Located somewhere in the aether between “not quite Bucktown” and “not quite Logan Square” is Owen & Engine, a much-buzzed pub serving up English fare. This gastro category usually serves as the butt of a joke, but here shows up as hearty, homey comfort food with elegant, upward twists and the paragon of what a bar program should look like.

Via: owenengine.com

We slipped in on a Friday night and got lucky with a seat at the bar right away. Despite being two stories (we never caught a look upstairs), we were both surprised at how small the place was. The smallness, though, was quaint, not cramped. There’s some patterned wallpaper, wood and brass at the bar, and a fireplace nook. Time Out Chicago even went so far as to award it the honor of ”Best Location for a Murder Mystery.”

Via: Zagat/stevejohnsonphotography.com

The food menu is short at just a single, one-sided page written in “English” that required a bit of translation from the bartender. After learning that Finnan Haddie is a fish spread served on crostini and that Bubbles and Squeak are potatoes and leftover vegetables fried up, we settled on two of the most quintessentially British dishes: the fish and chips and the bangers and mash.

As we waited on food, we dipped into the drink. Owen & Engine shines as a beer joint with twenty taps rotating a selection a craft brews with four more dedicated to cask beers. The liquor collection behind that reflects discerning taste and the fellow lost count somewhere around twenty five bottles of bitters, tinctures and spritzes. If you could call the food menu compact, the beverage selection was expansive.

For our first two rounds through dinner, we stuck with beer. The lady had Lost Abbey Carnevale - a light Saison - and then Arcadia Whitsun with Hibiscus - a fantastic cask beer with such low carbonation that it started off tasting dangerously closer to flower water than beer. The fellow moved more adventurous that usual and went fruity with New Belgium La Folie - apple, with just the right level of sour - and then Liefmans Cuvee Brut - cherry, cherry, cherry.

Via: owenengine.com

Our food arrived and, as good as the above picture of fish and chips is, the real life version is better. Light, lovely breading surrounded fish which fell apart in solid, tasty bites and paired easily with the soft tarter sauce and peas. The fries were seasoned well and came with a nice aioli, but that’s all we remember; who’s thinking about chips when the haddock is so fresh it’s flown in that day from New England. The bangers and mash, too, were a hit. The house-made sausages were flavorful without being too spicy and the giant pile of mashed potatoes had some spices and skins in the mix with an onion gravy over top.

At this point, the lady had thrown in the towel on getting more food, but the fellow foolishly pushed for dessert. As a compromise, we ordered a round of cocktails to help our tummies settle. The lady chose a highball called the Marjory Stewart Baxter which featured Cardamaro (an aged and fortified wine), L’espirit de June (a floral distillate liqueur), créme de pêche (peach) and basil (spanked!). It was similar to a Pimm’s cup, but lighter with a strong peach punch that we both really enjoyed. The fellow picked the curious Spaghetti Western, a Manhattan variation with a strawberry balsamic shrub. He loved the curious vinegarness of the shrub, but ultimately it was just a bit lacking.

We finally decided to order the rhubarb crisp, but the lady bowed out after one bite; the fellow trucked on, slowly, to intermittent cheering from the lady and the passing bartenders. Warm and spiced, the crisp part was disappointingly little more than a light sprinkle of oats atop cooked compote, but the star of the dish was a ginger creme anglaise which came beside it. This sauce was delectable and even though every bite was a challenge to his full stomach, the fellow could still imagine enjoying a serving of this with every meal.

When the fellow finally ate the last bite and pushed the empty plate away, the lady summoned the bartender to ask for a trophy. Owen & Engine doesn’t do plaques, but someone got the idea that a shot of Malört was just what he wanted. Oy! Cries of “Malört?” flew up and down behind the bar and from nowhere a bottle appeared and the fellow recieved his “trophy,” a shot on the house. He had never tried it and, despite the reputation this uniquely Chicago drink has of being the most vile, bitter pond water imaginable, the fellow actually enjoyed it. It made a nice digestif!

We left Owen & Engine stuffed and more than a little tipsy, but not much worse for wear wallet-wise. The fantastic dishes, excellent beers and fun banter with the bartenders made a strong impression with us and made us anxious to return. English pub dining is neither pretentious not pompous and Owen & Engine’s strength comes by just perfecting that simple bevy. Whether you order a pint and some warm olives or slog through a meal and half like we did, the place is inviting and informal, upscale without you knowing it.