At Declan and Donal’s Deli, a breakfast roll especially for you

Damo Hanway is barely through the door. “Do you ever wake up just huu-un-gry?” he says.

He cranes his neck towards the hot food. Bacon and eggs and red sauce in a roll for him. No need to say it. He’s in all the time. “Nearly every second morning,” he says.

“Joseph? Now, mind yourself,” says Donal O’Hora, in an orange zip-neck sweater and a biro tucked behind his ear, bouncy behind the counter as he slides an order over.

Then: “How’s things? Good, Damien?”

The names and the orders keep coming.

“Sean?” says Donal cheerily, and reads the label of the next. “All the Seans!” he says.

“Anything else for you, Mark?”

***

Some who dropped by Declan and Donal’s deli on Bolton Street on Monday were mid-morning regulars, builders from nearby sites in pocketed work trousers dusted with white plaster and paint.

For others, a trip to the deli is a now-and-then treat.

“Only when I’m eating dirty,” says Thomas Walsh, kicking back on a high wooden stool, with a chuckle. “It’s, like, comforting,” he says.

“I’ve been here once before,” says Shane McCully, a bearded guy, black jeans ripped at the knees.

He was up early this morning with a few hours to kill. “The service is really welcoming,” he says. “Being greeted is lovely.”

That’s it, says Hanway. The food is good, but also the people are good – the service, that’s the first thing he mentions.

Declan and Donal – the namesakes, brothers – grew up around customers, says Donal. Their dad owned The Rainbow, a newsagent in Crumlin.

They chipped in there as kids, through their teens. Stacking shelves, handling the till. “Well watched,” says Donal, grinning broadly.

***

It was Declan who first set up the store on Bolton Street in August 1983. Donal joined later.

“I always liked the sort of work,” says Declan, on the phone. But how he ended up in the business seems to baffle him still.

A customer in Crumlin had told his dad of a place up for sale. His dad had asked Declan, would he like his own newsagents? He helped him get the loan.

“I was only 18,” says Declan. Still awaiting the results of his Leaving Cert.

The shop was different back then, 40 years ago. A newsagents at first, said Declan. He sold newspapers, and scratch cards, that kind of thing.

They added simple food – ham sandwiches, sausages in a bun.

Years went by. Spars and Centras were spreading. Smaller indie newsagents could see the writing on the wall, he says.

So, “we went in strong on the food”, says Declan. “We never looked back from that.”

Now, they sell pasta bowls, and salad bowls, and homemade soup. There are shelves of crisps, displayed front-on like book covers, and coffees too.

Most customers though come for the bespoke all-day breakfast rolls – sausage, hash brown, black pudding, eggs, and more – with 16 sauce options and four choices of fluffy fresh bread.

And, attention to customers has alway been just what they do, says Declan. Show respect, he says, and you get it back.

***

“I suppose we’ve always been good at listening to customers,” says Declan. Been tuned in to their ideas.

Students returning from J1 trips in the United States would ask for sauces he had not yet heard of, he says. “Chipotle, and sriracha.”

A Polish arrival would ask for chicken at 9am in the morning, he says, and for a moment he would look at them like they’re mad. “And then think, oh, maybe we should have it.”

And many of their customers too are the longer-term locals, who stuck with them as they turned from newsagents to deli, he says. The kids and grandkids of the Moore Street traders from around the corner.

“As Dublin was growing, we kind of grew with it,” says Declan.

Back at the deli, Donal leans through a hatch. That way, he can serve a guy with an unlocked bike.

He waves payment until later for a man waiting on an answer from his pals on what drinks to get.

“Hello Jimmy, how’s things?” Donal namechecks another customer.

“Neil? Thank you, Neil.”

He notices a quiet man perched for a while, and calls over to his colleagues on the hot-food counter to check on his order.