Bread treasured as a symbol of home (Vilhelms Griķis)

Vilhelms Griķis’ butter container, in which he kept symbols of home, taken from Latvia during the refugee journeys of the Second World War: rye bread, ears of grain, and santims (coins). Such orange bakelite butter/fat containers were issued to soldiers in the German army.

A master baker from Latvia (Kārlis Atars)

Documents of master baker Kārlis Atars from the collection of the museum “Latvians Abroad”.
Before the Second World War, Kārlis owned a bakery on Avotu Street in Riga. After the war, while living in a displaced persons camp in Schleswig, Germany, he worked at a bakery run by the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), baking bread for refugees. After immigrating to Canada and settling in the city of London, Kārlis opened his own bakery, “Riga Rye”, which operated until 1980, when he retired and moved to Toronto.

A proper country loaf (Kristaps and Zinaida Jaunzemis)

In a letter held in the collection of the museum Latvians Abroad, Kristaps Jaunzemis writes from Latvia to his wife Zinaīda in Nebraska on July 18, 1959:

It may sound strange, but what if during my leave in the countryside I could get hold of one “proper” country loaf of bread—dried and sent to you? It seems so hard to believe that for a full fifteen years you haven’t been able to taste rye bread! I think I myself would have become quite weak if I had had to live on white bread alone!

The family was separated during the Second World War. Legionnaire Kristaps Jaunzemis, after deportation to Siberia, returned to Latvia, where Latvian rye bread was readily available to him. Meanwhile, Kristaps’s wife Zinaīda and their children had fled Latvia as refugees during the war and ended up in the United States. Although contact between husband and wife was re-established through correspondence, they never met again in their lifetime.

Alma’s kneading trough (Alma Upesleja)

This kneading trough was made by Kārlis Upesleja (1902–1989) for his wife Alma (1906–2002) after their arrival in the United States, so that she could continue baking Latvian bread even while living in exile. Alma baked rye bread for her family and also for the Latvian community in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Their daughter Anna Vējiņa (1932–2015) inherited the trough and continued her mother’s role—baking rye bread. In memory of Anna, the Milwaukee congregation’s newsletter states: “We thank God for Anna’s service both on the parish council, in the Daugavas Vanagi, at the Latvian House, and in the Credit Association. The bread she baked brought blessings to countless Latvians!”
The linen towel, with the monogram AU (Alma Upesleja), was most likely brought from Latvia on her refugee journey. The towel was used to cover the dough while it was rising. Alma also used a wooden paddle for baking, to mix the starter with water and flour.
The kneading trough, towel and paddle were donated to the “Latvians Abroad” museum by Vita Kākulis.

One loaf was always given to the minister! (Jānis Grimbergs)

Jānis Grimbergs talks about bread baking in his childhood home — how loaves were baked on banana leaves, and how his mother managed to bake bread with the “real” taste, even though rye flour was not available. The interview with Jānis Grimbergs was given to the curator of the museum “Latvians in the World,” Marianna Auliciema, and researcher Brigita Tamuža during a museum expedition in Vārpa, Brazil, in 2013.

She mixed maize flour with sweet potato… (Luzija Osis)

Luzija and Verners Osis, in their home in Vārpa, Brazil, demonstrate and talk about bread baking in their household in the past and today.
The interview was given to the curator of the museum “Latvians in the World,” Marianna Auliciema, and researcher Brigita Tamuža during a museum expedition in Vārpa, Brazil, in 2013. The video excerpt is from the museum’s documentary film “Vārpa: The Promised Land” (2017).

The Dambergs family kneading trough (Jaime Dambergs)

Jaime Dambergs talks about the “terribly” delicious bread that his mother used to bake on weekends in Brazil. The interview with Jaime Dambergs was given to the curator of the museum “Latvians in the World,” Marianna Auliciema, and researcher Brigita Tamuža during a museum expedition in Vārpa, Brazil, in 2013.

Thai style “frikadeļu” soup (Inese Grava-Gubiņa)

Fragment from Inese Grava-Gubiņa’s interview with Latvieši pasaulē curator Marianna Auliciema, November 28, 2025.

Around 2006, 2007, and 2008—that was the time when we began teaching the first Latvian cooking classes at the Gaŗezers Summer High School. After that, a year passed, and I returned again—this time for the second time—to teach.

We worked with teenagers—young people aged 14–17. In the first year, I think Latvian cuisine as a class hadn’t been offered for some time, or only very minimally, and I don’t really know how it went back then. But in the year when I started, the group consisted only of girls. I remember how we laughed and joked, saying that those silly boys preferred to go play volleyball on the beach in the heat. They could have come into a cool room, cooked food together, and eaten. And besides—all those beautiful girls they could have gotten to know better!

In the second year, I had boys! Somehow they figured out that it wasn’t so bad to be in the kitchen and work together making food. It was very interesting… there were no problems in either year, but the dynamic completely changed once the boys showed up.

We already made soup in the first year—”frikadeļu” soup, though not exactly the usual kind. I wanted something more interesting, so I had brought along some special Thai-style spices from home. Around Gaŗezers there aren’t many exotic shops where you can get everything. I had brought (I don’t know what it’s called in Latvian) lemongrass—citronzāle—and something called galangal (I don’t know the Latvian name either)—a root that looks like ginger but has a different taste and aroma. And kaffir lime leaves—those things I brought with me from Canada. And then coconut milk.

So we made the “frikadeļu” soup the way it’s usually made—add whatever you want! I think I even made it with chicken or turkey, which I found at a big grocery store, because I had to make a very large amount—such a quantity! We made the meatballs and cooked the soup. Then we added the galangal, lemongrass, and kaffir lime leaves. And I also added—because I had them—dried hot peppers. I grow them in my garden and then simply dry them. In winter, if I need a little bit of heat, I throw one dried pepper into the pot, let it cook there, and then pull it out. It gives just a little kick, not so much that your tongue is on fire.

That’s how we made the soup, and then—right before it was ready—we poured in a few cans of coconut milk. And there you have it: Thai-style “frikadeļu” soup!

I already knew it would be a hit, because these young people… Well, there were some things they really liked, but other things they ate rather reluctantly. This soup—they went back for a first, second, third bowl, and I think some of them would have eaten even more if they hadn’t had to go to their next classes. They absolutely loved it! It’s “frikadeļu” soup, but with a different flavor.

Her recipe relied on memory (Recipe – Modris Pukulis)

Modris Pukulis writes:
“The recipe for this bread comes from watching my mother making it – stopping her at times to measure what amount of ingredients were in hand. My mother was a great cook of her native Latvian food which we all ate while living at home (for me that was until I left for college at age 17). We all spoke Latvian as that was our first language learned at home and one that we were required to speak by and to our parents.
Not sure of the year but it was some time before I left for college that I decided that I wanted to learn how to make this bread – I had eaten other versions of this bread as made by Latvian friends of my parents but none were as good as hers.
I watched my mother through the whole two-day process, measuring ingredients as she went along, and taking notes (my memory not as good as hers). To my knowledge she never had a recipe but recalled everything from memory, though each time she made it, it tasted the same. We would eat it for breakfast with a slice of cheese or salami on top, and eat it for dinner with any soup she made. Though my favorite was the bread with my father’s smoked eel on top.
I similarly watched her make my favorite soup (biešu zupa – beet soup) and still make it whenever I make saldskābmaize (sourdough bread).
One thing I don’t know how to make,though I will try some day is speķu rauši.
Moe (or Mod as my sisters call me) Pukulis”