Sausage Kolaches

On crisp fall and winter mornings, when Papaw and Uncle Bill were loading up the truck for their deer hunting trip to the Hill Country, the whole house seemed to shift. It wasn’t just quieter—it was charged with anticipation, the low murmur of their preparations mixing with the steady clatter of gear being stowed away.

And before the first flicker of daylight, Grandma was already in the kitchen, moving with a rhythm so familiar it felt like part of the house itself. The scent of yeast and butter hung thick in the air as she rolled out dough, shaping a fresh batch of deer sausage kolaches to send the men off well-fed.

But Grandma never just packed a meal—she packed enough to feed an army. Tins that once held Christmas cookies or old coffee grounds, now repurposed for hunting trips, were stacked high on the counter, each one brimming with hand-held comforts. Sausage kolaches, fruit-filled fried pies, her traditional Czech kolaches with fruit and poppy seed fillings, homemade fried chicken, thick-cut sandwiches, and a few bags of chips for good measure—anything that could be eaten on the go found its way into those tins. The glass-lined thermoses were filled to the brim with hot coffee, their lids twisting shut with a soft metallic clink, ready to be passed around the truck.

I’d linger in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, wishing more than anything that I could go along. But hunting was their tradition, their rite of passage, and I was still too young to be part of it.

All us “women-folk” waited anxiously for their return—not just for the deer, but for the stories. The ones of near misses and impossible shots, of the one that got away and the one that didn’t. They’d come home tired, smelling like campfire smoke and crisp winter air, but the stories, those would last long after the venison was packed away in the freezer.

Fishing trips, though—those were different. I was allowed to go on those, and I loved every minute of it. Grandma sent us off with just as much food, while Papaw loaded the truck bed with fishing poles, tackle boxes, and minnow buckets sloshing with fresh bait.

But unlike most folks, Papaw didn’t buy minnows—he raised them. My grandparents grew up during the Great Depression, and if they could grow it, build it, or make it themselves, they did. Behind his garage and shed, tucked away from view, Papaw had a row of old cast-iron bathtubs he’d salvaged from job sites. After his time in the Navy, after WWII ended, he became a full-time tile setter, and he had a habit of bringing home anything being tossed out that he thought might be useful one day. Those tubs, lined up neatly and fitted with bubbling aerators, became his personal minnow farm. Whenever we were ready to fish, he’d scoop up a fresh bucket of minnows, just as easy as grabbing a handful of nails from a coffee can in his workshop.

And it wasn’t just minnows—Papaw had his own system for nightcrawlers, too. Out past the bathtubs was his compost pile, a towering heap of kitchen scraps, fallen leaves, and grass clippings from mowing the yard. Before we hit the road, we’d grab pitchforks and turn the compost over, digging deep to the bottom where the biggest, fattest red earthworms hid. We’d fill a tin or two with them, slap the lids on tight, and throw them in the truck before heading out in search of perch, catfish, and bass.

Once we got to the water, Papaw would back the truck up to the edge, and we’d haul our gear into the Jon boat, its aluminum sides cool under our hands in the morning air. We’d push off from the bank, the boat rocking gently as we rowed out to the middle of the tank, where the water was still and deep. There was nothing quite like that moment—casting a line, watching the ripples stretch out across the surface, feeling that first tug, and knowing we were in for a good day.

Even now, the smell of fresh sausage kolaches takes me right back to those mornings—the warmth of Grandma’s kitchen, the quiet hum of her hands working the dough, and the soft, unspoken anticipation that settled over everything just before the truck doors slammed shut and the road carried us away.

Why You’ll Love This Recipe

• Authentic Texas Flavor: Soft, pillowy dough wrapped around smoky sausage—just like you’d find at your favorite Texas bakery.
• Easy to Customize: Go classic with plain sausage, or add cheese and jalapeños for extra kick.
• Perfect for Any Occasion: A grab-and-go breakfast, a tailgate snack, or a comforting homemade treat that brings a taste of Texas straight to your kitchen.
• Made from Scratch: While shortcut versions exist, nothing beats the real deal—a slightly sweet, yeast-risen dough with the perfect balance of softness and chew.

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The Story & Culture Behind the Dish

The story of kolaches and klobasneks in Texas starts long before they became a staple in donut shops and roadside bakeries. In the 1800s, Czech immigrants arrived in Texas, settling in communities like West, Fayetteville, and Zabcikville. 

They brought with them not just their language and traditions, but their recipes—flour-dusted pages filled with time-honored techniques for making the soft, yeasty pastries we now call kolaches. Traditionally, kolaches were sweet, filled with homemade apricot preserves, rich poppy seed filling, or sweetened farmer’s cheese, baked for celebrations, church gatherings, and Sunday breakfasts.

And then, somewhere along the way, Texans did what Texans do best—we put our own spin on things. Enter the klobasnek (yes, that’s the proper Czech name, though most folks around here just call them sausage kolaches). It’s said that the idea came from repurposing leftover smoked sausage, tucking it into that same pillowy dough instead of fruit. Before long, these savory pastries became a Lone Star staple, showing up in every mom-and-pop bakery, gas station, and grocery store with a fresh donut case. Today, you can find them just about anywhere, from small-town bakeries to Buc-ee’s, where weary travelers grab them by the dozen.

Of course, not all klobasneks are created equal. If you grew up in a Czech-Texan family, chances are you have a strong opinion about what makes a proper sausage kolache—and I’m no different. Around here, we don’t just grab any old sausage; we go straight to Green’s Sausage House in Zabcikville, Texas (though if you trust Google, they’ll tell you it’s in Temple). 

Green’s isn’t just a place to pick up meat—it’s an institution. A small, family-run Czech meat market and restaurant, it’s been churning out some of the best smoked sausage in Texas since 1946. Walk through the doors and you’ll be met with the scent of slow-smoked beef and pork links, as well as their homemade kolaches. 

Their Smoked Beef and Pork Picnic Links are my go-to for homemade klobasneks, with just the right balance of smoky depth, snap, and spice to complement that buttery dough.

If you’ve never been to Green’s, it’s worth the trip. Tucked along FM 485, it’s one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kinds of places, but inside, it’s pure Texas-Czech heaven. You’ll find cases packed with smoked sausages, house-made jerky, slabs of bacon, and kolaches that could make a grown man weep. People drive from miles around just to pick up their sausage, and for good reason—this is the kind of old-school craftsmanship that’s been passed down through generations.

So if you’re making klobasneks at home and can get your hands on Green’s Smoked Beef and Pork Picnic Links, do it. If not, find the highest-quality smoked sausage you can—it makes all the difference. Because whether you're sitting at a country kitchen table or grabbing one on the go, a true Texas sausage kolache should always taste like a little bite of home.

Equipment You’ll Need

• Stand Mixer with Dough Hook: Makes kneading easier, but you can do it by hand.
• Rolling Pin: Helps roll the dough to the right thickness.
• Parchment Paper: Prevents sticking and makes for easy cleanup.
• Baking Sheets: Essential for baking multiple kolaches at once.
• Small Bowl: For activating the yeast.
• Pastry Brush: For brushing melted butter on the finished kolaches.

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Ingredients You’ll Need

For the Dough:

• Active dry yeast
• Whole milk & evaporated milk
• Butter
• King Arthur Bread Flour
• Granulated sugar
• Kosher salt
• Eggs & egg yolk

For the Filling:

• Smoked sausage (picnic links work great)
• American or cheddar cheese (optional)
• Pickled jalapeños (optional)

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Step-by-Step Instructions

1. Activate the Yeast

Dissolve the yeast in warm water and let it bloom until foamy.

2. Make the Dough

Melt the butter and mix it with the warm milk. In a stand mixer, combine the yeast mixture with flour, sugar, salt, eggs, and evaporated milk. Mix until smooth.

3. First and Second Rise

Place the dough in a greased bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let it rise in a warm place for about an hour. Punch it down, let it rise again for another 30 minutes.

4. Shape the Dough

Roll the dough out to about 1 inch thick and cut into rounds using a biscuit cutter. Let them rise again until puffy.

5. Fill & Assemble

Flatten each round slightly, place a sausage in the center, and wrap the dough around it, pinching to seal.

6. Bake

Preheat oven to 350°F and bake for 20-25 minutes until golden brown. Brush with melted butter.

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Chef Secrets & Tips

Choosing the Best Sausage

Look for high-quality smoked sausages with a good snap. Picnic links or Czech-style klobása are ideal. We love we love Green’s Sausage House in Zabcikville, Texas for the best smoked sausage around!

Dough Perfection

• Use bread flour for a softer, more elastic dough.
• Let the dough rise fully to develop its light texture.
• Always brush with melted butter for extra flavor and a soft crust.

Adding a Texas Twist

Want to turn up the heat? Add diced jalapeños to the dough or wrapped up with the sausage for an extra kick!

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Serving Suggestions

Pair these Texas sausage kolaches with a hot cup of coffee or serve them alongside scrambled eggs and hash browns for a full breakfast spread.

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Commonly Asked Questions

Q: Can I use store-bought dough?

A: You can, but homemade dough makes all the difference in flavor and texture.

Q: How do I keep kolaches from getting soggy?

A: Let them cool slightly before storing and avoid overfilling with cheese.

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Storage & Reheating Tips

• Room Temperature: Store in an airtight container for up to 2 days.
• Refrigerate: Keep in the fridge for up to 5 days.
• Freeze: Wrap individually and freeze for up to 3 months.
• Reheat: Warm in the oven at 300°F with a pat of butter for 5–10 minutes. Alternatively, you can warm them in the microwave for 30 seconds, or until warmed through.

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Kolaches are more than just something to eat—they’re a slice of Texas heritage, a warm embrace from the past, and a tradition that brings folks together. Every bite carries the memory of flour-dusted hands shaping dough at the crack of dawn, the scent of butter rising with the dough, and the joy of pulling a golden tray fresh from the oven.

Whether you call them sausage kolaches or klobasneks, one thing’s certain: they’re at their best when they’re warm, buttery, and shared with good company.

Now, go on and make a batch—you won’t regret it. And if you hear an old Czech grandma’s voice in your head reminding you that kolaches are sweet and klobasneks are savory, just smile and take another bite.

Happy baking!

More Breakfast Recipes

If you love starting your morning with something warm, buttery, and straight from the oven, there are plenty of other homemade breakfast treats worth trying.