[A final dinner August 15^th, 2023]

Beer on cask. The puzzle and provenance of the firkin is a murky field of study. Owen & Engine was one of the very few tried and true English pubs in the city. Craftsmanship in the art of real ale, unadulterated beer, room temperature with low carbonation.

A beer engine being the very namesake of my compilation of stories. I’ll over-romanticize the shit out of this shit for the rest of my days.

Transposed in the constellation of beer bars and gastropubs around the city, connecting a theorem. Owen & Engine was always noteworthy. Bo Fowler, the quiver on Sagittarius’ archery set. A Logan Square pioneer.  

There was nothing better than appreciating a burger there, directly before or after a box of Sour Patch Kids and a giant Cherry Coke at AMC across the street. Childs Play remake, Get Out, Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Just to name just a few that I can recall. I would make a point to structure nights around a movie, and a dinner at Owen & Engine. Nuanced appreciation juxtaposed with candy and gore on a Friday after work.

Owen & Engine owned their own cooperage, and they’d send their casks to local breweries to fill them with ideas. A showcasing of transmutations of what the beers could achieve. I once witnessed the tapping of the firkin: a collaboration with Solemn Oath – a variation of Kidnapped by Vikings. The proprietors added toasted fennel, angelica root, and dried apricot. Deemed Angelic Viking, there was bitterwood and some vibrance from the apricot. An invisible maestro turning the texture dials – signaling tiny organoleptic blue birds to swoop about, chirping notes of annis from the fennel into reality.

We gathered at Owen & Engine the final week it was open. For our last dinner before the venue closed down permanently, I met with Alex, Dan and Dave. Dave had flown in from LA to perform a birthday DJ set at the Charleston. A round of Maplewood German style Pulaski Pilsners spanned the table. Silos of amber glory, stacked. The liquidity of billionaires.

I ordered a scotch egg, soft boiled to form and snuggled by a quilt of pork sausage. A Slagel Farms beef burger, meats made onsite. Caramelized onion, potato bap, baked in-house, chips and malt vinegar mayonnaise. There was no cask beer available at the beer engine that night, and the waitress was flummoxed and highly stressed. Super passive aggressive. The burger was still noteworthy and shall hold its place on my top ten list – same as with everyone else who has indulged. Regardless of how that specific night ranked in my comprehensive symposium that was Owen & Engine, the venue shall live on shrouded in light on mantle in my memoryhouse.