Bougie Sausage Rolls- A Happy Accident

Back when I ran my bakery, I’d constantly have people popping their heads in to ask, “Got any pasties? Chips? Pies?” But the most common request by far? Sausage rolls. For ages, I resisted. I don’t know why, really—maybe it felt too obvious, too expected. But eventually, I cracked. I thought, Fine. If they want sausage rolls, I’ll give them sausage rolls… but they’ll be the best sausage rolls they’ve ever had. And funny enough? Once I started selling them, nobody asked anymore. Not one person. The demand just... vanished. Well—except for two of my most loyal customers. They were always up for whatever new thing I was testing, and these sausage rolls became one of their favourites. The shop’s closed now, and they’re no longer customers—they’re two of my closest friends. So when I started doing casual cooking sessions with them, it only felt right that the sausage rolls made a comeback.

These weren’t your average bakery-counter sausage rolls. They were a little bougie from the start—made with a mix of venison and pork, seasoned with a blend of herbs and spices I’ll probably never reveal completely. But during our cooking lesson, they got an accidental upgrade. It all started when one of my friends said, “Wow—venison’s quite expensive, isn’t it?” That’s when I realised they’d bought proper venison steaks—the kind I usually reserve as a treat for myself—rather than the venison and pork grillsteaks or burgers I’d suggested (which cost a third of the price). A totally innocent misreading of the ingredients list.

I offered to buy the steaks off them—it seemed only fair—but they refused. “No, no, just take them,” they said. “You’ll make something good with them.” And so I did. But not for me. I rewrote the recipe then and there. If we were doing sausage rolls, we were doing sausage rolls fit for royalty.

It was a happy accident that turned into something even better—a bit of generosity, a lot of flavour, and a sausage roll they’d never forget.

The Lesson

Starting with the Pastry — When Time Is on Your Side

 In the shop, I always made proper puff pastry for my pastel de nata. But for some reason—one I genuinely can’t remember—I

used rough puff for the sausage rolls. Maybe, deep down, I didn’t think they were worth the full effort.

But with the luxury of time, good company, and excellent-quality meat, this time it felt different. It felt worth it. So we went all in.

My friend, being the planner she is, had already chilled her butter. While she got stuck into making the dough—just 00 flour and water—I set about slicing the butter thinly and pressing it into a neat rectangle on baking parchment. She kneaded with care, and I was genuinely impressed: the dough was silky-smooth, spot on. Both butter and dough went into the fridge to rest.

What I love about making puff pastry is how it sets the pace. Every 30-minute rest between folds gives you space—room to breathe, reset, and get on with the next element. In our case, that meant working on the filling… and a batch of blondies on the side.

The Flavour Bomb — What Makes It More Than Just a Greggs?

 It’s all about balance. Matching flavours, building layers, and thinking about what makes each ingredient shine—especially the stars of the show: venison and pork.

Pork, of course, is a natural with apple and fennel. But fennel also happens to be a beautiful match for venison. Add in a spoonful of wholegrain mustard for texture and a bit of Dijon for warmth, and you’ve got a pretty elegant base. Normally I throw garlic into everything, but this time I left it out—leek felt like a gentler, sweeter contrast to the apple.

And then there’s miso. My secret weapon. It adds depth and a hit of umami without ever revealing itself too loudly.

We started by caramelising the chopped leek and apple in butter—low, slow, and golden. I’d asked if there was a mortar and pestle around, half-expecting a blank look. But no—my friend instantly knew what I meant and produced one shortly after. In went the fennel seeds, crushed until they released that unmistakable aniseed perfume.

This prompted a moment of mild panic: “Wait, is it going to taste like liquorice?” I reassured them. We were only using a little—just enough to accentuate, not overpower. That aroma was just the top note.

Once softened, everything came together in the pan: the mustard, the fennel, the miso, and the beautifully sweet apple and leek. As that bubbled gently on the stove, we rolled and folded our pastry for the first time—structure and flavour taking shape side by side.

Respecting the Ingredients — The Sausage Mix I used to blitz my leek and apple mix smooth, adding sugar to round it out. But something about working with such high-quality venison made me want to slow down and do things differently. It felt like it deserved more attention—more texture, more intention.

So I diced the steaks carefully into tiny cubes, leaving the leek and apple mix untouched—no sugar, no blitzing, just buttery-soft and gently sweet from the slow caramelisation. A handful of breadcrumbs went in too—not measured, just until it felt right.

Another fold of pastry was due by then, so we gave it the attention it needed before turning to the blondies we were making for dessert. (Watch this space—that recipe’s coming soon.)

Rolling with It — When the Shape Doesn’t Matter Sometimes, even in a cooking lesson, you get caught up in the fun of it all. Which is exactly how we ended up with a sausage roll shaped like a rainbow.

Back in my bakery, I always made one enormous sausage roll and sliced it into generous

portions after baking. I had big trays and an even bigger oven, so it worked perfectly. But this time around? We hadn’t quite thought about how much smaller a domestic oven tray would be.

Still, instead of switching to multiple small rolls, we stuck to the original idea. We curved it to fit. A bit unconventional, sure—but somehow, that made it feel even more special. Because really, that’s what cooking with friends is all about: adapting as you go, laughing through the surprises, and ending up with something delicious at the end of it.

Why This Lesson Matters

Sausage rolls might seem simple—humble, even. But that’s exactly why they matter. They’re one of those everyday foods people think they know inside out. So when you take the time to elevate them—to really care about the pastry, the seasoning, the balance—it surprises people. It reminds them what something familiar can be.

This lesson was about slowing down and giving something ordinary the respect it deserves. About not cutting corners, even when it would’ve been easy to.

We could’ve used shop-bought pastry. We could’ve minced everything into oblivion. But we didn’t. We worked with intention. We tasted as we went. We let the ingredients shine.

The Verdict

✅ Buttery, flaky puff pastry – golden and proud ✅ Rich, generous meaty filling ✅ A

harmonious blend of umami, sweetness, and spice

We all knew it would be good. It was a much-loved recipe from the bakery. But with a few small adaptations—and that accidental elevation—it might just have been the best sausage roll I’ve ever made.

Maybe that’s the real magic of cooking with friends: sharing knowledge, going with the flow, and remembering why we started doing this in the first place.

Final Thought

 It’s human nature to rush. To be impatient. Especially these days, when so many things are instant. But sometimes, it pays to take things slowly. To think. To feel.

 Fast and cheap is easier, perhaps. But it doesn’t taste even half as good.