


Old-school diner, featured in the TV series “Twin Peaks,” known for its breakfasts, burgers & pies.
Hours
| Wednesday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Thursday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Friday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Saturday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Sunday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Monday | 9 AM–7 PM |
| Tuesday | 9 AM–7 PM |
Address and Contact Information
Address: 137 W North Bend Way, North Bend, WA 98045
Phone: (425) 831-5511
Website: http://www.twedescafe.com/
Menu Photos
Order and Reservations
Order: Order online
Photo Gallery
Related Web Results
Welcome to Twede’s Cafe – Now Shipping Nationwide on Goldbelly
Twede’s Cafe | North Bend WA – Facebook
Our story – From the Mar T, to the Double R – Twede’s Cafe
Reviews
After visiting Twin Peaks Waterfalls this was the second fan location we wanted to visit. Easy to find, convenient parking, and cozy booths to have both privacy but also enjoy the very cool lighting and vibes. There are some cute Twin peaks fan easter eggs to discover and I was re-living the show while sitting there.
To be honest I would have been happy with some coffee and fries, but my vegan heart jumped when I saw the menu – black bean Patty, beyond burger patty, vegan cheese, vegan mayo!
The staff was super friendly, very fast and helpful and pointed out all the options, a lot of the burgers can be veganized and you can chose your own patty. You get the burger + as many fries as you like, and they are good. Ask for vinegar sauce to make them even yummier.
I didn’t love the vegan cherry pie tbh, but getting a vegan dessert in the middle of nowhere was still a special treat.
You get as many re-fills of diner coffee and fries as you like!
We arrived at Twede’s Café on a Sunday, seduced by the promise of Twin Peaks magic and a cherry pie so legendary it could probably broker world peace. What we got instead was a brunch-themed escape room, where the only clues were confusion, caffeine withdrawal, and a syrup subplot that felt suspiciously sticky.
The host told us the wait would be 45 minutes. We were seated in 30. A miracle? A scheduling error? Divine intervention? We’ll never know. But we took it as a good omen. The staff greeted us like we’d just wandered into a community theater production of Diner: The Musical—warm, enthusiastic, and one jazz hand away from a tap number about hash browns.
Our server, who seemed like the only one not currently cramming for midterms, took our order with the weary grace of someone who’s seen things. The beer arrived in five minutes, which was great, because we needed something to sip while we waited for our “damn fine cup of coffee”—a phrase that, in this context, felt more like a dare than a guarantee.
Then came the coffee… or didn’t. First, a refill offer. No mug. Then another refill offer. Still no mug. At this point, we began to suspect the coffee was a metaphor. Eventually, a mug materialized—possibly through a wormhole—and we were finally caffeinated. Emotionally, at least.
Thirty minutes passed. Still no food. The Halloween candy bowl on the counter started to look like a viable entrée. Just as we were about to unwrap a mini Snickers and declare it brunch, we got up to use the restroom. (Note: the bathroom was a little too authentically rustic for our liking. Think “frontier chic” meets “gas station nostalgia.”) When we returned, our food had arrived—delivered by two servers who looked like they’d just been briefed on our table seconds before. We received one extra breakfast dish we didn’t order and were missing the “real maple syrup,” which, after two polite reminders and one whispered prayer, finally arrived. It tasted like high-fructose corn syrup in a maple costume, trying to sneak into a Canadian embassy.
The cherry pie? Microwaved. A sweet gesture, like someone warming your mittens in the dryer and calling it a spa treatment. It had heart, but not the kind that wins bake-offs. More “nostalgia cosplay” than “culinary masterpiece.”
Then came the bill. Our orders weren’t in the system, and the handwritten notes looked like they’d been channeled from the spirit realm. We had to reconstruct our meal from memory, like culinary archaeologists dusting off the ruins of brunch past.
Final thoughts: Twede’s Café isn’t so much a restaurant as it is a surreal brunch odyssey. A place where time is a suggestion, coffee is a myth, and maple syrup is a shapeshifter. Some of the servers were absolute gems—navigating the chaos with the poise of seasoned improv actors. Would I return? Only if I’m cast in Twin Peaks: The Syrup Conspiracy—and even then, I’m bringing my own mug, my own syrup, and a granola bar. Just in case.
Make sure you get a slice of cherry pie and a “damn fine cup of coffee.”