A Ledgered Meal: Wanda's Cafe + Bakery, Nehalem
Just a block north of Nehalem's modest main drag sits Wanda's Cafe + Bakery, a small-town cornerstone that’s weathered its share of coastal storms, both literal and economic. Born in 1999, Wanda’s not only survived the pandemic’s chokehold on independent eateries—it’s thrived. These days, it serves up breakfast, brunch, and a lovingly overstocked bakery case to a mix of locals, regulars from nearby towns, and lucky travelers like us.
We stopped in during a brief stretch along the Oregon coast, somewhere between Cannon Beach and Yachats, and made a point to fuel up before heading south on 101. Even before we were seated, the wait was its own kind of pleasure: we clustered around a fire pit table out front and struck up a conversation with a couple from Manzanita. Their main home was in Hood River, but they kept beach property nearby, drawn—as so many are—to the particular gravity of this mossy, moody coast.
When our name was called, we were ushered into what was once a patio but has since been lovingly enclosed: a glass-roofed atrium-style space that feels like brunching inside a greenhouse decorated by an antique shop curator. Every corner spills over with trinkets, vintage signage, ferns, pots of rosemary and thyme, and soft, filtered coastal light. There's even a door marked "Jury Room 2" hung as if awaiting deliberation, scrawled with notes from previous diners.
Coffee came quickly—strong and no-nonsense—and the food even faster. We shared a grilled veggie scramble, its eggs fluffy and tangled with peppers, mushrooms, and just-crisped broccoli under a warm cheddar blanket. It came with a biscuit and a small mountain of fruit: pineapple, honeydew, berries, grapes, a radiant strawberry or two. A dollop of jam, a thimble of ketchup. Simple, but utterly complete.
The other plate was all comfort and heft: breakfast potatoes, crisp at the edges, generously ladled with sausage gravy, and topped with scrambled eggs seasoned with a dusting of paprika and chives. An English muffin perched to the side like punctuation—humble, golden, perfect.
Wanda's bakery, meanwhile, proudly parades its wares as you queue to pay: colossal cinnamon rolls, plate-sized cookies in flavors from triple ginger to M&M-studded chaos, and tidy slices of loaf cake on green glass stands that look plucked from a 1950s church potluck. We grabbed a chocolate chip cookie for the road, which turned out to be a brilliant choice—half snack, half talisman.
Years ago, we adopted a scruffy terrier mutt and named her Wanda. She's no longer with us, but remains woven into our story, a fixture of memory. So yes, maybe it’s unduly sentimental to tie a breakfast joint to a beloved companion—but this visit, this place, felt touched by her somehow. We raised our mugs in a quiet toast: to the road, to comfort, and to the Wandas who made our lives richer, however briefly.
And then we drove on.
