The Cannery Story
Sixty years of herring, one wood fire — how the building became Saltline.
The story
A cannery that fed the town, doing it again.
The building packed herring for sixty years. When the last boat contract ended, the town assumed the cannery would become condos — it became a dining room instead.
Chef Marek Voss came back from Copenhagen with a rule the kitchen still keeps: the menu is written by the morning, not by the quarter. Whatever the boats and the garden deliver decides dinner, and the printed menu dies at four sharp.
The boats first
We buy from four day-boats at the pier, never the distributor — the fleet’s names are on the menu.
The garden next
Two acres behind the harbor school grow the vegetables, herbs, and the flowers on every table.
The room always
Forty seats, none turned twice. Dinner is an evening here, not a shift.
The room & the plates
Come see the cannery the way the light does.
Exposed brick, the original crane hoist still on the ceiling, and forty seats that all watch the water.
The tables say it
What the harbor thinks of the kitchen.
“The menu said the fish was landed that morning by a boat I could see out the window. It tasted like it too.”
“We booked the window table for our anniversary and they remembered the year before. The salted honey pie did the rest.”
“Best cioppino on this coast, and I have eaten my way up and down it.”
The window tables go first. Book the water.
Dinner Tuesday through Sunday from five until the kitchen sings last call. The counter is always walk-in.
Text confirmations · Free Pier 4 parking after 5pm