morris. Once the proud owner of an A rating from the National Rifle Association, Gillibrand watched her grade plummet to an F after she was appointed to the Senate and began supporting bills to curb gun trafficking. She has shifted her stance, too, on immigration, moving away from the hard-line positions she adopted as a member of the House of the Representatives.

In short, she is now much more like Sen. Schumer than attendees at the fair might suspect. "She is an extraordinarily bright politician," says Rep. Steny Hoyer of Maryland, the No. 2 Democrat in the House. "And I use 'politician' in a good way."

A lesser talent might be torn between her two selves: the rural centrist from the closest thing that New York has to "real America"; and the Wall Street-financed, corporate lawyer who's appeared in fashion shoots for Vogue magazine. But after a rocky start in a political career that has lasted less than a decade, she has a found a way to turn the dichotomies to her advantage. Kirsten Gillibrand is determined to have it all—and, along the way, perhaps give Democrats their next bright, young national star.

"My own view is that I think Gillibrand is one of the people in the United States of America that I think can be president of the United States," Hoyer says.

It's a stretch to imagine Gillibrand running for president any time soon: There's a Hillary-sized shadow hanging over 2016, and Governor Andrew Cuomo also appears above her on the New York depth chart. But this is a Democratic Party desperate for new blood and new talent. At 46, Gillibrand fits the bill perhaps better than anyone—and she has begun to build a national persona that can match her ambitions. Her battle against the Pentagon over sexual assaults in the military has won her headlines and praise. At the same time, she's a stunningly adept fundraiser who earns loyalty from her colleagues the old-fashioned way—by doling out money. It's telling that when potential women presidents are mentioned, the list tends to begin and end at Clinton. There is opportunity there.

But to reach that place in the firmament, Gillibrand will have to pull off what many politicians before her have had to do: reconcile her past political identities with her present ones. Gillibrand isn't the first Democrat from a rural, centrist background to try to build a bridge to the progressive wing of the party. (See: the other Clinton, Bill.) And often, it can be easier to accomplish than those liberals trying to convince rank-and-file voters that they are one of them, as both Barack Obama and John Kerry before him struggled to do. But that doesn't mean she won't have some explaining to do on what can be politely termed her evolution.