Food & Drink

When you name a place Alpenglow in a ski town, you better be able to back it up. For mountain dwellers, the very utterance of the word conjures a Zen oneness with nature and feelings of peace and serenity. After a tough day when you look up toward the horizon and see that reddish glow cast on snow-covered peaks at sunset, you are reminded that life in the shadow of the Cascades isn't too shabby. The Alpenglow Café, fortunately, does the term justice. Serving only house-made breads, locally smoked meats, dairy from area farms and fresh foods – absolutely nothing canned or frozen – Alpenglow has the whole oneness-with-nature locavore thing down. In fact, their mission statement offers a $1,000 reward to anyone who can find a can opener on the premises (“no fair bringing in your own!”).

When you name a place Alpenglow in a ski town, you better be able to back it up. For mountain dwellers, the very utterance of the word conjures a Zen oneness with nature and feelings of peace and serenity. After a tough day when you look up toward the horizon and see that reddish glow cast on snow-covered peaks at sunset, you are reminded that life in the shadow of the Cascades isn't too shabby. The Alpenglow Café, fortunately, does the term justice. Serving only house-made breads, locally smoked meats, dairy from area farms and fresh foods – absolutely nothing canned or frozen – Alpenglow has the whole oneness-with-nature locavore thing down. In fact, their mission statement offers a $1,000 reward to anyone who can find a can opener on the premises (“no fair bringing in your own!”).

A while back, I started hearing whispers about a magical drive-through on the Eastside that serves up some of the best Thai food in town. I was skeptical. Not only is it hard to imagine the words “magical” and “drive-through” in the same sentence, but every time I drove out that direction with an eye open for it, the elusive little shop escaped my notice. I was starting to think that this so-called Thai on the Fly was an urban myth, when finally I caught sight of the tiny trailer tucked next to the Xpress Lube at Greenwood and 7th St. It is a wonder that food of this caliber can come out of such modest digs and at such a reasonable price point. But it is, in no small part, chef and owner Kaew Sumner's way with customers that keeps them coming back. To Sumner, everyone is “honey” and from her perch at the drive-through window treated like a special dinner guest.

A while back, I started hearing whispers about a magical drive-through on the Eastside that serves up some of the best Thai food in town. I was skeptical. Not only is it hard to imagine the words “magical” and “drive-through” in the same sentence, but every time I drove out that direction with an eye open for it, the elusive little shop escaped my notice. I was starting to think that this so-called Thai on the Fly was an urban myth, when finally I caught sight of the tiny trailer tucked next to the Xpress Lube at Greenwood and 7th St. It is a wonder that food of this caliber can come out of such modest digs and at such a reasonable price point. But it is, in no small part, chef and owner Kaew Sumner's way with customers that keeps them coming back. To Sumner, everyone is “honey” and from her perch at the drive-through window treated like a special dinner guest.

I've been working on taking my diet to the next level by adding as much organic, locally grown fair to my plate as possible. Zydeco came up in conversation as the place to do this. An hour later, friends in tow, we took our seats under an outdoor heater on Bond Street. Our waiter asked if anyone would like the gluten-free menu. “I'll take the vegan one,” I said. They didn't have one; but our waiter told me, the chef had created a vegan special earlier that was reportedly some kind of wonderful. Perfect, bring it over!
While waiting for our table, I overheard a young woman mention Zydeco's crispy fries ($4) were the best in town. I needed no further encouragement. We ordered two cups of fries for the table and one cheese-less Acadian Flatbread ($11), a crispy hand-rolled cracker-bread, topped with oven-fried tomatoes, pearl onions and pepper. I could have eaten the entire thing myself; three, in fact.

I've been working on taking my diet to the next level by adding as much organic, locally grown fair to my plate as possible. Zydeco came up in conversation as the place to do this. An hour later, friends in tow, we took our seats under an outdoor heater on Bond Street. Our waiter asked if anyone would like the gluten-free menu. “I'll take the vegan one,” I said. They didn't have one; but our waiter told me, the chef had created a vegan special earlier that was reportedly some kind of wonderful. Perfect, bring it over!
While waiting for our table, I overheard a young woman mention Zydeco's crispy fries ($4) were the best in town. I needed no further encouragement. We ordered two cups of fries for the table and one cheese-less Acadian Flatbread ($11), a crispy hand-rolled cracker-bread, topped with oven-fried tomatoes, pearl onions and pepper. I could have eaten the entire thing myself; three, in fact.

For a relatively small place, it's impressive how well Bend replicates the benefits of big city living without any of the hassle that usually goes along with it. Per capita, Bend probably has more musicians, artists, galleries, readings and performances, microbrews, bars, gourmands and restaurants than most large urban areas. And while a backyard of snowcapped mountains and wildflowers makes up for most everything else, like a grocery store I can walk to and reasonable public transportation, the only real loss I have felt from my former big city life is diversity. I feel this acutely in many aspects of the day-to-day. But as an appreciator of food, its impact can be devastating.
There is, fortunately, one steadily growing ethnic enclave in Central Oregon and with that has come culinary treats. The Mexican community has more than doubled since 1990 ushering in a stream of taquerias and ristorantes. More exciting, since the population reached a critical mass about 10 years ago, Bend has seen the opening of its first ethnic markets.

For a relatively small place, it's impressive how well Bend replicates the benefits of big city living without any of the hassle that usually goes along with it. Per capita, Bend probably has more musicians, artists, galleries, readings and performances, microbrews, bars, gourmands and restaurants than most large urban areas. And while a backyard of snowcapped mountains and wildflowers makes up for most everything else, like a grocery store I can walk to and reasonable public transportation, the only real loss I have felt from my former big city life is diversity. I feel this acutely in many aspects of the day-to-day. But as an appreciator of food, its impact can be devastating.
There is, fortunately, one steadily growing ethnic enclave in Central Oregon and with that has come culinary treats. The Mexican community has more than doubled since 1990 ushering in a stream of taquerias and ristorantes. More exciting, since the population reached a critical mass about 10 years ago, Bend has seen the opening of its first ethnic markets.

Just months after leaving Redmond and settling in at a new location in the FivePine complex in Sisters, Chloe New American Cuisine got an offer in its old hometown it couldn't refuse. A space opened up in the Sleep Inn conference center, formerly occupied by Canyons.