Anchored in Snider Plaza, Kuby’s Sausage House is more than a neighborhood fixture—it’s a living echo of the old world, built on the shoulders of precision, tradition, and comfort. Founded by Karl Kuby in 1961, after emigrating from Kassel, Germany, the restaurant and meat market still run under family leadership today. Karl-Heinz Kuby, his son, maintains the ethos with quiet rigor. At Kuby’s, nothing is ornamental. The charm isn’t curated—it’s inherited.
The interior, dressed in warm woods and hushed tones, has resisted the temptation of reinvention. There are hand-painted murals, a deli case with serious gravity, and waitstaff who know your usual order before you sit down. It’s a cross-generational meeting point where German immigrants, Highland Park regulars, and curious first-timers convene for something deeply elemental: food that honors its roots.
Kuby’s is, first and foremost, about the sausage. Their knackwurst, bratwurst, weisswurst, and Polish links are all made in-house from heirloom recipes, and it shows in every bite. The bratwurst, grilled until just blistered, is delicately seasoned and whisperingly smoky. The knackwurst carries a firmer snap and deeper garlic undertone. You can get them plated with house made sauerkraut and buttered red potatoes, or layered into rolls with tangy mustard and caramelized onions. And if you want more than just a sample, the market side sells these same links by the pound, wrapped in white butcher paper and tradition.
But to stop at sausage would be missing the broader ambition of Kuby’s kitchen. Their Jaegerschnitzel is a dish of serious gravity—thin pork cutlet breaded and pan-fried, then drenched in a rich mushroom gravy so umami-heavy it rivals anything out of a Parisian bistro. The Wiener schnitzel, its unadorned cousin, is no less refined: a crisped golden veil giving way to impossibly tender veal. Both are served with spaetzle that’s gently buttered and just dense enough to stand up to the sauces.
Start your day here, and you’ll find a breakfast menu that speaks fluent comfort. The Bauernfrühstück is a hearty countryside skillet that doesn’t apologize—fried potatoes tossed with bacon, onions, eggs, and slices of smoked sausage, all caramelized just enough at the edges. Their potato pancakes are crisp-fried and served hot with sour cream or applesauce, or both if you’re smart. Kuby’s even makes a commendable omelet, but why skip the chance for liver sausage and pickled herring?
Then there’s dessert, which is unpretentious but deeply satisfying. The apple strudel is warm and cinnamon-heavy, with layers of pastry that actually crackle when you break them. Cherry tarts and Black Forest cake also hold their own, never overly sweet, and always fresh. For those who wander into the market, you’ll find marzipan, cookies, imported Ritter Sport bars, and all the holiday treats—lebkuchen, stollen, and chocolate Santas—as they come into season.
There’s a reason Kuby’s has survived the better part of seven decades. It hasn’t relied on gimmicks, social media blitzes, or aesthetic trends. Instead, it’s doubled down on what it knows: rigorous sausage-making, disciplined German cooking, and an experience that feels like it’s been waiting for you all along. And if you leave a little heavier, that’s exactly the point.
