Inside Grogan's Pub, Dublin

A pint of Guinness and a ham and cheese toastie, please

Back home, lunch always features bread; soup and bread, sandwich, toastie, beans on toast, beans on *cheese* on toast. The list is endless, but have it known it will always be a Hovis 50/50 loaf, for health. None of that hard, break-your-teeth sourdough, as my parents know it. It’s one of the many things I enjoy about a trip home, the routine of sandwiches shared around the dinner table, wolfed down in seconds before someone asks, ‘what’s for pud?’.

Sandwich time is also synonymous with birthdays in our family. I remember many picky birthday dinners, consisting of triangular sandwiches, multiple varieties of Pringles, and of course, a Colin the Caterpillar cake. My mum, a notoriously fussy vegetarian, is a hard person to buy for on her birthday, as she will say she has everything. The one thing we know she loves is afternoon tea, of course, a sandwich lover’s dream. One year, a birthday afternoon tea surprise went terribly wrong when we booked a table at a local bakery, requesting cheese and egg sandwiches for her. Cheese sandwiches and egg sandwiches, as in… separate sandwiches. When faced with an overwhelmingly large number of egg mayonnaise sandwiches filled with grated cheddar, she laughed as we realised our faux pas.

A trip to Dublin last November reignited this craving for a lunchtime sandwich after being in London for nearly 12 months straight. This craving combined with the want to avoid Dublin’s overwhelming fine dining restaurant scene, meant that Grogan’s pub on William Street in the city’s centre, fit the bill perfectly for a 1pm lunch with their homemade style toasties. An unassuming, old-man-style pub, equally unassuming inside, except for the mini fridge stuffed with slices of supermarket white bread. This must be the place. We order a pint and ask if there’s a food menu. ‘No. We just have toasties. Ham and cheese, ham, tomato and cheese or ham, tomato, cheese and onion.’ Within 15 minutes three plates of ham and cheese toasties arrive in our hands, stacked one upon each other, a wooden knife placed gently under each toastie, peeking out from a white napkin. Two sachets of mayonnaise later and the toastie is gone.

‘Pop in for a pint and a fine toastie.’ ….. as their Instagram bio reads

As we pay at the bar, the small room, once quiet on arrival, is now bustling with regulars, tourists and families. Bill paid, and we’re shooed out towards the door, ‘thanks. Go on now.’