Crayfishing in Latvia has never really been about the crayfish.

It's about evenings that stretch long past midnight. About a grandfather who taught you to tell the rustle of a living crayfish from the muffled sound of a stone. About the first taste of homemade cider – the kind that burns not your throat, but warms your heart.

Crayfish Gourmet dinners come from somewhere deep. From old mills, from cellars, from the banks of the rivers and lakes. We didn't invent them – we simply remember them. And like treasures, we gather your stories too. Some we will share here. All of them we will carry forward – so that this tradition does not fade into silence. 

Because a true dinner doesn't begin when the first course arrives. It begins when someone says: "Let me tell you a story..."
 

"My grandfather used to catch crayfish along the Gauja. He took me with him when I was seven. He said: 'Look, child – the crayfish isn't afraid of the dark water. It lives there.' Later, as we ate, he laughed: 'See how he sits in his own shell? That's how we all are – inside our memories.'"

— Andris, Riga