Review: The Wren Perfects the Pub in Fells Point

Most nights of the week, through the leaf-green door at 1712 Aliceanna Street, Will Mester will be in the back corner, a white apron tied around his waist, drifting between the two induction cooktops of his ad-hoc kitchen, the smell of melting butter in the air, as he quietly cooks up a storm under the lamplight of The Wren.

It’s not exactly where you might expect to find him. Over the last 15 years, Mester has emerged as a star of the Baltimore food scene, his career evolving from culinary-school drop-out to cook at revered restaurants like Woodberry Kitchen to owner of the nationally lauded Le Comptoir du Vin in Station North—along the way mastering his own singular style: a simple yet sophisticated ode to European country cooking.

And yet despite his success, he’s grown increasingly estranged from the fast-paced, fad-crazed fuss of the hospitality industry, and it’s clear that here, in this dimly lit bar—chatting with patrons over pints of Guinness, grabbing fresh eggs from the wicker basket for the day’s omelet, handing plates over the pass to his wife, Millie Powell, a seasoned maître d’ who runs the front-of-house—he is, by all measures, in his element.

“It was the right place at the right time,” says Mester on a Monday off at the end of March, after a weekend of whipping up homemade terrine, smoked haddock, and a nettle soup for early spring.

And that right time was the weekend after Thanksgiving in 2023, when veteran bartender Adam Estes introduced him to this rowhome building, back when it was still the hole-in-the-wall Scotch bar, Birds of a Feather, known for strong pours and an eclectic crowd over its 40-odd years. The owner was ready to sell and, by the following spring, Mester bought the place with Powell and Comptoir co-owner Rosemary Liss, who assists with business operations at The Wren.

For them, it was a no-brainer—this circa-1890 stalwart being one of the last of old Fells Point, as longtime spaces have been gutted for modern tastes, like The Wharf Rat, or outright closed, like Bertha’s Mussels.

Here, details from the past remain, like the tin ceiling, oak bar, terracotta tiles, and back-lounge fireplace, alongside fresh coats of paint, a new draft beer system, and a shiny backsplash behind Mester’s prep station.

The Wren is warm, intimate, and in many ways, out of time—no QR codes, no Spotify soundtracks, no reservations or even table service—which is what makes it so transportive. The night slows. The record player crackles. With a Rob Roy in hand on one of the 20 wooden barstools, just two blocks from the Baltimore harbor, you could very well be in a pub off the English Channel or, more specifically, the Irish Sea.

TWO BLOCKS FROM THE BALTIMORE HARBOR, YOU COULD VERY WELL BE IN A PUB OFF THE IRISH SEA.

Powell is a Dublin native, who met Mester there through Liss one summer, on an open-water swim no less. Undoubtedly their partnership, and years of travel for Mester, informed the strong desire to open a pub—the kind of place in Ireland that serves not just as a drinking den but also a vital third space outside of work and home for the local community.

“They are one of the only public spaces left where anything deep or interesting happens,” says Mester. “You need a place that’s democratic, that everyone can go to, that everyone can afford to go to, with some degree of frequency, where people aren’t going to hold your hand and walk you through what the concept is. You go just for a very basic need, to connect with people.”

And it might sound sacrilege, but food isn’t even necessary, he adds. That said, if you visit, we highly recommend having something to eat.

Despite the humble approach, Mester is a meticulous chef, imbuing intention into every detail and ingredient. On the eve of April, a thick slice of black pudding (aka blood sausage, imported from Ireland) came out extra crispy with a sage-fried egg and smokey-sweet “brown sauce,” made of winter fruit and warming spices—imagine the best scrapple you’ve ever had.

Tender pork cheeks also swam in a nourishing broth with bright turnips, sweet sauteed chard, and salty slivers of bacon. And a savory pot of lentils was saddled with sausage from Ostrowski’s, just up Ann Street. Even the basics are blissful, like a gorgeous green salad, swirled in Dijon vinaigrette with a dash of nutmeg, and the Ovenbird Bakery bread, which arrives with an almost indecent slather of Kerrygold butter and a proper pinch of flake salt.

Tuesday through Saturday, the chalkboard menu features a dozen daily dishes, all rooted in the rustic and resourceful pantry of pastoral Europe, inspired by seasons and history.

“It’s what we like to eat,” says Powell, which she calls “good, honest, comforting, classic” food, and that includes her homemade desserts, like apple cakes with vanilla custard and baked-to-order madeleines, each tinged with a touch of nostalgia. “So much of cooking back home, it’s almost like folk tradition—in that things are passed down.”

Much like this pub, which keeps the candle burning for its ever-changing neighborhood. Old regulars return, while newcomers amble in, perhaps to hear an Orioles game on the radio, or catch a set of traditional Irish music, or try a hand at the weekly dart league, or shoot the breeze with Estes, who now runs the bar, its inventory stocked with leftover Scotch from Birds of a Feather.

If you look closely, a tiny taxidermied creature keeps watch behind him. The Wren was named in part after a Celtic tradition,  based on the ancient myth that this unsung but savvy songbird once outsmarted the eagle to be crowned the king of all fowl.

On Aliceanna, this old-soul watering hole proves that small can mean mighty, too.

THE WREN: 1712 Aliceanna St. HOURS: Tues.-Sat. 3 p.m.-10:30 p.m.; dinner starting at 5:30 p.m. PRICES: Appetizers, $5-18; entrees, $20 38; desserts, $14-20. AMBIANCE: Classic pub.