#sausage kolache

[wyndolls]

Texas Sausage Kolaches Klobasneks Recipe In Central Texas, sausage kolaches also called klobasneks are plentiful and sold in every bakery. If you're craving the real thing, try this recipe!

[morethansalad]

Vegan Texas-Style Kolaches (Klobasnek)

[mxalexwhat]

Me: (eats so many cheese)

Also me: why can't I poop?

[selfchiller]

Ok I'm done with kolaches for a while

[spookyfoxdreamer]

[hiddenvalleyacres]

One of my goals recently is to start baking more. Today I decided to try and make, Klobasnek aka Texas Sausage Kolache.

I forgot to take pictures of the beginning process, but here is my risen dough!

Then I shaped into a sheet and cut to the size of my sausages. Mine are bigger than the recipe called for (it called for breakfast sausage/hotdogs), so I tried to keep it proportional.

*side note* I almost never follow recipes exactly as written. Most of the time it works out, sometimes it doesn’t. But that’s just who I am. 😅

We bought fresh made cheddar jalapeño sausage from a local butcher, so I started by baking the sausage until done, then putting in the refrigerator until I was ready with the dough. Now I get to lay them out on the dough and pinch it around them.

Rest and then butter

Bake and eat! They turned out quite tasty! Would definitely try again!

Recipe Credit: https://mytxkitchen.com/klobasnek-texas-sausage-kolache/

[crystalmariereeddaily]

Breakfast Kolaches Little dough balls, conveniently prepared with the help of the bread machine are stuffed with sausage, cheese, and potatoes in these breakfast kolaches.

[heart-bones]

one thing Absolutely no one warns you about growing up is that sometimes, as an adult, you can have heartburn from something that's never given you heartburn before, and it can be so bad you feel like you're dying

[petermorwood]

@dduane bought these the other day, from one of the local supermarkets which stock Central / Eastern European things. Their label indicated their origin as Lithuania, but was entirely in English and described them, rather unhelpfully, as "mini meat pies".

They were more or less ready to eat, since "cooking" instructions called for no more than about 3-4 minutes in a hot oven, and very good they were, definitely finger-food to be consumed in about two bites.

They had a smoked meat filling, sufficiently unusual for "meat pies" that it started DD trying to find out what they REALLY were. Various helpful folk on Bluesky suggested various things (links are to recipe pages):

"kibinai", which are more similar in appearance to Cornish pasties than to these shiny little nibbles, and made with (unsmoked) mutton and onion.

"speķa pīrādziņi" or "speķrauši", smoked bacon dumplings from Latvia, so there's the flavour profile, but yet again a slightly different appearance.

"kolach" or "koláč" - I've given no recipe link because these are either sweet in their original version, or similar to a sausage roll in their American version, and in any case are Czech which takes them a lot further from Lithuania than Latvia is.

We've concluded that the ones we bought and devoured were probably lašinėčiai / ausytes or "bacon buns" - the taste would be right, the visual similarity is there, and in this photo needs only an egg wash to get shiny.

Why such determination to find out what they were?

(1) Curiosity.

(2) Intention to make them at home.

(2a) Intention to include a LOT more filling than the commercial ones, which were very good but gone too soon...

:->

[jungle-angel]

The Simple Things In Life (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: A small act of kindness on your family's part can make a huge difference for someone else

Tagging: @floydsmuse

Christmas, though one of yours and Rhett's favorite holidays, was sometimes a tough one seeing as the big warehouse behind the church had become a shelter for the homeless. You and Rhett had several friends currently living there and Pastor Jim had been having trouble getting volunteers to come and help with day-to-day activities, but it surprised you how close the community actually was and how devoted many of the farmers and ranchers were to helping out.

"Alright Doodlebug, c'mon over and help," Rhett said as he unbuckled Amy from her carseat and let her out of the truck.

He gave Amy the lightest grocery bag and into the building the three of you went. Getting out of the farm store across the street from her school, had been hell enough with last minute grocery shoppers, but thank God you had some of the leftovers from the stock at Royal and Cecelia's own farm store to bring down with you.

You and Rhett were surprised to see how festive and cheerful the place had become overnight with a tall Christmas tree in one corner of the huge room and the rows and rows of cafeteria tables each decorated with a little centerpiece or miniature tree.

You and Rhett went up to the second floor which had been converted into dormitory rooms for the residents until you reached Room 222, belonging to a friend of the Abbotts.

"Go ahead and knock sweetie pie," you told her.

Amy knocked three times on the door until it was answered by a familiar face, a heavy set man with a pleasantly round face, short curling grey hair and a laughing look in his eyes.

"Hey! There's my favorite kiddo!" he greeted happily.

"Hi Mister Herbie!!!" Amy chirped as she ran up and hugged him.

Herbie Dickenson laughed as he returned the hug and took the grocery bag from her. "The hell are you doin here Rhett?" he laughed.

"Wise men come bearing Christmas gifts, Herbie," Rhett chuckled.

"C'mon get in here," Herbie told you. "The hallways are always a shitshow this time of year."

You, Amy and Rhett entered the bare looking room and set the groceries down in one corner of the room. "You doin ok Herbie?" Rhett asked him.

"Aw much better than the other day," Herbie told him, sitting on the worn out ottoman he used frequently for a chair. "Gettin around's alot easier but the asthma's a different story. How 'bout you? How's the farm?"

"I'd say everything's good," Rhett told him. "Is uh.....are the Pavlachenkos still your roommates?"

"Still roomin," Herbie said with a nod. "Tania says they still haven't found her brother though. Ya know, I keep hopin they do but....I dunno."

Rhett felt a deep, burn beginning to well in his chest and springing into his eyes but it never came forth. "If you see Tania and her family," you said. "We made some kolach at the store. We thought she might want some."

"Aw honey, you guys are too good to us," Herbie told you. "We don't deserve ya."

"Herbie, ya'll have been through enough," Rhett told him. "We've got some canned goods and some other stuff in there from the farm store. It ain't much but, (y/n) and I hope you and the missus will appreciate it."

Herbie dug into his bag, laughing a little as he found jars of huckleberry and apricot preserves, a few wedges of cheese, a loaf or two of bread, smoked sausages, fresh cans of soup and bundles of vegetables, all of which had been surplus from the Abbott's own farm store.

"You're too good to us ya know that?" Herbie said, sniffing back the tears of gratitude as he hugged you, Rhett and Amy.

"It's the least we can do Herbie," you told him.

"Mister Herbie, can you open mine next?" Amy chirped again.

"Of course honey, c'mere, come and sit," Herbie told her.

Amy sat on the ottoman beside him and eagerly watched as Herbie opened the gift that all of you had helped her make. There were hats, mittens, scarves, wool socks and even a pair of knitted Christmas stockings that had the names of Herbie and his wife on them.

"Aw Nancy's gonna love these," he said giving Amy the biggest hug he could give.

You spent most of the evening with Herbie and visiting with some of the other residents, exchanging a few gifts here and there. You went to Mrs. Brodsky's room where Amy gave her a rather belated Hannukah gift, a little knitted square with a blue, white and gold menorah on it along with something Elie and Sarah had meant to send the week before. Even still, the elderly Ukrainian woman was more than happy to see all of you most of all.

Brian O'Dowd, who lived down the hall from Mrs. Brodsky, couldn't thank you enough for the maple syrup Royal had bottled for him. Being fresh out of prison had been tough on him, having done a three year stint for assisting in a car burglary, yet where others hadn't given him a chance, your family would and it was Rhett who had delivered the good news to Brian that Royal had agreed to take him on as a ranch hand so long as he stayed out of trouble.

Fanny King, the lead singer in the church choir, was surprised beyond all reasoning when she had received a new pair of boots from the both of you and a new coat for her husband. You and Rhett had always felt bad for Fanny and her family, her husband having been a Wabang police officer for years but his pension never having been enough to pay the nasty landlord that had run their old place. Despite the hardships they had faced, you and Rhett had stayed close with Fanny and Teddy, helping where you could and Rhett helping Teddy scout out a location to try and start his own barbershop.

You and Rhett were happier than a pair of clams in the sea, knowing that even if it was just a small little bit you could bring to your friends, it would make all the difference. You shared a quick meal with them in the cafeteria before heading home and hoped that their holidays were made just a little bit brighter.

[slowlyfadingdown]

Food log 7/11/24

I lowkey went wayyy over my calorie intake on Wednesday so I did a lot better today.

Breakfast

Skipped- 0 cal

Lunch

Sausage and cheese kolache- 326 cal

Bavarian filled doughnut- 220 cal

Dinner

Skipped- 0 cals

Total- 546 cal

Burned- 151 cal

Net- 395

Now I’m currently trying to complete a 24 hour fast so wish me luck!!

[beth-purcell]

alrigthy! i have af ew cause you have so many babies I love! 🍝 for Dorothy 💯 for Alexandre 🎶 For Tip

Hehehe Thank you Noova~!

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

Dorothy's favorite food is a Klobasneks, a pastry similar to Kolaches, except instead of fruit and being a desert, it's filled with sausage/savory. Aunt Em makes them the best in her humble opinion.

💯 HUNDRED POINTS SYMBOL — share three random facts about your oc that others may not know.

Oooo, this one is fun, especially for Alexandre!

First off, he's the son of The Madame, and as such he is able to control shadows and thorny vines. He's incredibly embarrassed by the powers and tries to downplay or pretend he doesn't have any magic, but it is reflective of his emotional state, so it's pretty easy to read him. Second, he's got the fear of birds, and in particular, he's terrified of swans.

And finally third, he's never worn boots before in his life, and never shaved before.

🎶 MUSICAL NOTES — what type of music does your oc like? do they listen to music very often?

So Tip doesn't really have exposure to a wide variety of music, but he does like the folk songs that he overhears from travelers that pass by. He also makes up tunes when he's out working, and he's been trying to teach himself how to play the violin with varying levels of success (the woodland critters haven't complained too bad about it)

OC Detail Ask -> HERE

[bambi-kinos]

I just ate a huge sausage kolache and now I'm stuffed

[ladyhoneydee]

Of Anguish and Apple Fritters

zelink | Modern AU | <1k

It’s 4:53 in the morning. The corner donut store won’t even be open for another hour. But he keeps the door unlocked for her.

On bad brain nights, Zelda finds refuge in the quiet comfort and warmth of her local donut shop, and its owner, Link.

This one goes out to all my homies whose brains hate them anytime past 11pm lol. It's the polished version of a previous post, if it seems familiar to you!

Read it on AO3, FFN, or under the cut!

The bell jangles hollowly above her head as Zelda yanks the door open. One bare, quivering hand on the metal handle, the other braced against the doorframe to counter the late-winter wind. A bone-chilling gust, speckled with snow and dashed with the urban bouquet of cigarette smoke and exhaust, joins the squeaks of her damp sneakers against the vinyl tile floor and drowns her in a sensory cacophony of overstimulation as she pushes the door closed behind her with a heavy exhale.

It’s 4:53 in the morning. The corner donut shop won’t even be open for another hour. But he keeps the door unlocked for her. 

The desperate knot of loneliness and fear winding through her chest and threading her organs loosens when she leans back against the door and takes a deep breath through her nose. The fragrance of warm dough; the must of yeast. Chocolate, sugar, cinnamon. At least five different fruits boiling down into thick jam fillings. The scent would be delectable and heavenly on its own for any customer, but for her, it carries a different, deeper comfort. Classical conditioning.

Link pokes his head out of the doorway to the kitchen. He clutches a stainless steel baking sheet clamoring with eclairs in his oven-mitt-clad hands. “I heard the bell,” he says. It’s unnecessary; they both know he did. But she appreciates it regardless, because what he really means, she knows, is I hear you. “Take a seat, Zel, I’ll be out once I’ve set these on the rack.”

In addition to a handful of small tables, Link’s little donut shop has a bar: five stools lined up along a laminate counter. It joins up to the left side of the massive display case, which glimmers half-full with maple twists, glazed donuts, a small mountain of cinnamon-sugar donut holes, and a dozen other varieties of the best way to eat fried dough. The bar thing certainly isn’t common for a donut shop, but Link makes it work. Sometimes she imagines that he used to be a bartender before he opened this place, and missed the longer talks with customers so much that he added in a place where they could linger.

She plops herself down on the rightmost stool, the one closest to the kitchen door. Her snow-damp hoodie nearly strangles her upon its strained removal, but she breathes a little easier with the fabric covering the seat beside her, rather than her own clammy skin.

It takes five minutes, but Link eventually pops out of the kitchen as promised. This time, the wooden tray he holds is populated by sausage kolaches. He uses a flour-dusted hip to push the sliding glass out of the way, and slots in the tray next to the fruit-filled kolache variants. 

“It’s good to see you, Zel.” He throws her a smile through the display pane as he kneels down to rearrange some chocolate cake donuts that have fallen just slightly out of alignment. 

Seven visits ago, he would have led with a sympathetic Rough night?, to which she would glumly nod. Twelve visits ago, it was a Hey, sorry, we’re not open ye—oh, honey, take a seat at the counter. No, go ahead, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m just getting set up. I’ll be right back out. Stay as long as you want. Now, he just knows: the night is rough, and she is here, and in half an hour or so, she’ll be okay. 

His hands are never empty, and he hardly steps out of the kitchen for longer than two minutes at a time. Their conversation comes in stops and starts and stutters. But every time he’s behind the counter, they talk. 

He follows up on how her grad school applications are coming (poorly, given the gaps in her resume from four years of unrelated experience). She asks him what seasonal flavors he’s planning for when spring finally comes (kiwi, with peach coming later in the season). She learns that he has indeed bartended, but left the field for “sweeter digs—get it? Sweeter?” when he decided to go sober.

On his fifth pass, he hands her an unglazed apple fritter, still piping hot from the oven: her favorite. They both laugh as she juggles it between her fingertips and litters the bar with crumbs despite her best efforts. 

By 5:47am, the only thing still weighing her down is the increasing heaviness of her eyelids. Her traitorous, poison-spewing brain has moved on to happier pursuits. The deep-seated fear that she will live a very long life and she will spend it alone and unloved, and that the few people that have ever cared for her will forget her and find better relationships than she could ever offer them, has settled. She knows it will return; knows that by now, the existential dread is a part of her. Still, as long as she can find refuge and give herself grace, she thinks she’ll be okay. 

As Zelda pulls her hoodie back on, Link tells her to take care and that he looks forward to seeing her next time, and she knows from the look in his eyes—warmer than his ovens and deep-fryers combined—that he truly means it.

She exits the shop at 6 on the dot as the first impatient customer of the day enters, and the bell chimes her a hopeful goodbye. 

---

Author’s Note

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. 

This fic was borne from a Twitter thread, originally posted by the user @pochaccobebi, which said "weird but long time ago when i felt scared alone during 2-4 am i always think about bakers in their bakery who are already up during that time doing their thing", with a reply from a former bakery employee confirming that "if you are sad or scared at 3am just remember that we're up preparing donuts, and the donuts are warm for you". I found this to be such a compelling idea--the donut shop as a place of personal comfort–I I turned it into an entire oneshot. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. 

Much thanks to my beta readers, Ace and pastels-and-pining! They are lovely friends and wonderful creators, and I recommend checking out their own LoZ fanfic and fanart!

[leclerced]

Omg breakfast? Lemme tell you all about it

I know you want more savoury so imma just run through the sweet ones if u one day want one haha

Porridge but the fancy version. I do it on oat milk with cacao and bananas and sometimes yogurt as topping. Even better is Greek yogurt with apples fried in butter with cinnamon and a little bit of honey (like not a lot of butter just so there is something on the pan).

I love bruschetta with tomatoes. I can eat it every day really. Shakshouka, it takes a lil bit more time but it’s delicious. Basic avocado toast? With fried eggs? Also love it. Scrambled eggs on toast too. But I recommend doing the creamy ones. Idk I just discovered I’m pretty basic when it comes to breakfast.

Also in Poland idk if everywhere but in my region people eat lots of milk things for breakfast. So porridge, semolina pudding, even milk soups. Milk and poured noodles („kluski lane” in polish cause idk if the translation is the thing I think of), milk and pasta even!

i am a Picky Eater and ur ab to hear ab all my weird food things. im so sorry. im gna give my opinions on ur breakfast then tell u ab minee. read more bc this is long

i have never had porridge but i don't like that name. i occasionally like oatmeal which is a kind of porridge, made with rolled oats, but it also makes me vomit sometimes. so i would not eat porridge generally speaking.

i might try bruschetta. isn't that just like basically garlic bread ?? but cut the tomatoes. i only like cooked tomatoes in a sauce. not a fan of the chunks. bad mouth feel.

avocado toast >>> god tier breakfast tbh. would not eat w fried eggs on it tho bc i only like scrambled eggs. would not put scrambled eggs on my avocado toast.

scrambled eggs on toast minus avocado is good tho!! one of the best breakfast sandwiches ive ever had was bacon n scrambled eggs on rye bread from this cafe in kansas city. i genuinely have been planning to go back there just to get another sandwich.

shakshouka looks good tbh. ive watched sm cooking videos of ppl making it but i would not eat it bc.. eggs and tomatoes sound gross together. and i don't like poached eggs.

had to look up kluski lane, and i dont like egg drop noodles. bad texture. also not a soup fan generally speaking, potato soup and chicken and dumplings are the exception and only because i know how to cook them really well. im not a fan of my food being wet.

i have a lot to say about milk soup and milk and pasta and it is not nice. i just. hate the idea.

i love cooking. i love breakfast food. i will eat it for breakfast lunch and dinner numerous days in a row. bacon, eggs, sausage, potatoes. you can make the potatoes so many different ways for variety first of all, but then you can a scramble, a taco, a sandwich. whatever u want. love a breakfast taco and i know i said i hate tomatoes unless they're cooked but the exception is pico de gallo because i put that in my breakfast tacos sometimes.

love love love making a bagel sandwich, i don't like fried eggs so i make a lil omelet and fold it to fit my bagel, and put bacon, cheese, cream cheese, and avocado on them.

i also like muffins a lot, blueberry, banana nut, wildberry. i'll eat them every day for breakfast until im sick of them and then can't look at them for a year. currently have not had a muffin in months.

i also really love doing pigs n a blanket/sausage rolls. whatever u wanna call them. love donuts and some kolaches, but it rly depends on where u get them and i grew up in/near a czech town so i am very judgemental ab kolaches

[lurkerviolin]

Apparently writing 911 fics makes me want to try my hand at making covers.

Basically, I read a fic that was tagged “Ana Bashing” and I’ve decided I disagree, so we’re sending them on a good time.

🌅

Ana Flores/Taylor Kelly / Rated: T / 15k

🌅

The house has been cleaned thoroughly enough to damn near eat off the floor twice in the past week.

The first time was because Ana didn’t know what else to do with herself being home for good this time and her hands were itching for something to do, to fix. The second time was because her friends showed up to get her drunk and she wound up knocking a wine glass off the counter gesturing a little too intensely.

It’d been enough to send her into a crying fit, but the good thing about her friends is they are all generally more prone to emotional displays than she is and always immediately leap to support her in her rare breakdowns. They quickly bustled her away to the bathroom to clean up and by the time she woke up this morning, the house was spotless again. Dejah never leaves anyone’s house a mess after a party—even a pity party—if she can help it and Chichi is a professional partier, so she makes sure Ana wakes up to aspirin and water within arm’s reach of her bed.

Ana doesn’t want to deal with getting up today, doesn’t technically have to, but laying here isn’t going to make anything hurt any less. It takes some convincing to get her body on board with that information, but eventually she decides to see what today has for her. Frankly, all she wants is to sit on the couch watching daytime TV.

She’s just made it to the stage of her plan that involves sitting at her kitchen table eating buttered tortillas between sips of Pedialyte when she hears a knock on the door.

Glancing at the clock, Ana figures ten is late enough in the morning for Chichi to be awake and deciding Ana needs kolaches and a little hair of the dog. The thought of having any more to drink at this point makes her stomach roil, but also Chichi is the sort of person that takes up enough space that no room or heart ever feels empty when she’s around. Greasy sausages or no, Ana could use that.

The doorbell rings a second later and Ana gets to her feet. “Ya me voy, Chichi, hold on!” she calls as she gets up. She’s talking before she gets the door all the way open, “If you were going to show up this early, you could’ve just stayed—” She cuts off.

Taylor Kelly is standing on her front porch.

For a moment, Ana’s brain stalls out and she’s waiting to have a microphone shoved in her face and be accused of something, or be demanded to explain how you could let this happen, Vice Principal Flores, but eventually her thoughts catch up with her brain. This isn’t reporter Taylor Kelly with Skywitness News Eight. There’s no camera crew, no microphone or recorder, just two Starbucks cups in a holder, one frappe already half-empty.

This morning, Ana isn’t seeing a woman in a crisp suit with a knowing glint in her eyes. Taylor’s got on jeans and a plaid button down. Her hair is pulled back into a messy tail and her sunshades are big enough to nearly cover the entire upper half of her face. Even with the shield of expensive plastic frames, Ana can tell she’s not wearing the full face of makeup she’s had on every time she’s seen her before now.

Still, in sweats and a droopy old yoga shirt, Ana feels distinctly exposed and underdressed. She doesn’t even have on a bra. “Taylor?”

“The one and only,” Taylor says, before taking her sunshades off to reveal eyes that are tender and pink like she’s been crying. Ana feels a twinge of concern for her, at least until Taylor rather blatantly eyes her up and says, “So, you got dumped, too, huh?”

Ana almost closes the door in her face.

🌅

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