Gastronomic favorite
To the east of Vilnius’ beautiful Baroque Old Town, an iron bridge over the Vilnia River marks the border with Užipis. This formerly disadvantaged neighborhood, now an artists’ enclave, declared itself an independent “republic” in 1997, with an unofficial president, currency and manifesto. Gentrification in subsequent years has softened its countercultural boundaries, but among the galleries and boutiques, unconventional thinking still has its place.

I climb the hill, past the statue of the Angel of Užipis, towards a warm, warm glow that reveals the entrance to Amandus, the gourmet restaurant of chef-patron Deivydas Praspaliauskas, opened in 2017. In the room, I watch a team of chefs busy themselves before service in the open kitchen. With only one service, at 7 p.m., and no menu in sight, there’s a palpable sense of anticipation ahead of a 10-course journey led by a chef who has done much to energize the city’s culinary culture.

It’s been a rapid rise for Praspaliauskas, who, after leaving Vilnius for Denmark at 18, rose from the bottom of the restaurant ladder to heights that include a brief stint at Noma. During this time he was encouraged to return home and enter a competition to find the best chef in Lithuania, which he won at just 22 years old, giving him the impetus to open his own restaurant has 2011. “To At that time, Vilnius had little more than pasta, pizza and a few hotel restaurants,” he says of the city’s limited culinary scene after the Soviet occupation, which ended in 1990. ” My first review in a newspaper said: “We give this guy three months because of these small portions and €9 lunches. Three months later, the reviewer wrote: “I was wrong and you need to reserve a table for this lunch.” » To me it was a sign that something was happening event.” Today, the gastronomic landscape has changed. In 2024, four urban restaurants will have obtained the Michelin stars, Amandus is not yet one of them.

Soon, a succession of dishes emerge from the kitchen, accompanied by flourishes with a pipette or liquid nitrogen. Tender caramelized root vegetables offset the smoky catfish; chicken liver with cognac accents covers dark rye; and a Praspaliauskas business card, beetroot bread with notes of licorice.

While not a slave to traditional Lithuanian dishes or local produce, Praspaliauskas’ cuisine celebrates his heritage through signature ingredients including foraged mushrooms and forest berries, and techniques such as smoking and marinating. “People often ask about Lithuanian cuisine and the only thing that could lead to the collapse of our culture would be to eliminate the soup. Even if you don’t order soup, you get soup,” he says. Here, it appears in various forms, from creamy potato mousse hiding marinated cauliflower to barley-thickened chicken broth and garnished with plump, pink quail breast.

Praspaliauskas’ talent lies in his ability to extract the essence of everyday ingredients. “On any plate, I hope you find flavors that are distinct and as pure as possible,” he says of a style that draws comparisons to New Nordic cuisine. “It took me a while to understand whether what I do was Scandinavian or Baltic. But ultimately we have to create our own story.

Délis & DJ
The large old clock above the entrance to the Halės Turgus indoor market reads 9 a.m. as I pass a crowd of elderly ladies setting up baskets of picked porcini mushrooms on the steps. South of the old town, on the edge of the station district, decorated with murals, this high monument has been the city’s largest trading post for over a century. Today, its mix of cafes, bars and food stalls is a charismatic shock. of tradition and modernity.

Between an abundance of stalls stocked with staples including juniper-smoked pork knuckles, pig’s ears and salamis, I meet the mother-and-daughter duo behind new-wave cheesemonger Roots, who between serving customers at kefir and cottage cheese, cuts me samples of their artisanal bestsellers: waxy, caraway-studded kmynukas and džiugas, a hard, aged cheese somewhere between gouda and parmesan. Further out, beyond the mountains of cranberries and pickled cucumbers, a growing queue for oven-fresh goods at the Beigelistai bakery embodies the revival of Vilnius’ Jewish heritage, all but erased during World War II. War.

Meanwhile, Lithuania’s globalist tastes are quickly becoming apparent. At Halės Smokehouse, which specializes in American-style barbecue, team member Kostas pours me a glass of gira, a carbonated Baltic drink made from fermented rye bread, malty and satisfying, which he describes as Lithuanian Coca-Cola. “After the Soviets left, capitalism started and all these strange new products from overseas started arriving,” he says, showing me the sleek, modern butcher shop and the back hall filled with clothes, aftershaves and adapter sockets.

After dark, the scene changes and DJs play techno while a handful of bars serve amaro cocktails to a raucous crowd. Exhibitors sometimes return the next morning while the party continues in full swing. “There’s a real sense of community and the best part is that there are all the traditional products, as well as people trying something new,” says Kostas, adding that although the market is becoming popular with tourists, it is always full of locals. A constant of German and Soviet occupation, as well as Lithuania’s two declarations of independence, Halės Turgus remains a reliable barometer of the city’s changing tastes.

The new wave brewery
They say that life in Lithuania revolves around three “Bs”: beer, bread and basketball. While the latter is considered the country’s second largest religion, the former has its roots in a proud pagan tradition. Lithuania only converted to Christianity in the 14th century, but evidence of its Romuva past includes a shrine to Ragutis, the Baltic god of beer, on Pilies Street – a nod to a brewing culture which dates back to the 5th century. century.

Ragutis would probably approve of what is brewing in Naujoji Vilnia (New Vilnius), a old industrial district by the river, just 15 minutes by train from the old town. Here, surrounded by a dense pine forest, the Sakiškės family brewery is located in Dūmu Fabrikas, a former factory.

It is in this vast room, which also serves as a venue for live events, that I meet Gintaras Bingelis from the Sakiškės brewery team. Gesturing to the 24 taps lining the sleek bar, he explains what motivated a passion project that began in 2015. “What we do is so-called ‘modern’ beer, taking traditional styles and creating new recipes,” he says, from our vantage point on the mezzanine, overlooking the brewery’s 12 fermentation tanks. “We goal of producing two new styles of beer each month.”

Among the most notable, I taste an excellent IPA — hazy, hoppy and sour — and an imperial stout with accents of coffee and chocolate. Two more unconventional beers, fashioned from local ingredients, arrive in the form of an earthy beet ale and a pine cone-flavored pilsner, whose fragrant notes pair well with slices of smoked sausage an accompanying cheese and charcuterie platter.

“Even though 85% of (beer) consumption in Lithuania is lager, craft beer is becoming more and more popular and younger generations are turning to fruitier styles,” says Gintaras. Sakiškės Brewery produces 18,000 liters per month and its beers can be found in many of the city’s pubs, including Užipis’ excellent dive bar, Spunka. Tasting room tastings, meanwhile, are helping more people discover craft alternatives to mass-produced lagers. With evangelists like Gintaras, Lithuania’s love affair with beer will only grow stronger.

Medieval menu
Beaver stew is not often on Vilnius menus, the Lokys team insists. In the vaulted cellar of this flamboyant family restaurant, waitress Jurgita explains the historic approach to cooking. “Many places that sell “traditional” Lithuanian food focus on potatoes — pancakes, ravioli or kugelis (potato casserole) — but potatoes did not become popular until around 150 a few years ago, so we decided to look further back.

A deep dive into the diaries, memoirs and recipe books of the medieval noble classes, when Lithuania was a Grand Duchy, helped shape Lokys’ dishes. Its menu of wild meats and foraged foods also provides a history lesson.

We start with beer snacks: fried rye bread, smoked pork ear strips, spicy pickles and mature cheeses with sea buckthorn jam. It was the Karaims (Turkish-speaking Jews from Crimea who arrived at the behest of 14th-century ruler Vytautas the Great) who brought cucumbers, cabbages and preservation techniques to the country, Jurgita tells me. Next, I feast on roast wild boar (beloved by the city’s founder, Grand Duke Gediminas) garnished with a berry jus that cuts through the tender, fatty meat.

Jurgita explains that Milan-born Grand Duchess Bona Sforza is responsible for the healthiest dishes on the menu, the former first lady having introduced basil, tomato and garlic from her Italy native in the 16th century. “She I tried to introduce more green vegetables into the diet of a population that ate largely meat.

And so, to the braised beaver. After the country’s Christianization in the 14th century, Lithuanians’ love of pork was tested during Lent, when meat consumption was prohibited. So, Jurgita says, the beaver, a skilled swimmer with a scaly tail, would be classified as a fish – and thus, this furry creature became a Friday night staple. Gamey in flavor, with a rather tough texture even after a long period of slow cooking, it is not for nothing that many Lithuanians opted for tastier proteins when the rules relaxed. But as I finish with a sip of Krupnikas honey liqueur, I can’t help but be impressed by Lokys’ unwavering commitment to his mission.