Growing up in Ohio, I figured sauerkraut balls came over from Germany, or maybe Eastern Europe. Truth is, they’re probably from Cleveland.

I’ve heard a lot about these crunchy little pork-and-kraut fritters over the years: They’re the most popular appetizer at The Golden Lamb Inn, a hotel and restaurant in Lebanon, Ohio, that my family has owned since 1926. The kitchen rolled about 200,000 of them in 2024.

The Golden Lamb happens to be the oldest continuously operating restaurant in Ohio, but our sauerkraut ball recipe only dates to the 1960s, when an accountant named Edith, visiting from Cleveland, shared a version with longtime chef Norm Sims. That’s all I knew about its history for years. After doing some research, I’d bet a few orders that Edith got her recipe from the source, or somewhere close to it: a white-tablecloth restaurant in her hometown called Gruber’s.

Looking through decades of newspaper articles, I didn’t find any mention of sauerkraut balls as we know them (as opposed to meatballs cooked with sauerkraut, which have been around for a long time) until the late 1940s. That’s when diners and food writers began taking note of the signature appetizer at Gruber’s—created as a tasty and economical way to use up meat scraps, per various accounts.

In 1949, the nationally syndicated columnist Erich Brandeis wrote about trying “a delicious concoction such as neither my wife nor I had ever seen or tasted before” at a party. He went on: “The hostess gave my wife the recipe—you take some sauerkraut and put it through the grinder together with boiled ham. You mix this with some thick white sauce, form it into little balls, and roll them in bread crumbs. Then you deep-fry them until they turn nice and brown and serve, first sticking a toothpick in each ball." I don’t know where Brandeis, who lived in Connecticut, had his first sauerkraut ball, but that feels a lot like the Gruber’s recipe that ran in papers nationwide in the years after World War II. So does the recipe we use at the Golden Lamb.

In the decades since, the city of Akron, about forty-five minutes from Cleveland, has formally adopted the sauerkraut ball. Readers at the Akron Beacon-Journal voted it the city’s official food in 1996. If you search “sauerkraut balls” on Newspapers.com, you’ll see that that paper has run about twice as many articles about the heartland croquettes—1,278, at the time of publication—as any other in the country. Judy Orr James’s 2022 cookbook “Akron Family Recipes” concludes with an entire chapter on sauerkraut balls, subtitled “It’s An Akron Thing.” 

But even James acknowledges that Cleveland did it first, noting that the Beacon-Journal didn’t mention sauerkraut balls for the first time until November 1952, after Gruber’s had already impressed the famous food writers Clementine Paddleford and Duncan Hines with theirs.

And while the sauerkraut ball has evolved over the years, including at the family restaurant, which now has its own secret recipe, the Gruber’s version was a national phenomenon for a reason. I went through dozens of reference recipes when researching this dish, and though I experimented with more recent additions and substitutions including cream cheese (very common), breakfast sausage (common), and pork shoulder (less common), none improved on the original formula. So, I cleaned it up for a modern audience, making only relatively minor changes to improve the texture and flavor. The foundational recipe is all about balance—between pork chops and ham, hearty meats and zingy sauerkraut, a tender center and a crisp, crumb-coated crust. This recipe maintains that.

There are similar dishes in Europe, including Dutch bitterballen, rich with beef and gravy, and Spain’s well-known croquetas de jamón. Sauerkraut balls follow a familiar formula—sautéed meats and aromatics bound with a roux, shaped, breaded, and fried. And the combination of pork and sauerkraut is common in European cookery, of course, especially in Germany and Eastern Europe, where many northern Ohio families trace their roots. In the melting pot that is the Midwest, those imported ideas came together to form a perfect little appetizer, bar snack, and party bite. Drawing on European tradition but almost certainly native to the Buckeye State, these sauerkraut balls balance the flavors and techniques of the Old World with the playfulness and ingenuity of the New.

In a small bowl, whisk to combine 1/2 cup flour, salt, pepper, and mustard. Set aside.

In a large Dutch oven or large skillet, melt butter over medium heat. Add pork chops and cook, turning occasionally, until browned on at least two sides, 5 to 7 minutes. Add onion, and cook, lowering the temperature if necessary to prevent burning and stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add sauerkraut and ham and stir to combine.

Sprinkle seasoned flour mixture over sauerkraut mixture and cook, stirring continuously, until no flour is visible, about 1 minute. Slowly add milk in a steady stream while stirring continuously and cook until mixture thickens and clumps together, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat.

Let mixture sit at room temperature until cool enough to handle, about 10 minutes. Using a meat grinder or pulsing in a food processor, pulse (about 25 pulses for a food processor) into a cohesive mixture of small, uniform pieces. It should resemble ham or tuna salad in texture. Spread mixture evenly across a plate and let it cool to room temperature, about 15 minutes. Cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate until chilled and firm, at least 2 hours.

Once chilled, use hands to roll sauerkraut mixture into 1-ounce balls (about 30 total).

Set up a breading station with 3 shallow bowls: Fill 1 bowl with remaining 1/2 cup flour, 1 with eggs, and 1 with panko breadcrumbs. Using separate hands for wet and dry ingredients, roll each ball in flour, then egg mixture, then breadcrumbs, pressing lightly to ensure an even coating at each stage.

Heat oil to 375°FF (190°C) in a large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot (oil should measure 2-inches deep, add more if needed). Working in batches of about 10 balls at a time, fry sauerkraut balls until golden brown and cooked through, turning if needed for even browning, 2 to 3 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer to a paper towel-lined wire rack set in a rimmed baking sheet. Lightly season the fried balls with salt. Repeat with remaining sauerkraut balls. Allow to cool for 5 to 10 minutes before serving. Serve with ramekins of cocktail sauce and mustard for dipping.

Special Equipment

Large Dutch oven or large skillet, meat grinder or food processor, large Dutch oven or heavy-bottomed pot for frying, slotted spoon or spider skimmer

Make-Ahead and Storage

The sauerkraut balls are best enjoyed immediately.

When I was growing up in Cincinnati, I ate goetta pretty often, but I had no idea how the city’s signature sausage was made. I considered goetta processed, like canned hash or lunchmeat. In my mind, it came from manufacturing facilities where pork-and-oat sludge flowed from tubes into molds and plastic wrappers, or butcher shops where old men with meaty forearms ground hearts and livers into stainless steel stockpots.

But plenty of Cincinnatians make it in their home kitchens. “If you just follow the directions on the back of the bag [of pinhead oats], it’s very simple,” says Pat Haders, a native of the city’s heavily German and goetta-loving West Side. She’s been doing it for years.

For home cooks like Pat, the recipe on bags of Dorsel’s pinhead oats, better known as steel-cut oats, is to goetta what the Toll House recipe is to chocolate chip cookies. It yields three or four hearty loaves—enough to freeze or share with friends and family. (Pat doubles it.)

She’s right: There isn’t much to goetta. It doesn’t require any special machinery or a secret family recipe. But it takes time, and that’s why you don’t make just one pan. It wouldn’t be practical, and goetta is a practical dish. At least, it started that way.

Like Pennsylvania scrapple and North Carolina livermush, goetta descends from a family of German grützwursts, or “grain sausages,” made to stretch meat scraps and offal with inexpensive starches. Goetta is called a sausage, but it’s really more of a meatloaf, made by cooking meat(s), oats, and spices into a thick porridge, which then cools into a sliceable solid.

Historically, the meat in a grützwurst—in Germany or the New World—was whatever was available. In 19th century Cincinnati, when the city earned the nickname “Porkopolis” for its meat processing plants, that was pork. Not the popular parts, either. Those were sold on their own. As in Germany, butchers used the off-cuts to make grützwurst.

Goetta, like nearly everything else, has been domesticated. Today, some butcher shops in the Cincinnati metro advertise that they only use pork shoulder, as a comfort to the squeamish. That includes Bill Finke and Sons, a butcher shop just across the river from Ohio in Fort Wright, Kentucky, that claims to have invented the sausage. Others are proud to continue an offal tradition. Glier’s, the Covington, Kentucky-based, industrial-sized operation that supplies local supermarkets, adds texture and flavor to their recipe with pork skins and hearts.

How to Make Goetta at Home

The goetta that most home cooks make today is even simpler. Cincinnati’s Porkopolis days are in the distant past, and the majority of modern recipes, including the one on the Dorsel’s bag, call for pre-ground pork (and often supplemental beef). My recipe below is closer to goetta’s roots, paying tribute to the dish’s resourceful origins. I also improve the loaf's flavor and consistency through some extra effort that’s almost entirely hands-off.

Instead of using pre-ground meat, I start with a hunk of bone-in pork shoulder. It gives the final product deeper flavor and a rich, gelatinous texture. There’s no store-bought stock here. The oats cook in the pork shoulder’s broth, bringing the dish together in a way that feels heartier and more satisfying than the shortcut versions. I won’t send you out for pork hearts, livers, or skin, but you could easily add them to the mix if you'd like. You could also substitute beef short rib or shank for half of the pork.

The seasonings are simple and relatively traditional. That includes MSG, used at both Finke’s and Glier’s. With black pepper and sage, it helps keep goetta on the meaty, savory side of the pork-and-oatmeal line. I’m calling it optional, but I highly recommend it.

For the easiest, lowest maintenance simmer possible, I cook my goetta in the slow, steady heat of the oven, taking inspiration from a popular slow-cooker method. All you have to do is stir often enough to prevent sticking or excessive browning. 

A warning: The next morning, when you turn your goetta out of the pan, it will be a shade of gray that communicates “loaf,” in the processed, industrial sense. It looks like what it is—an oatmeal-and-pork brick. Unappetizing? Don’t worry: We’ll fix it in post.

Crisped slowly in a skillet, the pork and oats caramelize to a crunchy brown finish. The porridge-like center remains soft and creamy. It eats like a breakfast-meat croquette. The basic, affordable ingredients transform into something greater than the sum of their parts through the alchemy of a hot oven and a medium-hot skillet. 

You can eat goetta like any other breakfast meat, alongside eggs and toast or on a goetta-egg-and-cheese sandwich. Or you can get more creative, layering slices on pizza, crumbling it into macaroni and cheese, and heaping it over nachos. Use it anywhere you’d use sausage, for extra flavor and crispy texture. 

“Goetta is time-consuming,” Pat Haders says, “but it’s yummy.” And if you’re investing the time, you might as well make a lot. Like the famous Dorsel’s recipe, this recipe yields three pans—enough to share with friends and family or to save in the freezer for a time when you don’t have five hours (plus an overnight rest) to invest in breakfast. Making goetta in bulk is part of the Cincinnati tradition, dating back to a time when low-and-slow cooking was the best way to turn a cauldron of leftover pork parts into something delicious.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat the oven to 350℉ (175℃). In a large pot or Dutch oven, add pork, onion, celery, and bay leaves and cover with 10 cups (2.37 L) of water. Bring to a boil on the stovetop over high heat, then cover pot, transfer to oven, and cook until pork is falling off the bone, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

Using a spider skimmer or large slotted spoon and tongs, transfer pork, onion, and celery to a large bowl. Discard bay leaves. Let meat cool slightly. Reserve cooking liquid, adding water, if necessary, to total 8 cups. (Discard or reserve any excess.) Using 2 forks, roughly shred meat, discarding any large pieces of fat or gristle. Then, using a food processor or meat grinder, grind pork, onion, and celery into small pieces.

Return meat mixture to reserved cooking liquid in pot. Stir in oats, salt, pepper, dried ground sage, and MSG, if using, and bring to a boil over high heat. Transfer to oven and cook, uncovered, stirring to prevent sticking and burning every 30 minutes for the first hour, then every 15 minutes for the second hour, until mixture becomes a thick paste and stirring takes some effort, about 2 hours total.

Line three 9- by 5-inch or 8 1/2- by 4 1/2 -inch loaf pans with parchment paper, or lightly grease them. Fill each pan with goetta mixture (about 4 cups per pan), pressing it down as firmly as possible to remove any air pockets. Use a spatula to smooth the top.

Let filled pan cool to room temperature, 1 to 2 hours, then cover with an airtight lid or plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 10 hours to allow goetta to set completely.

To pan-fry and serve, run a knife around edges of pan to loosen the meatloaf, then invert and remove goetta from loaf pan and cut into 1/2-inch thick slices. In a large skillet, add 1 tablespoon oil or another fat (try bacon fat, if you have it) and heat over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add desired number of goetta slices, lower heat to medium, press lightly with a spatula, and cook without moving, until browned and crisped on one side, 7 to 10 minutes. For the crispiest possible goetta, drizzle a little more oil on top, then flip and continue to cook until browned on the second side, 5 to 7 minutes (The goetta slices will be delicate. Handle them carefully!) Serve.

Special Equipment

Large pot or Dutch oven, food processor or meat grinder, parchment paper, three 9- by 5-inch or 8 1/2- by 4 1/2 -inch loaf pans (disposable pans are OK), large skillet

Notes

2 pounds boneless pork shoulder with 1 ham hock may be substituted for the 3 pounds bone-in pork shoulder.

Make-Ahead and Storage

Goetta can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 4 days or frozen for up to 6 months. For easier thawing, slice the goetta before freezing, separating the slices with wax paper and wrapping them tightly with plastic wrap. If frozen, thaw completely in the refrigerator before cooking.