With over a thousand years of beer brewing traditions and folk songs celebrating the amber nectar, Latvians are fond of a pint or three. And they have also created the perfect beer snack to line their stomachs.

Ķiploku grauzdiņi, fried garlic rye bread, is one of those beautifully simple things in life. Cut rye bread into chunks, fry or oven bake in oil, then rub generously with garlic. Serve with a cream or cheese dip. And behold a mouth explosion of oil, salt and tang that warms chilly northern hearts (and keeps cardiologists busy).

These treats emerged during the shortage-plagued Soviet era. With peanuts, olives or potato chips a distant dream, Riga barmen used what was available to keep imbibers' thirsts up. Square loaves of brown bread (affectionately called ķiegelītis, or “little bricks”) were readily available. Garlic was grown in every allotment. And thus a comfort food for the toiling masses was born.

In our age of plenty, Latvian supermarkets stock lots of take-home grauzdiņi made by local breweries and bakeries. But there’s nothing like sharing a bowl of piping hot, pungent snacks in a cosy pub with your mates, washed down with some local ale.

So we found another excuse to explore some of Riga’s most esteemed taverns and put their grauzdiņi under the microscope. Each place gets a score out of ten, based on their taste and presentation of the grauzdiņi, the atmosphere of the bar and value for money (though obviously prices can change).

With a historic wooden house plonked on top of a three-storey modern edifice, this long-running central Riga bar offers one of the weirdest takes on heritage preservation around. But inside it's just straight up good times.

"Burga" means a basement where frat guys go to drink beer. And since the crazy structure and its tavern are owned by a Latvian fraternity, that's what the place is about (open to all mind you, not just the members).

The clean, modern interior is populated by twenty and thirty-somethings noshing on burgers and pasta and knocking back brews with an eye on the sports screens. There's no Animal House-style chaos, but laughs aplenty. 

Burga's grauzdiņi set you back 5.20 euros and are nicely presented on a round wooden platter. But while they have a good garlicky flavour, they lack a bit of crunch. And the mayonnaise/ tomato sauce dip was a little sweet for our liking.

Still, other pods of diners seemed to be dipping and munching them with delight, so maybe it's just us. Have another Madonas unfiltered and kick back. 

Score: 8/10

Address: Dzirnavu iela 36

"The Droplet" is another Old Town cellar restaurant with loads of history. It was reportedly a drinking den for thirsty Teutonic Knights, and in its current version has been wining and dining since 1975.

Legend has it communist bigwigs used to grab a cheeky vodka here between reviewing parades on the Daugava Embankment. And there's a resident ghost, (whose political views are unknown).

The interior is tastefully medieval, and the menu is generous helpings of Latvian peasant fare and extravagant game dishes - keep your eyebrows away from the venison flambee in rum.

The grauzdiņi are worth jousting for. The thickest rye triangles you'll ever hold, fried to a sublime crunchy outside, melting soft inside. Served with a blue cheese sauce which, if slightly untraditional, is a marriage made in high-cholesterol heaven. Which for 4.80 a serve (beautifully presented in earthenware vessels), plus 4.50 a pint of Užavas from Ventspils, makes for one of the best tenners you'll spend in Riga.

Proprietor Oskars Dundurs, a gent with the old school knack of being both attentive and discrete, explains that grauzdiņi need to be big to get that inside/outside balance. And the garlic needs to be hand grated. A painstaking job which he says, "makes the chefs' knuckles bleed."

Their pain is not in vain.

Score: 10/10 

Address: Anglikāņu iela 2