Whenever my mother baked bread, the entire house smelled wonderful (Mārīte Krūze)

Mārite Krūze (USA) tells the story of her mother, Valentīne Upats (née Macāns, born in Rēzekne in 1924), and her bread baking.

My mother, Valentīne Upats, recalled how she began baking rye bread during her retirement years. Her bread became very popular in our New Jersey congregation. She baked with great joy and generously shared her bread with others.

The well-known Visvaldis Dzenis even wanted to purchase a special mixing machine to make kneading easier and to be able to produce a larger quantity of bread, but my mother refused. It was important to her to knead the dough herself—to do it properly and to feel the dough with her own fingers. She also had a bit of arthritis in her fingers, and this activity served as good exercise for them.

My mother believed she had received the recipe from a relative in Latvia, and later adapted it to suit herself and the ingredients available in the United States.

Whenever my mother baked bread, the entire house smelled wonderful for two days! I remember that once the loaves were finally baked, my mother and father would sit down at the table and immediately enjoy the fresh, warm bread. My father always received the first loaf. His task was to slice the bread evenly so that delicious buttered sandwiches could be prepared for the church luncheon table. For this purpose, he had purchased a special slicing device.

It was always important to my mother to find high-quality rye flour. She became acquainted with a baker who milled his own rye. My mother spent an entire day with him, discussing the sourdough starter, the dough composition, and other details. Her bread was baked in a wood-fired oven—and this was the loaf she was most proud of. The baker honored her by selling “Valija’s Latvian Rye Bread” at the market that summer.

We tried baking rye bread together, but it seems I never quite acquired the skill… Perhaps one day I will try again to bake this delicious bread, though I already know it will never receive the same admiration as my mother’s bread.