Of course, it is a well-known fact that there’re 35 lines in Jurmala, which, if you look at the map, dissect the town up to the sea.

But there’s one more behind them – a bonus/secret one – the 36^th.

Drive into the woods, in a car with no roof, through pines and bilberry thickets. The looping road takes you to the sea where you face the bay-parking lot packed with luxury cars. Back when the Wave was around, there was a full-on festival in here: Rolls-Royces and McLarens were hardly able to pass each other. Now, everything’s more democratic.

However, celebrities of various caliber are still hiding from the crowd of gawkers on the huge verandah of Lauris, the proprietor/owner. He knows them all by sight and name.

“Oh, what a fucking achievement – he knows everyone from TV and there’re lots of Rolls-Royces, aha!” you’d say.

Indeed. But, besides them, for some reason, it is also you whom he know by sight and whose name remembers. There was a friend of mine who came there in a year after my birthday party and he unmistakably arranged for her a dish of oysters “in the exact way she asked it last spring” (c) – so this is a true achievement.

Despite the luxury look form the outside, inside you’ll find some understandable, not very expensive, and, most importantly, a very tasty and honest food based on local produce.

Herring, beetroot, salmon, new potatoes, flounder, eel, sea buckthorn, orange milk mushrooms, venison, rhubarb, fennel, honeysuckle – all of them come together with minimal-style Baltic horizon views. What else to wish for?

The only thing that gets on my nerves are the huge portions. But it’s just impossible to stop chowing.

Just like that. A pot of Baltic sushi: half of a new potato, homemade herring on top, sour cream and green onion – goes perfectly well on the sly and with samogon (Russian moonshine).

Unstoppable.

Sea bass, deer, smoked fish with currants, all kinds of meat, and even the Caesar salad – nothing remains on our plates, no matter how much we order.

Oh yeah, of course, the local star: cold borscht with double yolk – it’s the shit!

The shit 2.0 is rabarber cake. Thanks god, it’s seasonal – because before you finish up licking the whole million kilocalories up to the last crumb, the waiter won’t be able to pull off the plate from you.

Do enjoy!