Been coming here since the '90s. Nothing fancy, just cold beer, heavy pours, and people who mind their business. The food’s solid—I get the bacon burger or wings. Staff don’t mess around. If you want polished, look elsewhere. If you want real, pull up a stool.

Turner Tavern is a living snapshot of small-town Oregon. The lighting’s dim, the bartenders remember your name, and there's always someone playing lottery at the corner machine. I tried the Chicken Cheese Sandwich perfect char, real kick, nothing frozen. Paired it with a local draft and watched the Beavers game with three guys I didn’t know but somehow already liked. This place runs on familiarity, not flash.

Y’all. Turner Tavern is where the good weird happens. Popped in on Taco Tuesday and left plotting my return. Food? Better than expected. Drinks? Strong as hell. Vibe? Somewhere between backyard cookout and your uncle’s garage. 10/10 would lottery again.

No pushy staff. The burger came fast. Hot. Good. Beer was cold. The crowd leaned local. Old guys talked about fishing. The bartender knew their order before they sat down. I stayed longer than planned.

Turner Tavern excels at consistency. The menu features straightforward bar staples executed well—the mushroom Swiss burger stood out, with perfectly sautéed mushrooms and a buttered bun. Service was fast without being rushed. What sets this place apart is its character—Oregon’s oldest bar, but more than just a relic. It’s active, alive, and deeply local. I wouldn’t change a thing.

This joint goes hard. I rolled in for a quick beer and left four hours later with a belly full of fries, two lottery slips, and new drinking buddies. The BLT slapped. The bartender poured doubles like she was trying to prove something. Vibes? Absolute chaos in the best way. This is what a 5-star dive bar should feel like.