Klobasa or sausage is a common Slovak staple, as is the case throughout the central European region, including such other countries as the Czech Republic, Slovenia, and Poland. Essentially, klobasa is the generic sausage term in the Slovak language.  Kielbasi, kilbasa, and Polish sausage are some of the regional  variations.  A typical recipe for the Slovak sausage can be viewed by clicking here.  In the distant past, Slovak families commonly made their sausage at home, especially for Christmas and Easter, with each adding  individual touches to suit their taste. The "individual touches" probably account for the variations evident today. Recent generations largely have come to accept the convenience of an ethnic butcher shop or section of a supermarket for whatever related fare they offer.  Little do they realize how much of their heritage they are letting slip by when they forgo making the sausage at home. Although the number clinging to the klobasa making tradition has dwindled, it remains a vibrant part of Slovak-American life for many.

The Chubon family klobasa making tradition dates back to immigrants Peter and Rose, who brought their recipes and cooking style with them from 19th century Slovakia.  We know they made klobasa at the Lamont, PA farm, where the family recipe and process were learned by son Pete (our dad) during his youth.  Dad carried on the tradition for more than four decades until his health deteriorated.  The tradition is now being carried on by some of his children and grandchildren.  For these Chubons, making, sharing, and eating klobasa at Christmas and Easter is, perhaps, the most enduring reminder of their Slovak heritage.

When Grandparents Peter and Rose left Slovakia and eventually moved to the Lamont farm in 1919, there was little refrigeration available as it was during the pre-electrification era.  Salt curing and smoking meats was a common means of food preservation, along with canning (fruits and vegetables), drying (mushrooms), and fermentation (sauerkraut). This circumstance may have played a critical role in the direction family klobasa making has taken, because ours has always been a smoked variety. It is likely our grandparents learned the smoking process in Slovakia, and continued the practice in this country as a routine part of their relatively self-sufficient farm life.  In fact, their smokehouse was still usable when mom and dad moved to the Lamont farm following grandfather's death in 1942.

At the end of World War II,  mom and dad opened a slaughterhouse/meat market on the farm in the remodeled garage, which they operated for a couple of years. This venture resurrected the family klobasa making tradition and raised it to unexpected heights.  Dad, having learned the klobasa making process when helping our grandparents, made some to try to sell in the market at Christmas and Easter.  Obviously, it was an instant hit because sales skyrocketed to hundreds of pounds. Customers came from near and far to get their holiday sausage at Chubon's Meat Market in Lamont. The reputation of dad's klobasa quickly spread across northwestern Pennsylvania, and one of the national meat packing firms approached dad regarding his interest in selling the recipe.  Dad declined to part with the family treasure.

Dick:

Some common Klobasa related questions we get include: (1) Do you have to cook it? The answer is yes. The most common method is to boil it for about 12 minutes. Hunters have been known to cook it on a stick over an open fire. Folks have also grilled and roasted it. (2) How do you eat it and what do you serve with it? A family favorite is to have it for breakfast (a Christmas morning tradition) with eggs and nutroll (another Slovak tradition). I enjoy dipping it in the yolks of over easy eggs. It's good with pancakes. It makes a great hot lunch sandwich (especially on fresh baked bread!). Try a little mustard on it. For supper have it with just about anything and try dipping it in some mustard. Sauerkraut and klobasa is an old Slovak standard.

Bob:

Writing about the klobasa tradition has brought back a lot of memories about Chubon's Meat Market, which is where Dick and I got our first exposure to klobasa and klobasa making. In retrospect, had mom and dad not moved back to the farm following grandfather's death, the tradition likely would have died too. The opportunity to start the meat market and to use the smokehouse served as catalysts that rekindled dad's interest in putting the klobasa making knowledge and skills he learned early in his life into practice.

When the meat market opened, Dick and I were approximately ages 10 and 8, respectively.  I'm sure today's authorities would have a problem with the work we did there.  For example, much of the meat sold came from cattle and hogs slaughtered on site, and we were involved in every aspect of the process. We routinely wielded skinning knives, killed, scalded, and plucked countless numbers of chickens, and trimmed the last bits of meat from bones to be used for hamburger. Regarding klobasa making, we cranked the heavy cast-iron sausage stuffer, slid casings onto the nozzle or tube, and "popped" air pockets that sometimes formed as the casings were filled.  We also learned to tend the smokehouse fire.  To put the size of the operation in perspective, several large galvanized metal washtubs were used as containers for the ground meat as it was prepared for seasoning.

When we moved to the dairy farm, klobasa making became a pre-holiday family activity. We all pitched in to do whatever needed to be done.  Probably the most difficult aspect of the process was putting in the smoking wood supply each year.  As Dick indicated, dad usually used beech wood.  Beech trees were available in the farm woods and surrounding area, and each fall, a couple would be cut down and trimmed, usually by the neighbors who had chainsaws. Dick and I were left with the job of splitting the partially green, 3-4 foot long, extremely knotty billets with an axe, sledge hammer, and steel wedge. It was one tough job - no hydralic splitters in those days!  By using a combination of green wood and dried wood left over from the previous year, one could maximize the amount of smoke and limit the flame without having the fire go out. The hard work was worth it.  Over the years, I have seen many gifts given and received, but none has brought a warmer smile than a Christmas or Easter klobasa.

In doing some background research for this webpage, I happened upon a couple of related webpages that are a "must" to view. Click here and you will be taken to a site that describes traditional Slovak hog butchering, which is very similar to the way it was carried out at Chubon's Meat Market, and later at the dairy farm. The site is complete with pictures. Click here and you will find a site that describes traditional Slovak sausage making and meat smoking. These pages have thumbnail photos that can be clicked to load full-sized ones. On the butchering page, it mentions that blood from the hogs is frequently collected to be used in making blood sausage. Mom and dad made such a sausage, which they called "jelito" (pronounced yell-e-tah). Jelito is translated as "black pudding," reflecting the characteristic dark color of the concoction made of ground organ meats, blood, and cooked rice, and liberally seasoned with marjoram and other spices.  Many people simply bake the mixture in a  pan or casserole dish and eat it that way, hence "pudding."  However, mom and dad stuffed it into casings like klobasa before cooking, making it into a sausage.  It was boiled immediately after it was put in casings, and then put in the oven and baked before serving. It sounds pretty gross and had considerably less demand than the smoked klobasa, but at least a few of us enjoyed it.

When I was writing about the ways food was preserved in days gone by, there is one other way mom and dad preserved meat. When hogs were butchered, their fat was rendered into lard, which was a cooking staple in those days. When the lard was rendered (melted), it was poured into crocks, cooled, and stored in the springhouse.  Mom and dad would take thin cuts of pork (like pork chops) and put them in the crocks as they were being filled with the scalding hot lard, covering them over.  Then, as the hardened lard was used, the cuts of meat were uncovered, taken out, cooked, and served.  It tasted great and fortunately, there was no cholesterol worry then!  I assume the hot lard sterilized the meat, and being shielded from the air by the lard, it was preserved like a canned food. I had not heard of anyone else using this meat preservation technique, but my curiosity drove me to doing some Internet surfing.  Much to my surprise, I found that it was a common practice across the U.S. and Canada. There are numerous variations. A couple examples can be viewed by clicking here.

Lessons learned in Arizona

	Okay, where do we start?		How many people does it take to make a klobasa?  A whole family.
`	Jim and Dave mastering the mixing process.		Jim and Dave proudly display their first klobasa.
	Owen tries his hand at mixing and gets personal instruction.		Dave's dad also gave lessons in making Italian sausages.
	Jim finds that untangling the casings can be a challenge.		Dick, Jim, and Owen with the completed product.