Behind the Menu

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Winters Night | Glide, Oregon

Behind the Menu: 138 Grill

Beneath the Neon: The Heart of 138 Grill

A good distance from the city lights sits a place that feels like a beacon in the fog — and for all the right reasons.
It’s rural in nature, touched by wonder. In the shadow of the Cascade Mountains, beside an iconic river, and through the memory of fire, stands a cultural staple forged from the real American dream. This is small-town living. This is heartfelt food that spills into the community.
This diner isn’t some corporate experiment in branding. It’s built on the backs of loggers, teachers, surveyors — people who worked the land, taught the next generation, or kept the world measured and straight. It’s a place rooted in the bounty of the valley itself.
In a world of Taco Bell drive-thrus, Little Caesars $5 specials, and Red Robin birthdays, somehow this diner still holds the line. Because sometimes a good meal isn’t a trend — it’s a memory: the smell of Grandma’s kitchen, smoke rolling off a BBQ, or a slice of homemade pie that wakes something old in your soul.

This is 138 Grill.

Proof of Concept | Glide, Oregon

It was good to see a familiar face when I walked in the door. Someone I’ve known for twenty years, greeting me like no time had passed. Her name is Christina Hill, and she’s the heart of the establishment—the matriarch driving the machine that is 138 Grill. Her dad was a chef, so food isn’t just a recipe to her; it’s in her DNA. It’s family. It’s memory. It’s hard work. All of it creating a place where people can still find real home cooking.

Christina didn’t just inherit kitchen skills; she earned her stripes in this industry for over two decades. I remember meeting her when she was a young waitress and a young mom, working long shifts while her husband was in North Dakota working the oil fields. Maybe that’s why the food has a different vibe at 138—because it’s made by hard-working Americans building a family and creating a home.

Her daughter was only two back then. Now that same daughter was behind the grill, cooking one of their special burgers for me, learning the trade in real time from her mother.

Fifteen family members have worked here at one point or another—not because they needed a job, but because the diner itself is part of the family.

Everyone takes a turn carrying the flame. The generational line of family, food, and culture hasn’t faded.
Community isn’t just a word at 138; it’s treated like family. Christina makes sure her kitchen gives back to the kids—softball, football, 4-H, and more. The same hands that feed the town also invest in its future.

The Nitty Gritty | Glide, Oregon

While I waited to set my eyes upon that burger, I stopped to look around. I saw the patty on the grill as her daughter pivoted from piece to piece. I stepped just outside the kitchen and found a tried and true staple of real diners: the chalkboard menu. Only this one wasn’t selling gimmicks—it was the Burger of the Month, and that was the plate I came for. They serve the cultural staples of the community, and still find room for a dash of daring. I thank them for that. Meatloaf that tastes like it came from someone’s kitchen. Fried chicken that was prepped by hand in the kitchen or bacon that is thick and hearty—real portions.

I gladly drive from my home town 45 miles away to have a great meal, and I know others do too.
Wouldn’t you know it, a few steps later I heard a voice from the kitchen letting me know it’s ready. I watched as the steam rose from the crispy fries. I took it across the room and sat it on the table next to the window as the sun was peaking through the clouds. I snapped a few shots as the smell permeated the air. It was perfect timing, because about that time her customers started arriving for lunch. I had a small window of time before everyday business started taking over.

Final Product | Glide, Oregon

I sat down and enjoyed the burger, every bite I took reminded me of the America I grew up with. The small-town diners I’d been in all across the western United States, and the late-night 24-hour spots from my college days, all came rushing back. It was tasty in the way real food is—no garnish, just proper heat, the right amount of salt, and care of craft. The fact that I was raised inside a restaurant and I could feel the same genes in this building, 2000 miles away and 30 years later was not a coincidence. It was the same story elements inside a different building with another family.

I could taste time, intent, and the kind of direction that gets passed from a mother’s hands to a daughter’s.

Each bite took me back to the sound of the sizzle in the background as I washed dishes at 14. I finished up, not leaving anything on the plate and I told Christina I would be back. I left 138 Grill satiated and ready to meet up with an old friend. I had planned to traverse the beautiful landscape surrounding Glide.

I returned around 7pm to find Christina’s husband holding down the fort. He had come in around 6:00 so she could go home after working a 14 hour shift. It was love and dedication viewed through an outsider’s lens. The burger I had earlier tasted better because I know the grind behind it. It felt good to see Aaron stepping in to let his wife go home. That’s what makes 138 Grill so special, it’s family, food, community and grit. It wasn’t just a building, but a reflection of small-town American culture and I had one last opportunity to capture it in all it’s detail. I thanked Aaron for letting me be a part of their day and walked outside into the cool fog to take one last photo. The lights hummed in the cold night air as I stepped onto the old 138 highway. On the edge where the old meets the new I saw a puddle and caught the glimpse of a reflection. I knew this was the shot. It wasn’t just a building, but a reflection of the culture--a family keeping their doors open one shift at a time.

Not Just a Restaurant| Glide, Oregon

I looked up at the wall when I told everyone goodbye and saw the 138 Grill emblem. In my head it wasn’t a logo. It was Highway 138 running next to the river after the burn. Black stumps, rock showing through, and soil cooked to ash. That’s what’s still here, not what used to be. The views will come back eventually, but this place already has something real: Dad coming in after work so Mom can get off her feet, and their daughter handing out her first plate across the counter after school, working her first job. That’s what is truly Behind the Menu.

There are diners like this one…
and there are wild corners of Oregon where the wind still tells stories.
Between them lie cabins, river houses, and forgotten acreages
waiting for the right hands to carry their history forward.

I share those places—
not as commodities, but as living parts of the landscape.

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