Even the cat smells like cabbage… (Irene Kreilis)

Irene Kreilis: “I prepare braised cabbage according to my own recipe: white pepper, bay leaves, fry the bacon, grind it, fry the onions, caraway seeds. A good amount of brown sugar also helps — half a cup. Six hours in the oven. As it bakes, the edges burn, and that’s the most delicious part. I grate carrots. The cabbage can be reheated for a week. The children complained that even the cat smells like cabbage! The whole house smelled — coats, clothes.”

Story recorded and submitted by Dagnija Roderte.

Pīrāgu recipe trials and errors (Amanda Whittaker-Lee)

Amanda, a Canadian married to a Canadian-Latvian, values passing culture on to her daughter, including her husband’s heritage. She had always wanted to try making pīrāgi, and has finally begun the journey of learning and perfecting the recipe. After two unsuccessful, though still delicious, attempts, Amanda turned to the Facebook group “Latvian Favorite Foods,” asking for help, wondering what she was doing wrong, and looking for advice.

The secret ingredient is faith (Inga Lucāns)

Inga shares her many years of experience in baking piparkūkas and pīrāgi. She believes that there are no secrets to making pīrāgi, people shouldn’t be afraid to give it a try, because it’s really not that difficult. However, when it comes to piparkūkas, the secret ingredient, according to Inga, is faith in the dough!

Piparkūku camps in Italy (Ilze Atardo)

For Ilze, piparkūkas has always been a part of Christmas. Now, living in Italy, she organizes piparkūku camps that bring together other Latvians living in Italy, as well as participants from Luxembourg and Germany. For three days they bake, cook food, eat, dance, sing, and simply enjoy being together. In 2023, Ilze received the “Zelta pūka” award for her piparkūka camp.

The house smells of smoked meats and rasols for days afterwards! (Laila Rudzone)

Festive table NOVEMBER 2025 The house smells of smoked meats and rasols for days afterwards! (Laila Rudzone) Germany On the holiday table at home, there’s always rosolīts (potato salad). Every year we agree that this time we’ll make a bit less of it, but somehow it always ends up being a big bowl — and it’s always eaten to the last bite. Sometimes we roast chicken or carp with garlic and dill.  And the queen of the table is a homemade cake with lingonberry jam and custard cream. You can make lingonberry-apple jam here in Germany too. I couldn’t find fresh lingonberries anywhere, but you can buy them frozen at the Mix Markt store. Then you put the lingonberries in a pot together with peeled apples, a bit of sugar, and a clove or two for flavor. The jam is ready!  You can also buy dill at this store — which turns out to be surprisingly hard to find fresh, crisp, and fragrant in other shops, for salads or boiled potatoes. After the home celebrations, the house still smells of smoke and rosolīts for two more days. Story sent in by Laila Rudzone. NOVEMBER news The house smells of smoked meats and rasols for days afterwards! (Laila Rudzone) When fermenting cabbage, you have to kiss over the barrel (Laila Rudzone) Grandma’s secret ingredient used in pickled vegetables (Ana Beatrise Apse-Paese) What I truly miss here when I think of Latvia A once-a-year feast of Latvian specialities (Maija Liiv) Inta talks about celebrations in her home / Philadelphia, USA Amber Table (Dace Gulbe and Inta Grunde) Hostesses in Latvian communities abroad: in different times and countries. Photographs from the collection of the museum Latvians Abroad. Festive tables of Latvian communities abroad: in different times and countries. Photographs from the collection of the museum Latvians Abroad. Ladies’ Committee canapé party! (Inta Šķiņķis) Ladies’ Committees helped maintain the Latvian community (Aija Abens) Mom runs around the stores looking for the “right” kind of cabbage The salmon looks like it’s swimming! (Ingrida Hawke) Searching for Latvian mushrooms How can you shred cabbage without having a beer? (Pēteris Freimanis) Little Māra went into the forest… Ēriks and Aina on mushroom picking Fermenting for three generations in Canada (Aija Zichmane) Liene pickles cucumbers Madara Riley – Mushroom Maddie Certified mushroomer from Michigan (Larisa Mednis) Are you going to send me to mushroom school? (Austra Muižniece) Liene makes kotletes (rissoles) Sauerkraut-making workshop in Melbourne No posts found

When fermenting cabbage, you have to kiss over the barrel (Laila Rudzone)

“So it has happened that I’ve been living in Germany for some time now. Homemade food carries a kind of genetic memory — of grandma’s pancakes or dad’s pike patties, those familiar childhood tastes. Even the stewed sauerkraut on the Christmas table reminds me of the cabbage fermenting days at grandma’s countryside home. In autumn, when the big heads of cabbage were harvested from the field, they were piled up in the middle of the yard under a broad oak tree, waiting for busy hands. The yellow oak leaves slowly swirled through the air, falling onto the cabbage heads. The slightly chilly, misty morning was no obstacle to the great cabbage-souring party. A wooden tub was prepared in advance, scalded with boiling water and scrubbed clean. My grandfather made the wooden barrels and tubs himself. From the attic, the cabbage grater was brought down — it had been carefully stored year after year. Grandma, wearing her apron, cleaned each cabbage head thoroughly, peeling away the outer leaves until only the white heart remained. Grandfather placed it on the grater and, pushing the wooden box back and forth, shaved it down. The white cabbage strips, mixed with a few grated carrots and caraway seeds, pleasantly crunched in the barrel under the wooden pestle. The cabbage was pressed until the juice started to separate. When the tub was full, a wooden lid and a stone weight were placed on top, and the cabbage was left to ferment. For about a week, it was poked every day down to the bottom of the barrel so that the gases could escape. From the Lubāna region in Latvia, there’s an old saying that when fermenting cabbage, one should kiss over the tub — then the cabbage will keep well. Everyone who has made sauerkraut can test the truth of that for themselves :))) To make the sauerkraut healthy, rich with good probiotic bacteria that help produce the happiness hormone serotonin in the gut, only salt should be added — 20 grams per 1 kilogram of the combined cabbage and carrot mass. It shouldn’t be oversalted so that it doesn’t need to be rinsed before eating, and all the goodness stays in the cabbage. In the winter season, when someone caught a cold, grandma would hurry to the cellar with a bowl in hand, scoop out some sauerkraut from the big tub, and bring back a dose of vitamin C. For the children, she sprinkled a bit of sugar on top to make it tastier. That vitamin boost would get all the weak ones back on their feet. And there’s strength in sauerkraut juice — many a market woman has revived herself with it after having one drink too many. Cabbage gives strength and health, and that strength goes straight through the stomach. In Germany, I don’t ferment full tubs of cabbage, but smaller amounts — just enough for sauerkraut soup, stewed cabbage with roast pork, or as a salad mixed with chopped onions and oil to eat with pleasure.”

Story submitted by Laila Rudzone. Photograph from Laila’s private collection.
(Originally written in Latvian).

Grandma’s secret ingredient used in pickled vegetables (Ana Beatrise Apse-Paese)

“My grandma, Eunise, pickles vegetables on the regular. Cucumber, carrots and cauliflower. She adds onion and garlic and her secret ingredient are cloves. She cooks them in water, vinegar and salt (two cups of vinegar for four large cucumbers) until the cucumber loses its green hues and then stores it in jars in the fridge. My grandparents eat pickled vegetables everyday at lunchtime. As kids, me and my siblings were never fond of pickled vegetables, but my mom, Leila, has always had quite Latvian tastebuds, so, when we went out to eat burgers, we would all pick out the pickles to give to her, who gladly ate them. As a grown-up, I now appreciate my grandma’s pickles and reproduce them in my small apartment in Germany, where I study.””

Story submitted by Ana Beatrise Apse-Paese. Photos are from Ana’s personal archive.

What I truly miss here when I think of Latvia

I am not a child of exile, but it so happened that I have been living in Canada for seven years now. Latvia has always been and remains dear and close to my heart. I am proud to have been born in Latvia. This square was created with the idea of showing what I truly miss here when thinking about Latvia. It’s the fragrant forests and fields, the meadows. Mushroom picking, berry picking. Remembering my childhood through Margarita Stāraste’s illustrations and fairy-tale books, this porcini mushroom square was made.

Description submitted by Ingrīda Eglīte for the Museum “Latvians Abroad” project “Story Quilt” (2018)

A once-a-year feast of Latvian specialities (Maija Liiv)

My family left Latvia in 1944, and settled in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, in 1950 and I was born here. At this pre-Christmas time of year I think back, with nostalgia, to the once-a-year feast of Latvian specialties of my childhood.
My brother and I had birthdays either side of Christmas Day, so there was always a huge family and friends party at our house then.
The anticipation and preparations started long before. I remember taking out our best plates and serving dishes, cleaning the rarely-used silverware, and shopping at the far-away delicatessen that was the only place in those days that had the ingredients we needed for our party table. I loved the sights and smells of that delicatessen, as well as the sounds of many languages spoken by customers.
My mother (Lauma Sīlis) baked her own rye bread and sweet-sour bread, bacon rolls, cinnamon buns and poppy seed buns, pepper cakes, and our birthday tortes. She assembled platters of what seemed ‘exotic’ cold-cuts in those times of comparatively very plain Australian food. There was smoked salmon, rollmop herrings, sprats, smoked eel, tongue, and salami. The making of meat-in-aspic involved a trip the to butcher’s shop to buy a pig’s head. In those days,1950’s 60’s, pigs’ heads (wearing sunglasses, very tropical) were displayed in butcher shop windows.
She also made her own pate, rasols (with beetroot), stuffed eggs, fresh cucumbers in sour cream, and home-pickled cucumbers, and countless other traditional Latvian treats.
Australian Christmas staples were also on the table: ham, home-roasted chicken (after killing and plucking), prawns, trifle, and Christmas fruitcake.
My mother Lauma did all this as a single mother (separated), who also worked in full-time employment as a shop assistant. I honour her for her effort, her planning and coordination, her ability to save all year for this annual expense, and most of all for her love and for her incredible culinary talent. This woman, who left Latvia as a 17 year old, gave us our Latvian heritage and the most amazing childhood birthday/Christmas memories. Unforgettable.

Inta talks about celebrations in her home / Philadelphia, USA

…In our home, 2–3 days beforehand we were already preparing all kinds of dishes. Sometimes, at our house, we ate three times: everyone gathered for dinner around six o’clock and ate the hot meal; then afterwards, the men went off to play cards, the women washed the dishes, and then there was the coffee table; and around two or three in the morning, my mother set out the smorgasbord.

From an interview with Inta Grunde for the museum “Latvians Abroad.” Interviewed by Ieva Vītola in 2016.