In my travels around Anna, Melissa and Van Alstyne (which affectionately I have dubbed as my tri-cities), I continue to be amazed by our doughnut addiction. I pass not one, or two, but at least a half-dozen doughnut shops full of sugar-starved folks (not a cardiologist in sight, though). And then I drift back in time (no, not while driving)...
Back "up north", where we came from almost six years ago, we did not have doughnut shops per se, other than the occasional Dunkin Donuts. What we did have were neighborhood bakeries, whether they were Slovenian, Polish, German, Lithuanian or just good old US of A variety, offering infinite bread selections, mouth-watering pastries, doughnuts of course, and the treat of all treats, kolaches. Those small, folded-over yeasty squares, stuffed with fruit or cream cheese, befit the old Lay's potato chip slogan "bet you can't eat just one."
One evening (remember, we have drifted back some six years ago) my wife Marge, home from work, excitedly announced that she saw a bakery on University in McKinney, west of Central Expressway, next to the Social Security office (which since has moved), with a big "kolaches" sign in the window. (It's interesting how at this stage in life, the Social Security office has replaced old directions, such as next to the Texaco station, or just past Diamond's).
The following Saturday morning, on the way out for our weekly grocery shopping, the topic of conversation in the car was what kind of kolaches to buy -- definitely some prune-filled, and maybe some apricot and raspberry, and don't forget my favorite, the cream cheese-filled ones.
Our first question at the bakery (and as it turned out, our last), the price for a pound of kolaches was met either by a blank stare, or a look of bewilderment (take your pick) by the nice lady behind the counter.
"Well, ah, we don't sell them by the pound, they're priced individually."
Individually? Must be Texas-sized kolaches, after all, everything is bigger and better here. Sad to say, these were not the kolaches we were craving, but sausage-filled breakfast sandwiches, what we called "pigs in a blanket." To borrow a young person's expression: Bummer!
The editor of Newsweek magazine (my must-read publication) in a column at one time wrote that "The great thing about journalism is that we get to go in search of answers to questions that interest us." Of course, Newsweek's lofty goals, whether researching the greening of our environment or whether or not we are finally coming out of the recession, are a bit different from my mundane efforts. In this case, the search for real kolaches.
I did find my answers, or more accurately, I discovered the mother lode of kolaches less than 200 miles down the road, in a circle of small towns, just southeast of Houston. This area is still known as the Czech belt, populated by descendants of late 19th-century European immigrants, where old traditions die hard and nearly every town has a kolache bakery.
There's La Grange, with a bakery selling 14 fruit-filled varieties. The bakery in Schulenberg offers 13 different types, apricot and poppy seed being the most popular. In Caldwell, named Kolache Capital of Texas by the Legislature, the big seller among 15 varieties is prune. And then there are still more bakeries in Hallettsville, Columbus and Zabcikville.
One of these weekends we're going to point our car south, and then when we ask the price of a pound of this delicacy, no one will even bat an eye in answering.
Ken Gaidziunas is a staff writer for the Van Alstyne Leader and the Anna-Melissa Tribune.