I’ve never cooked bok choy, but I’m always drawn in to the bok choy booth at the Eugene Farmer’s Market. Two platters of bright, colorful greens draw me in with their sweet garlicky wafts and sesame-seed polka dots, and I can never resist.

This week, I actually bought some bok choy to see if I could make any of that magic at home. I didn’t buy the seasoning packets offered from the bok choy stand, because, well, I’m not that in to seasoning packets. This recipe is inspired by what my taste-buds remember from those platters, but also by springtime, nostalgia for New Mexico, and a fierce grumbly tumbly.

Bok choy isn’t particularly flavorful by itself, so strong flavors get their chance to shine. A sweet, spicy, spine tingling combination of ginger, New Mexican chile powder, garlic, cumin and onions underlies this dish. It is further accented by chopped peanuts that add crunchy satisfaction and protein richness. Baked baby potatoes are an excellent carrier for the spicy veggies, but rice or any other grain that is fairly neutral-flavored and has some sauce-soaking potential will do.

Ingredients:

½ onion

1 clove garlic

1 inch knob of fresh ginger, minced

1 Tbs New Mexican red chile powder (or some other kind of chile powder, or some chopped jalapeno)

1 tsp cumin

1 head baby bok choy

¼ cup chopped peanuts

1 T olive oil

Process:

1. Chop the onion and mince the garlic. Plop them in a dry pan over medium-high heat and add the spices and ginger with a hefty pinch each of salt and pepper.
2. Let the onions exude their liquid. When things start sticking to your pan, add the oil.
3. After about 5 minutes, add the chopped peanuts.
4. Add your bok choy, chopped up into bite-able pieces.
5. Keep cooking and stirring the mixture for about 10 minutes. The bok choi will release a lot of water and cook down. If things get sticky, add more oil.
6. Serve over carbohydrate of your choice!

A new pizzeria called Whirled Pies (a stretch of a pun on world peace) opened up over winter break in the Jefferson Westside neighborhood, taking the place of community chill spot Monroe Street Café, which closed down last spring. Halle-fucking-lujah. The new joint has potential to both heal the heartbreak that Jeff West has felt in Mo’ Street’s absence and add a new perspective to Eugene’s already-well-endowed pizza scene.

People feel strongly about their pizza. Some follow the Chicago path, where toppings trump crust and require the use of silverware. Others are like, “Fuck deep dish, gimme a slice of New York-style.” Then you’ve got your pizza purists who strictly mange the wood oven-baked, thin-crusted pizza of Sicily. Whirled Pies lands on the Sicilian side of the spectrum, with a few menu options that depart from tradition.

I recommend the veggie pizza. While its pesto-feta-kalamata combo give it a savory dankness, the caramelized onions counter with a tinge of sweet. The small pie costs $9 and is enough for two people. Their wackiest specialty pizza is Thai-inspired, with chicken, cilantro, onion, garlic, and peanut sauce. They call it the West Jefferson — an homage to their ‘hood, which is refreshing among businesses that reside in Jeff West, but for some reason rep the Whiteaker (Sweet Life, you’ve been called out!).

Ordering the house salad is also a good call. It comes with a blend of neutral and bitter greens, garbanzos, red onion, shredded carrot, crumbled feta, and a white balsamic vinaigrette on the side. A medium runs you $4, a family sized, $8.

During their daily happy hour from 3 to 6, their medium-sized slices of pizza are just a dollar each(normally $2) and beer pints and wine glasses go for $3 (normally $4). Their draft brewskie selection includes local breweries Ninkasi, Oakshire, and Hop Valley, as well as 2 Towns Cider from Corvallis. More options abound by the bottle.

As for the atmosphere, Whirled Pies has done well to retain Monroe Street Café’s home-grown, family-owned feel. When I arrive with the munchies, I order at the counter, fill a mason jar with water, and snag a table by the storefront window, while a really relaxed-looking dude sits on a stool, shooting the shit with the cook behind the counter. There’s a Ween poster on the wall and a crate of board games on the floor. As a party of four strides in mid-conversation, co-owner Eowyn Bondurant welcomes each of them with a hug.

In the coming weeks, the business plans to relaunch the Tuesday open mic nights that used to fill the former café and spill out onto the sidewalk. “We want to have the same vibe as Monroe Street Café,” says employee Laurel Bui. “Our whole trip is we’re a local neighborhood spot.”

Over the past five years, the irreverent tandem Tim and Eric have cemented their status as the most polarizing force in viral comedy. If anyone tells you this duo’s humor is something that grows on you over time, they are full of shit. You either love these two and wholeheartedly embrace the bizarre universe they’ve carved in the annals of late-night comedy, or you think they are abrasive, talentless, and disgusting. Either way, fan and hater can agree on one thing: Tim and Eric are the death of comedy. It is the interpretation of that notion which creates the division among viewers.

To quote a good-humored friend of mine who happens to not like Tim and Eric: “They satirize things that don’t warrant satire.” This is true. Tim and Eric aren’t mocking popular culture, but instead mock the idiots in show business who abuse popular aesthetic and repackage it to the unquestioning consumer. They are obsessed with infomercials and unprofessionalism in general. While a typical comedian might skewer the latest shit-sandwich Johnny Depp film, Tim and Eric are more inclined to showcase the Johnny Depp impersonator who hasn’t a sliver of acting ability.

You can probably tell I am a diehard Tim and Eric fan, and while saddened by the end of their five-season ADHD sketch series “Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job” on Adult Swim, I was ecstatic to hear about their production of “Tim and Eric’s Billion Dollar Movie.” It was only a matter of time before these two took their well-layered “Go fuck yourself, Hollywood” formula and dished it out in cinematic form. It is the perfect irony that these two ingeniously insincere auteurs actually had to collaborate with the studio system to produce a feature-length film.

As for the film itself: I was blown away, and can’t help but laugh to myself in class whenever I think about it. For my fellow chippies: do not expect a 90-minute episode of ‘Awesome Show,’ but instead something slightly different, but familiar enough. In some ways, T&E fans might have to unlearn some of their favorite facets of the universe of the TV show: it was especially hard for me to see John C. Reilly not playing fan-favorite Dr. Steve Brule, but his new character, Taquito, fits perfectly with what this film is trying to do. Reilly’s character is a nightmarish fusion of Chunk from the Goonies and Dickens’ Tiny Tim with some added sprinkles of severe mental retardation and malnutrition. It’s pure gold.

The story itself is a gnarly platter of rotting cheese, but it hurts so good. Tim and Eric, playing themselves, are in debt to studio bigwigs after the release of a their high budget, box-office disaster (foreshadowing?). The two flee Hollywood and decide to take over a run-down shopping mall. I couldn’t possibly explain what happens next, but let’s just say that it is the most aggressively satirical onslaught of the buddy comedy I have ever encountered. All the usual 90-minute storyline elements are there: prospects seem good initially, a romance triangle ensues, and of course the showdown with the villains at the climax. But it is the treatment of this vomit-inducing familiar narrative pattern that is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. The love scene outdoes what Trey Parker and Matt Stone showed us in Team America: World Police.

So I’m sorry, I don’t think this film review has been helpful up to this point.

Should I see this movie?

Abso Lutely!

Is it good, or is it bad?

It’s Tim and Eric.

“Tim and Eric’s Billion Dollar Movie” is available on-demand through iTunes, YouTube, Comcast and lots of other online sites. Check it out!

Dear Gingerbeard,

It’s my third year in college and I still don’t know how to make myself sit down and study for my difficult classes. I find that I spend the four hours I reserved for learning doing anything else. At least my apartment is clean and well-decorated. You seem like a gentleman and a scholar, please tell me how I can overcome my stubborn avoidance without drug dependence? 

-Academic Dish Doer

Well, ADD, if you’re really hoping to reform your study habits, you still shouldn’t completely discredit how you currently use your time. On the bright side, you’ve chosen the moderately efficient, big-kid task of cleaning your living space to avoid your studies. Many of us fall into the rut of becoming slaves to much more menial activities. This could include scanning Facebook albums for unrealistically fat-looking photos of friends, investigating a YouTube timeline of the work of Soulja Boy, or perhaps just laying around drinking on an empty stomach. In short, you are on the right track.

What I’ve found to be an important factor in completing my work is the integration of personal rewards throughout a night of studying. For example, two pages of writing earns me the divine privilege of one episode of The Wire (with roughly 15 minutes of wiggle room to catch up on overly ambitious, religiously-inspired young marriages on Facebook). In light of your current preferred use of time, I would suggest different forms of custodial rewards. Three chapters read would earn you, say, a perfectly white, stain-free toilet or a fridge that doesn’t smell like booty butter. Essentially, it’s just important to maintain checkpoints and goals for yourself, even throughout a single night. In addition, even though you’re hoping to avoid this route, I recently heard that one tablet of Excedrin is equal to like, three cups of coffee, dawg. More on this after midterms.

Dear Gingerbeard,

What do you think about the possibility of life on other planets? And what do you think will happen on December 21st, 2012? I heard some crazy funky shit.

-Pretty Eyes

Well, Pretty Eyes, my illustrious predecessor, I had a suspicion that there would be a question of this nature in this edition of the Oregon Voice. The 2012 New Years Eve party scene was a bitter-sweet occasion for many, including the Voice staff. Without pointing fingers, I will say that even some Top Dawgs here at the Voice have been on edge, finding themselves slipping into conversations reminiscent of those you might hear from unstable locals at the downtown bus station or the alley outside Minit Mart. You know, topics like planetary alignment chaos, solar storms, intergalactic bee extermination, and the ever-present and left-wing nonsense that “science” refers to as “global warming.” Though I myself will not settle on one specific date or process of Earth’s demise, I will say that I hope (fingers crossed), that extra-terrestrials and the violent destruction of humanity are intrinsically related. Maybe I’ve seen Alien vs. Predator a few too many times, Pretty Eyes, but the idea of aliens chillin’ with Latin America’s indigenous people in the past really warms my heart. If our intergalactic babysitters think we need a permanent time-out, then so be it.

Dear Gingerbeard,

Your volunteer occupation as an advice columnist will end as soon as you graduate. What will you do then? Tell me.

-Gingerbeard’s Red-haired Advice is Doomed

Although this question was meant as a personal one, I feel that it pertains to many students at the University of Oregon, dutifully trudging through their last one or two years of classes to earn a bright, shining, deceivingly useless liberal arts degree. Therefore, GRAD, this question provides an excellent space for a discussion of the options for Duck alumni shortly after graduation.

The first, most non-committal option is that of achieving the official rank of Townie. Not only would I have the ability to stay in Eugene’s culturally rich environment and party with younger, less pathetic friends, but I would also have the right to describe my undergrad major using past-tense, nostalgic language at all of my favorite local haunts when approached by strangers. Also, each fall would bestow upon me a slew of naïve California freshmen.

The next, most sensible post-college lifestyle lies in the confines of Portland. A liberal arts major’s wet dream, Portland offers a myriad of options for me to waste my time and defer loans. Perhaps the highest rank one could achieve here is the status of “Portland famous.” Beginning with a cashier position at, perhaps, Elephant’s Delicatessen, an ambitious and lucky twenty-something like myself might soon find great pleasure in being the guy everyone on the whole east-side knows as “that Stumptown barista who wears a boy scout uniform to shows.” Oh, and I could own a motorcycle.

Finally, I could always apply ahead of time for internships and volunteer opportunities that make myself more competitive for grad school, but… Meh.

words JORDAN CHESNUT

If the Williamette Valley is the fertile motherland of the Oregon empire, then the Williamette river is the Daddy, the vital green sperm that runs northward through its belly; depositing soil from the Calapooya Mountains to the Columbia River. It is our all-seasonal watering hole, quenching the nature-deprived thirst of everyone from autumn bikers to summertime vision questers. Our sopping wet patriarch has watched us grow, but nothing moves linearly, not even water. So while native northwest societies celebrated the rivers’ life-giving properties with metaphor and chant, Eugenians today have found other ways of exalting the sacred headwaters of our home territory — like floating in car tires and giving bread to ducks.

It’s all about the reciprocity, though, and as we spill Daddy’s favorite brew of Oakshire into his wet lips, and stuff his jacket pockets with greasy bags of Juanitas’, he cradles our sunburnt bodies. Ultimately, the Williamette lets us return to the essence of kid life, like Tom Sawyer-ing with rolled up pant legs on rock ledges, plunging into bushes of blackberries, or happily surrendering clothes for complete submersion. Like anything familial, the Williamette can’t be monetized, but he still supplies us with a hefty paycheck. There is no doubt his consistently cool current brings home the metaphorical bacon by the fistfull, as an appropriate Oregonian mountain man would. Thanks, Dad.

In an era of downloadable gratification, webcams, and the ability to mold the visual world to fit our own fetishes, are we more alone than ever before? What are the expectations for love now that our points of reference are derived from the infinite and ever-changing cyberspace and pop culture? Are we as a society heading to a place where love is broken down into its raw elements and commodified?

Heavy-handed, I know, but these are questions you’ll probably be asking yourself after seeing director Steve McQueen’s excruciatingly poignant “Shame” — a film centering around one man’s struggle with his sex addiction. Now before seeing this film, I associated that phrase with Tiger Woods and his tabloid saga two years ago. While some might pity him, it’s hard not to laugh at the spectacle of how far a perpetually horny man will go just for that quick fix.

But in the case of increasingly under-appreciated Michael Fassbender’s portrayal of Brandon, a rising star in the Manhattan white-collared world, the darkly comedic horn-dog hijinks come to a screeching halt when his vulnerable younger sister Sissy, played with equal impact by Carey Mulligan, arrives at his apartment in need of a place to stay. It is when we see Brandon in his failed efforts to shield his sickening lust that we realize how crippling this problem is. His spell leaves him incapable of any level of communication with people in his life, and his uncontrollable urges severely damage himself and everyone around him.

In effort to turn the page, Brandon tries going on a traditional date, but what ensues is a dinner scene reminiscent of a science fiction film, where beneath Brandon’s sleek exterior might as well be an emotionless robot, trying so hard to mold into humanity, but ultimately consumed by his own faults.  Fassbender is one of those rare actors whose expressionless face can say so much. He is perfect for this role.

Aside from Brandon and Sissy, arguably the third prominent character is New York City. This is not Woody Allen’s romantically chaotic Manhattan, nor is it Don Draper’s world from Mad Men. This feels much more honest — the New York with quiet nighttime sidewalks on side streets, unglamorous apartments with sterile lobbies, and corporate offices so flavorless that they might as well be located in Cleveland. Although this is a pretty raunchy film with an NC-17 rating, the simplified subplot of this film is mainly two individuals who went to New York to be In New York, and how the city has eaten them both alive.

What makes Shame so remarkable is that rather than stooping to provide narrative convenience to viewers who thirst for context, McQueen only gives us what we see. Not only do we not know the origins of Brandon’s problem, the details of his bizarre and questionably incestuous relationship with Sissy, but Brandon’s character doesn’t grant us cinematic retribution, because McQueen knows that’s all bullshit. Instead, at the film’s end we experience a moment or two that while small, could lead the protagonist elsewhere, but probably not. Such is life.

Shame opens at the Bijou Art Cinemas on Jan. 20.

words NOAH DEWITT

It’s a grey, dripping afternoon on the cusp of countryside in outer Eugene, Ore., and Arthur Ezra Tishman sits in “The Hole,” a cluttered book warehouse in the basement of his home. Forty-four stocked bookcases, each roughly 4’ by 5’, span most of the space. In a separate room, boxes of books stack up to eye level, and little piles of literature are strewn about an office area in the corner of the basement.

The telephone on the desk rings. Tishman abandons the task at hand (gobbling the final bites of a Subway turkey sandwich with everything on it except lettuce) and swivels in his chair to tap the speakerphone button. “Ezra the Bookfinder, how can I help you?” he says.

Tishman tracks down hard-to-find books for a living. The calls trickle in every day from obsessive collectors and lay readers alike, sending him on an internet hunt for out-of-print editions, thread-bound anthologies, and antique children’s books. He’s a literary sleuth, the Sherlock Holmes of the yellowed page. Portland’s Powell’s Books, which many people turn to for rare reads, has been referring customers to him for 10 years.

Tishman’s business, Aardvark Books, also entails selling from his online book catalogue as well as vending page-turners for cheap via Gertie, his bookstore on wheels. Inspired by Parnassus on Wheels, a 1917 novel about a horse-drawn book carriage, Tishman bought the 30-foot-long blue and white bookmobile on a whim in 2005. On weekends when rain isn’t in the forecast (in Eugene, this is somewhat rare), Tishman packs Gertie full of cheap books, many of them classics like Twain and Steinbeck, and opens up shop on the streets of Eugene. In short, he says, he unites books with their people.

In today’s case, an older woman with a quavering voice is calling in search of an out-of-print gospel songbook that she remembers from her childhood. Before giving the specs on the book in question, she asks Tishman how things have been.

“Blessings, blessings,” he answers. “I feel like I’m a blessed person.” After a childhood of adversity, decades of vocation hopping, and a close call with a brain tumor in 2001, Tishman, 60, has come to recognize every moment of life as a blessing.

Tishman was born in 1950 and grew up the eldest of five in Pittsburgh. Thrown out of the house at 17, he skipped 60 days of his junior year, and his grades suffered. But when a foster family took him in, he finished high school on a high note and achieved a full-ride scholarship to any school of his choosing. “Maybe somebody applied for it in my name because they thought I was smart and fucked up,” Tishman says. He chose Goddard College, which he discovered on a hitchhiking excursion through Vermont.

In 1971, Tishman worked producing press releases at the Harvard University news office for a non-resident trimester, which gave him access to the Ivy League school’s famous libraries. One day, he impulsively lugged a box of books to Harvard Yard. He wore pointy rubber elf feet and wielded an Indian taxi horn. Standing in front of the Holyoak Center in his outlandish getup, he honked the horn and without words placed books in the hands of strangers. “There were these books. I was done with them. I wanted to pass them on,” he says.

Although he has replaced the elf shoes with black leather boots, the honker with a bus-sized storefront and the box with a basement-full of literature, 40 years later, the picture is much the same. But between the quirky college kid who handed out books and the professional Bookfinder he is today, Tishman accrued a shocking wealth of experience: He worked dozens of jobs all over the country, married, raised a son named Charles, channeled his poetic muse, divorced, remarried, divorced again, received a Masters in creative writing at Boston University, studied under Indian spiritual teacher Sai Baba, and married for a third time to University of Oregon English professor Lisa Freinkel. Oh, and then there was that time he fully recovered from brain surgery.

Days after asking Freinkel to marry him, he learned he had a brain tumor on his occipital lobe; although it was benign, it could have killed his sense of sight. He had it removed at a research hospital in San Francisco by a surgeon who had been performing the same operation six to eight times a week for 15 years. “I remember he had big fat fingers like mine, and he took nine hours to do the surgery… If I had had someone less skillful, I’d be here in a wheel chair, sipping my omelet through a straw,” he says, seated on his living room sofa. He wears rectangular glasses, braided leather suspenders and a mustache the breadth of his smile.

“That experience reaffirmed my belief that we’re here, and then we’re not. And don’t waste your fucking time. Right?” he says.

So as an able-bodied Tishman sits down at his favorite diner to enjoy an omelet with hash browns and bacon, not through a straw but with a fork and knife, he whips out his smart phone and texts a quick blessing to his loved ones: “In gratitude do I pause before this holy breakfast offering, asking that its bounties, blessings, and energies be translated and directed towards serving and alleviating suffering wherever I find it.” The man loves breakfast.

Everybody has a different version of Tishman, says Larisa Devine, who manages the online business for Aardvark Books. “He’s Art, Artemus, Arthur, Ezra. And it all depends on if they knew him when he lived in Pittsburgh, when he was fishing in Alaska, when he was a mailman in Vermont, or riding motorcycles across the country as a beatnik,” she says.

Devine and Tishman met through her then-boyfriend, Ben Saunders, who teaches Shakespeare with Freinkel at the University of Oregon. She began working for him four years ago, and they soon became good friends. He was one of the only guests at her and Saunders’ wedding, and he was in the room when her daughter Bronwyn was born.

“He’s the type of personality that’s everywhere all at once,” Devine says. “So I organize. I organize him in a lot of ways. I wouldn’t quite call myself his personal assistant, but it’s getting close these days.” When Tishman’s attempts at multitasking aren’t getting him anywhere, Devine says, she will remind him what he was doing, rein him in, keep him focused.

But despite her best efforts, chaos often prevails in The Hole. “A lot of the books in the basement are not even listed online,” Devine says. “They’re just kind of there.” And the influx never stops. Clients and acquaintances contact Tishman periodically with books to sell or donate. Tishman is even named in one client’s will as the heir to his personal library.

Tishman is currently in the process of founding a non-profit called Books to the People, which will give books to “the young, the old, the book-hungry and the book-poor” free of charge, according to the organization’s website. Once he secures funding and 501(c)(3) non-profit status, Gertie will become the permanent vehicle of Books to the People.

Gertie wasn’t necessarily a moneymaking thing to begin with, says Eli Espinoza, 24, who helped operate Gertie for three years and serves on the board of directors for Books to the People. “Being around Tishman and Gertie means understanding what kind of joy comes from doing what you love,” he says.

“I like to tell people I started the business because I owned too many books, but really that’s an oxymoron,” Tishman says. “A person can’t have too many books. Not as long as you share them.”

words WILL STEVENS
photo COLLETTE LEVESQUE

Walking into a house party on a crisp autumn evening, you find a place in the corner of the dimly lit room. The incense fails to mask stale Pabst and yesterday’s quinoa, and the end result is more cinnamon fart than welcoming. In the adjacent corner stand two tall gents, each holding 22-ounce brown bottles. They’re trading sips and giving that diagonal nod that says, “I understand you, my brother.” When the exchange is over you realize you’ve been gazing creepily at this fraternal mating ritual for far too long.

You’re at another mediocre party, and although dumbfounded by the site of two college-aged beer snobs, you know deep inside you wish you could talk to them. After all, what’s happening with beer these days isn’t just a trend. It’s a revolution of party culture altogether.

“Younger people are starting to realize that craft beer is a whole different phenomenon from the Bud, Miller, Coors that our parents and grandparents grew up drinking consistently,” said Matt Van Wyk, Brewmaster at Eugene’s Oakshire Brewing.

That’s right. In Eugene, one of the west coast’s most delightfully puzzling of cities, quality beer has finally trumped the light lager standby. Leading the charge are the two surging breweries Ninkasi and Oakshire. Aside from both being founded in 2006 and concocting damn good beer, the two companies share little in common.

Ninkasi is undeniably the leader of Eugene’s beer renaissance. Named after the Sumerian goddess of fermentation, the company’s booming success is due mainly to its intense hopping, a trend among microbreweries today. Its ingenious marketing has also helped, particularly its presence in the Eugene music scene. Not only has the brand defined itself as rebellious and sharp, similar to that of Rogue Ales from Newport, Ore., but also its logo and overall design emulate the boldness and leisurely essence that is Eugene. It has grown to be the closest thing the city has to a mascot (except maybe for that quack in a duck outfit).

But any craft brewer will tell you that regardless of sexy ad campaigns and trendy marketing, the beer is what sells itself. Ninkasi’s flagship brew is the Total Domination IPA, a beer that, while on the hoppy side, finishes smoothly with a kick of citrus. It’s the beer that you’ll initially criticize for being too strong, too heavy, too this, too that, but by the time your tirade is finished, you’re running back to the bar for a refill.

Other notable Ninkasi brews include their Tricerahops Double IPA, the Believer Double Red Ale, the Oatis Oatmeal Stout, and the current winter release Sleigh’r.  All of these beers are exquisite, but drinkers beware: These shouldn’t be treated like pawns in your Thursday night drinking games. Just one pint of any Ninkasi beer will redden your face and you’ll start cracking inappropriate jokes or futzing with your friend’s iTunes, looking for that perfect track to bump full blast in effort to make sense of your fast-fleeting sobriety.

The intoxication with Ninkasi isn’t restricted to the Willamette valley either. It’s now regional. Last month, the Oregon Liquor Control Commission charted Ninkasi third in Oregon-owned beer sales, trailing only statewide giants Deschutes Brewery and Widmer Brothers Brewing. Ninkasi is currently bottling to four states, and the facility had to acquire adjacent property to store brewing equipment after seeing exponential sales growth through three consecutive years.

Amidst the hoopla surrounding the state’s new darling, Ninkasi brewers will tell you with frank modesty that they’ve simply had a good run and can only hope the ride continues.

“Ever since I started working here, it’s just been about making beer we’ve wanted to make, doing it in our own way, and then sharing that experience,” said James Book, marketing director at Ninkasi.  “The challenging part is being able to maintain that core culture moving ahead.”

If Ninkasi is your trendsetting, rebellious older brother (yes, we are personifying beer when it’s this good), Oakshire would be your friend’s dad who is often more fun to hang out with than people your own age. The stoicism of this brewery cannot be overstated: It claims to have no marketing strategy, and doesn’t seem to mind being the little guy relative to its cross-town compadre Ninkasi.

Oakshire’s signature craft is its amber ale. In general, ambers are popular in the northwest, though Ninkasi has never attempted one. Oakshire’s amber is the perfect beer to get your foot in the door when embarking on a long night of drinking. It’s rich, but crisp, and that one-beer lethargy won’t happen. Probably because you’ll soon be reaching for another one without hesitation. Oakshire’s amber is much less hoppy than Ninkasi’s signature beers, which makes it more drinkable for the casual bar-goer.

Oakshire also differs from Ninkasi in its brewing philosophy. While Ninkasi prides itself on its signature year-round beers plus the seasonal ale, Oakshire is much more experimental. They cultivate over 40 types of single-batch brews, which are distributed around town at various Wtimes of the year.

It is becoming increasingly popular, and soon it could easily taste the success Ninkasi has experienced. Last month, Oakshire inked a distribution deal with Maletis Beverage, a Portland bottling and distribution company whose clients include Anheuser-Busch, Widmer, Red Hook, and Ninkasi.

Now that Oakshire is increasing sales, one wonders how long it will maintain that small-time novelty. Will it lose its local following much like that of an overblown indie band? Brewmaster Matt Van Wyk, a teacher-turned-beer-innovator, insists that the focus of his company is on creating the perfect selection of beers, not playing catch-up.

“We’re big fans of what Ninkasi and other northwest breweries are doing, but we’re different in that we’re more experimental and don’t want that factory feel,” he said. “Our goal is to offer a wide variety of quality beers, and that’s what younger people seem to want.  People in their twenties usually order different types of drinks because they want to try lots of things, and we identify with that desire for diversity.”

So which brewery is king in Eugene?  It’s tough to say, especially because a head-to-head comparison of the beers would be limited to just two varieties: IPA and pale ale, and the subjectivity of beer criticism is an endless spiral.

“More often than not, people reaching for an IPA are going to go with Ninkasi, but Oakshire always seems to attract people with its new stuff,” said Colin Mulligan, server at 16 Tons Beer and Wine.  “The pale ale is going to be the standard for judging beers, but people shouldn’t think of the two companies as competitors, because there’s so much camaraderie between them.”

Mulligan and others did note the trend among young beer drinkers to gravitate towards the lesser-known brands, because as we all know, once the masses catch on and start drinking, that beer is no longer appealing. Right?

“We’re aware of the natural dynamic of hipster-ism, and we can’t be new forever,” Book said.  “Our only concern is the beer.  Beer is love.”

Mulligan agreed. “The real winners are the places like [16 tons], the Bier Stein, Valley Vintner, and other places that are all about spreading the passion of good beer. In the end, Brewgene wins.”

Good riddance to the days of beer inadequacy, and hello to a better brew to warm the coming frosty nights.  The beer gut was always inevitable, and sources say chicks dig it.

words EDDIE BOND
art JULIAN EARNEST

Searching for a fun way to escape the craziness on campus?  Then lube your chain, pump your tires, and try one of these awesome bike rides!

The Hendricks Park Loop:

Roll to the corner of 19th Avenue and Agate Street. From here travel south on Agate, past Panda Park, and turn left on Fairmount Boulevard. Follow the hill up to the right and keep left at both forks. Hendricks Park is at the top of the hill. Cruise through the park, catch your breath, admire the trees, and turn right after the parking lot onto Floral Hill Drive. The area east of Hendricks Park is beautiful and the ride down Floral Hill is a perfect time to enjoy the view. Emerge onto Riverview Street, follow this until Sylvan Street and then turn left. Sylvan morphs into the sidewalk that will whisk you back to campus.

The Water Tower or College Hill:

An enormous block of concrete rests on top of College Hill. EWEB says it is a water reservoir, but in order to investigate for yourself, ride west on 17th Avenue and turn left on Lincoln Street. The reservoir is up Lincoln just past 23rd  Avenue on the right. It’s an excellent spot to watch the sunset with that special friend, or a spliff.

art ALLISON FONDER

1. CAMPUS AREA

words NOAH PORTER

A radioactive nucleus for student living, the generally accepted boundaries for “campus area” stretch from Kincaid to Pearl Street, between 13th and 18th Avenue. An emerald city of factory-issue condominiums intermittently sprinkled with abandoned high-heels, the dream of Seth from Superbad is alive and well in this five-block radius. For those who wish to become better acquainted with their fellow students, an over-crowded apartment party can be a great place to rub shoulders, chests and buttocks with the best and the brightest that the Sociology department has to offer. Most recently, the “campus area” has become something of a cultural hub for Eugene’s up-and-coming frozen yogurt scene.

2. FRIENDLY

words SAMUEL TEPE

To answer your question, yes, the Friendly neighborhood is a friendly neighborhood indeed. Quaint and cute are qualities of this neck of the woods. Home to many happy students and families, the Friendly embraces many positive qualities of Eugene. The intersection of 24th Avenue and Friendly Street is the community’s core. On the north side of this crossroads you will find a handful of local businesses including a gourmet teahouse, a park, a potter, two different acupuncturists, a natural grocer, and a new organic food stand named “Party Cart.” Cruise on over for an exploration of sorts, and you will be happy with what you see.

3. SOUTHTOWNE

words MARGARET APPEL

Three words: Long’s. Meat. Market. The Southtowne hood doesn’t really need anything else to qualify it as the fillet of Eugene, and yet still it gives you so much more. Take the Amazon bike path out to these parts and enjoy a peaceful stroll through the likes of southern High, Mill, and Ferry Streets, while the hustle and bustle of Willamette remains just inches away. Our nearest laundromat comes equipped with pool table and attractive hipsters, and you can always end your night at the seedy dive that never disappoints — Mulligan’s pub. Barry’s Espresso can be enjoyed without the long line, and if the nearby 7-11 Redbox doesn’t have that romantic comedy you’re looking for, the neighboring McDonald’s Redbox probably does. Southtowne? Swagtowne.

4. JEFFERSON WESTSIDE

words BEN FICKLIN

The trees are the most remarkable feature of Jefferson Westside. They loom over the neighborhood, hiding it in a shadow from the rest of the city. These elderly trees make the blocks from 7th Avenue South to 18th Avenue seem older than the rest of Eugene. For those who live here, the neighborhood is a treasure. Largely residential, the few businesses that operate in Jeff West are charming. Sweet Life Bakery makes all sorts of confections that taste like love, New Frontier Market is open until midnight, and the hole-in-the-wall Mi Tierra makes one of the better burritos in town. But like I said, the lawn-grown fruit trees and towering oaks are where Jeff West exudes its magic. Stroll through  the tumbling leaves of Monroe Park on a misty night and check out the enchanted trees yourself.

5. THE WHITEAKER

words EDDIE BOND

The Whiteaker is among the most vibrant and interesting neighborhoods in Eugene. The Whiteaker is the parents who walk down the street while their children run ahead barefoot. The Whiteaker is the man on the street corner selling newspapers to buy his bread. The Whiteaker is music and the venues like Sam Bond’s Garage that support the local acts. The Whiteaker is wild graffiti and colorful murals and the artists who create all night and day. The Whiteaker is a stray cat wandering down an alleyway, a conversation on the street corner with a stranger, and the smell of fresh hops from the Ninkasi Brewery floating through the air. The Whiteaker is 6th Street north to the river and east from Skinner’s Butte to Chambers Street. The Whiteaker is a breath of fresh air; an energetic, creative neighborhood with a strong sense of community.

For more information on exploring Eugene, check out these groovy bicycle adventures.