12 Wisconsin Snacks Outsiders Totally Mispronounce (And Locals Just Laugh)
I’ve spent enough time at Wisconsin gatherings to know the drill: someone new rolls in, spots a snack table loaded with things they’ve never heard of, and then tries to order one out loud.
The room gets quiet for just a second, then someone kindly repeats the name back the right way while sliding over a plate. Nobody makes a big deal out of it, but you can see the smiles.
These twelve snacks have tripped up more visitors than a patch of black ice, and I promise, once you taste them, you’ll stop caring how they’re spelled.
1. Kringle (pronounced KRING-gul)
Walk into a Racine bakery on a winter morning and you can spot the visitor immediately – they ask for a “krin-GULL” or even a “krinkle,” and the woman behind the counter smiles as she slides over a giant oval of flaky, iced pastry that could easily feed a family.
In Wisconsin, kringle isn’t just a pastry. It’s the official state pastry, a Danish-heritage ring of buttery laminated dough filled with almond paste, cherries, pecans, or seasonal flavors, baked in Racine bakeries like O&H Danish Bakery and Racine Danish Kringles that ship all over the country.
Racine has leaned so hard into kringle that it proudly calls itself the “Kringle Capital,” and locals barely blink when someone mangles the name—they just correct you while handing over a slice the size of your plate.
2. Cheese Curds (basically cheez kurdz, but “squeaky cheese” works too)
At a small-town tavern, a plastic basket lands on the bar with a thump – golden, fried nuggets still sizzling, a little dish of ranch on the side.
The out-of-towner pokes one and says, “So… curds?” like the word itself is suspicious, and then bites down and hears that tell-tale squeak locals live for.
Fresh cheese curds are little bites of just-made cheddar, sold still-squeaky in bags at cheese shops and gas stations, or beer-battered and deep-fried at bars, ballparks, and festivals across the state.
They may not be hard to pronounce, but watching visitors try to decide if they’re weird or wonderful while their teeth squeak is half the fun.
3. Bratwurst (locals say BRAHT-voorst, not “BRAT-worst”)
On a game day, grill in Green Bay, a tourist proudly announces, “Throw another BRAT-worst on for me,” and every Packer fan within earshot winces just a little.
In Wisconsin, bratwurst – “brats” for short—are practically a food group: juicy German-style sausages simmered in onions, then charred over charcoal and stuffed into a bun with mustard and kraut at tailgates, church fundraisers, and backyard cookouts.
Locals stretch out the first syllable into a warm “BRAHT,” the way their grandparents did, and while they’ll happily hand you a plate, they’ll also gently correct that “worst” really isn’t the word you want to stress here.
4. Frozen Custard (just CUSS-turd, but don’t call it “ice cream”)
Summer in Milwaukee means neon-lit stands and long lines that snake around parking lots, as kids tug at parents’ sleeves for a “concrete” so thick it barely moves.
Outsiders read the sign – “frozen custard”—and ask for “ice cream,” and the person at the window gives them a look that says we really need to talk.
Frozen custard is richer and denser than ice cream, whipped with egg yolks and less air, and it’s a true Wisconsin snack at institutions like Kopp’s and Leon’s, where flavors change daily and concrete mixers overflow with toppings.
The name might be simple, but in Wisconsin, it’s practically a dialect word—say “custard” right and you’ve already passed your first local test.
5. Pączki (pronounced POONCH-key)
If you show up at a Milwaukee bakery on Fat Tuesday and ask for “pack-zee” or “patch-key,” the person behind the counter knows you’re new in town.
Pączki – Polish, jam- or cream-filled doughnuts fried golden and dusted with sugar – are a huge pre-Lent tradition here, to the point that people stand in lines that wrap around the block just to score a box before work.
Locals casually ask for “POONCH-keys” by the dozen, taking them into offices, schools, and church basements, and they’re patient with every mangled attempt at the name – after all, once you’ve eaten a couple, you’re basically forgiven.
6. Booyah (pronounced BOO-yah)
Somewhere in northeastern Wisconsin, a church parking lot smells like wood smoke and simmering stew as a line forms around a massive metal kettle big enough to bathe in.
Visitors look at the hand-lettered sign – “Chicken Booyah” – and try everything from “boi-YAH” to “boo-YUH,” while the folks ladling it out just call it “BOO-yah” and keep stirring with paddles the size of oars.
Booyah is a Belgian-rooted, slow-cooked stew loaded with chicken, beef, and vegetables, cooked in giant kettles for fundraisers and town events, especially around Green Bay and Door County.
It’s as much a social event as a dish – you buy a Styrofoam cup, stand in the gravel with your neighbors, and listen to newcomers ask what on earth a “boi-yah” is.
7. Limburger Sandwich (LIM-bur-ger… if you can get close, locals forgive you)
You know you’re in Monroe when someone dares the new guy to order the Limburger sandwich and keep a straight face.
In the cozy chaos of Baumgartner’s Cheese Store and Tavern, the famous order is a thick slab of pungent Limburger cheese on rye with raw onions and mustard, a bar snack that smells like gym socks and tastes like old-country heaven to people who grew up with it.
Out-of-towners will ask for “lim-BOOR-zhay” or anything that sounds more French and less funky, but locals just say “LIM-bur-ger,” shrug at the aroma, and take another bite.
8. Cannibal Sandwich (yes, that’s really the name)
Every December, in certain Wisconsin kitchens and taverns, a platter appears that makes visitors freeze halfway through reaching for it.
On the plate: small slices of rye bread spread with raw ground beef, topped with chopped onions and black pepper – what locals casually call a “cannibal sandwich” or “tiger meat.”
Outsiders usually stumble over the name – “Wait, you eat what?” – while longtime Wisconsinites reminisce about grandparents serving them at Christmas and debate whose butcher has the best beef.
Health departments issue annual warnings, but the tradition refuses to budge, living on as one of the state’s most notorious, cocktail-hour “snacks.”
9. Schaum Torte (roughly SHOWM tort)
In a dim supper club somewhere along a Northwoods lake, after the prime rib, the server sets down a dessert that looks like a cloud that learned to stand up for itself.
Schaum torte – German for “foam cake” – is a crisp meringue shell piled with whipped cream and berries, beloved at Wisconsin supper clubs and family celebrations, even though most outsiders have no idea how to say it.
Newcomers tend to mumble something like “sham tort” or “shawhm tort,” and the staff just smile, call it “shoum tort” in that easy Midwestern way, and slide an extra strawberry onto the plate.
10. Sprecher Root Beer (pronounced SPRECK-er, no “S” at the end)
In Glendale, just north of Milwaukee, a family wanders into Sprecher’s taproom and immediately starts arguing: “Spree-cher?” “Spreck-ER?” “Let’s go to Sprecher’s.”
The brewery itself has heard it all, but they’ll tell you plainly: in Wisconsin, the German name is Americanized to “SPRECK-er,” and there is officially no S on the end.
Sprecher started as a craft brewery and now is nationally famous for its fire-brewed root beer and other sodas, brewed with Wisconsin honey and bold flavors that many lists rank among the best root beers in the country.
Order it wrong at the bar and the bartender might chuckle—but they’ll still hand you a frosty mug with a generous head of foam.
11. Kaukauna Spreadable Cheese (pronounced kaw-KAW-nuh)
Picture a holiday table somewhere “up north”: there’s venison sausage, a mountain of crackers, and at least one orange Kaukauna cheese ball rolled in chopped nuts.
Visitors stare at the label – Kau…kau…na? – and take a wild swing at “kaw-KOO-nuh” or “cow-KAH-oo-na,” while every Wisconsinite at the table automatically says “kaw-KAW-nuh,” just like the town it’s named after.
The brand has been making spreadable cheese balls, logs, and cups from real Wisconsin cheddar since 1918, proudly marketed as an easy party snack that’s “Wisconsin quality.”
One good swipe of cracker through that thick, sharp cheddar, and most guests stop worrying about the syllables anyway.
12. Seroogy’s Chocolates (locals say seh-ROO-geez)
Up near Green Bay and De Pere, the Seroogy name is so ingrained that locals barely see how intimidating it looks to outsiders.
The shop windows glow with handmade truffles, meltaways, and coffee, but visitors walk in squinting at the sign – “Seer-OGG-ees? Sir-ah-GOOG-ies?” – while locals just order their “seh-ROO-geez” favorites and head straight for the seasonal displays.
Seroogy’s has been a family-run chocolate maker since 1899, and today their De Pere and Ashwaubenon shops still turn out small-batch candies that are a staple in holiday gift boxes and care packages.
The name might twist tourists’ tongues, but the moment they bite into a meltaway, nobody’s talking clearly anyway.