There are days you crave a burger and beer. You know those. Owen & Engine is not the sort of place one thinks of on such days. There's such little street credibility among hipster gastropubs. You can tell right away from the far too attractive interior appointments, the glass dividers, the fireplace, the upstairs salon and the armchairs. But it was also $3 beer nights (2 select) Monday through Wednesday, and for the past few years, I have been on a quest for the perfect burger.
I love burgers. Everyone does. There is a primal, simple elementalism to them. Buns, beef, cheese. The problem is that it is one of those foods that while imminently enjoyable, I think is hard to be blown away by, despite all the raving of people about how such and such burger has changed their life. I am skeptical. However, Owen's version was like a shot across the bow. An oniony crisp potato bun, that I was afraid would be too thin, but somehow was both proportionate and held up to the delicious grease and juice of the burger. The pub uses one of those magical blends of different cuts that sounds more like some kind of magical aggregate animal, some supercow. But I fear I must point out some of the weaknesses.
The burger comes with the option of $2 cheese and/or egg, $3 rashers. I'm sure they're all sourced from responsible farms with beautiful ingredients, the cheese I ordered definitely is (a beautifully aged cheddar oozing funk and personality), but when a properly topped burger is swimming around the $20 range, the very tiny flaws become incredibly, noticeably magnified. The meat is wonderfully beefy, but the medium rare is edging towards medium, a tiny bit thin on the juice. And the cheese is a tad light, even as it marries perfectly to the sweetly caramelized onions. It's a damned shame I have to start worrying about the money when I'm eating it, but at that price, I'm wondering where the lobe of foie is or (insert gourmet topping). Yet at the end of the day, I would pony up for it again. I am a slave to food.
And there is some mighty fine cooking going on. Fries are abound. Textbook chips, perfect size, crunchy and crispy on the outside, toothsome yet soft on the inside. And as my companion says, "Fries always taste better in a cup." They surely do. They also always taste better when they come with vinegar malt aioli, of which I shamefacedly request extra.
I also get in a few meager bites of Owen's famous fish and chips. My friend and I have contractually agreed on an exchange of 25% of each other's dishes. So I am sadly limited in the bites of fish, similarly textbook to the fries. Soft and flaky cod beneath a paper-thin crust, set upon a smear of pea puree like a sweet vegetable kiss. I watch her devour it with more than a little bit of sadness.
The drinks are also entertaining. The deal of a night is a solid but unsurprising citrusy bourbon cocktail and two beers: a rich Mudpuppy Porter, pleasantly bitter with chocolate and coffee notes, it's smooth and creamy all the way down, and a Central Pilsner, clean, crisp, and biting from all the carbonation, though it could use a touch more personality.
Luckily, Owen & Engine doesn't need more of it. Too many places like this could be too precious, with the faux British interior, the challenging menu, and flannel-shirted staff. But it's not this place.
4/5 stars
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