Kolaches Are the Texas Breakfast Staple Worth a Trip to the Lone Star State
On my second day living in New York City, I woke up hungover and hankering for something doughy and delicious. Naturally, I asked my then-roommate, a native San Diegan, if he knew where I might find a simple kolache in Manhattan. “A who?” he asked, bemused. “No really, I’m super hungry. Where are the kolaches around here?” I persisted. It didn’t seem to register.
If I ever had a we’re-not-in-Kansas-anymore moment after moving from Houston to NYC seven years ago, this was definitely it: realizing that the kolache (pronounced koh-la-chee) of my childhood—with its pillowy, yeasted dough encasing fillings both sweet, like fruit jams, and savory, like sausage, cheese, and jalapeños—would no longer be a morning tradition. I resigned, reluctantly, to a too-stiff-to-chew bagel layered with toothpaste-textured cream cheese and a weird sashimi-like fish I’d never before encountered. (For the record, I’ve since warmed up to the whole lox-and-schmear thing.)