A couple months ago I had quite the scare at the Czech Stop convenience store and bakery in West, Texas. I told the guy behind the counter I wanted a kolache that was “undercooked.” I meant that I wanted one with a soft top, but the look on his face said that he heard me order a piece of trash. Or worse, something from the grocery store freezer section. 

When the dust storm cleared his features, only stony resolve remained. “What did you say?” he asked, both question and dare wrapped as tight as the hundreds of traditional Czech treats in the display case between us. At that moment, years of my beloved Czech Stop visits passed before my eyes. Bags of puffy yeast dough cradling homemade sausage and cheese. Sweet dough holding fruit swirled with sugar. The tables no one notices as they race to nab the next place in line. T-shirts which, just like the place, refuse to dress themselves up to be a more Instagrammable experience. Czech Stop, West, Texas, the shirts say. Just like that puffy yeast dough—plain, authentic, yet appealing. 

The idea of the I-35 corridor without this stop is unthinkable: so many semi-trucks barreling down the cement corridor, so few reasons for cheer. Feeling a little like Elaine doing anything to get some soup, I backward-stepped with all the grace a tied tongue could muster. “I said deliciously cooked,” I confirmed. “One sausage, kraut, and Swiss, deliciously cooked.” He didn’t believe me for a second, but my breakfast made it to the bag. And really, would they actually have taken away my customer status for mention of an undercooked kolache? I like to think so. 

Czech Stop has been name-dropped by celebrity foodies and listed in all kinds of Texas guidebooks, but the shop has never upped the ante like others might have. Last Thanksgiving we stopped on the busiest travel day of the year. The line was out the door and, probably to the ire of people used to metroplex efficiency, the crew was working at the same speed they would have on any given Tuesday. Still joking with each other behind the counter. Still making conversation at checkout. Still looking up when the bell on the door jangled. 

It’s not an easy time to be in the pit-stop business on I-35—another one of the gas station mega-stores  with the beaver mascot just popped up down the road. But as they say, when the going gets tough, it’s the tough who get going. The Czechs brought over kolaches when they settled in Texas, and they’ve been cooking them ever since. They aren’t going to get chased out by a rodent in a ballcap any sooner than they’re going to be disrespected by some woman slamming their kolaches as undercooked. That kind of stubborn stance in the soil of where they come from, who they are, and what they are about is why I like them. I hope it’s why you might, too.

Anna Mitchael is a Texas-based writer. Her new book They Will Tell You the World Is Yours comes out May 20, 2025.