meal deal

Those among us who work in an office, or whose workplace is situated near one of Dunne Stores’s 117 branches nationwide, will be all too familiar with the historic retailer’s lunchtime meal deal, in partnership with Cafe Sol: a sandwich or salad, a drink and a packet of crisps, popcorn or assorted nuts for just €4.

There are two specific thresholds that need to be met before you decide to avail of this bargain; one relates to hunger and the other is financial in nature. Both thresholds need to be low: too hungry and the deal will do little to quell your appetite, too much money and you’ll inevitably venture elsewhere to de-famish yourself. If you’re not that hungry and have plenty of money, you might still go elsewhere for a higher-quality meal. Too hungry and not enough money and still you may decide to stretch your dollar at another establishment, perhaps McDonalds, where the cents-per-10-calories ratio is far more favourable – and flavourful. Not that hungry and not that much money? You’re headed for Meal Deal City – population: you and every other peckish, cash-strapped shit-muncher within a 5km radius.

I have coined this threshold the ‘Sol Zone’.

On a recent winter’s afternoon I found myself squarely in the Sol Zone; busy at work, still weeks away from pay day and with a hunger I would describe as meagre at best. I strode into Dunnes in Dun Laoghaire and made straight for the fridge where the deals live. It was 1:40pm and all the best options were gone: chicken and pesto pasta, tuna and sweetcorn pasta salad, chicken with pasta and tomato sauce, southern fried chicken wrap, Cafe Sol BLT. Even Sol’s classic ham and cheddar sandwich was nowhere to be found. What remained was a single chicken and bacon Caesar wrap and more Cafe Sol ‘giant’ cous cous salads than have ever been assembled in one place in human history. The choice was simple; I grabbed the Caesar wrap and a can of Coke Zero and made my way to the corner where they keep the crisps, popcorn and assorted nuts.

This is a curious corner. The options here comprise crisps of various flavours, salted popcorn and a baffling variety of tiny 25g bags of nuts, some sweetened, some salted, some coated in chocolate and some mixed with dried fruit. For a number of reasons not worth outlining here, none of these options were appealing to me and the end of my lunch hour was near.

I approached the till with my sandwich and can. As if to demonstrate the Wild West nature of Dunnes Stores in Dun Laoghaire, the woman in front of me in the queue was holding an orange velvet sherpa throw, a hairdryer and a hardback copy of Charlie Bird’s autobiography.

My turn arrived and I exchanged pleasantries with the cashier.

“How are ye gettin’ on,” I said, placing my items on the counter.

“Ye know the deal includes crisps or nuts?” Came the reply.

“Ah I know, yeah. I just didn’t feel like either.”

“But it’ll be more expensive,” she warned.

This was news to me.

“Why’s that?” I enquired.

“The deal is you get three things.”

“But I don’t want three things.”

“Then it’ll cost ye more.”

“But I’m getting fewer items.”

“Yih are, but that’s not the deal. Listen you’re better off just gettin a packet of crisps.”

“How much are the two things on their own, without the deal, and I’ll just go for that.”

“Is he your bodyguard?” The cashier gestured to the large, impatient man standing over my left shoulder.

“Cus you’re gonna need him in a minute!”

A smile came over her face and I laughed.

“Listen," she said, "I’ll charge ye the four quid and you grab a bag of crisps or nuts on your way out.”

“Deal,” I nodded in reluctant agreement. This is how Stalin must have felt at the Yalta Conference in February 1945 when Roosevelt made him commit to participating in the United Nations.

I paid for my lunch and picked up a bag of cranberry, almond and pecan mix before heading for the exit.

I turned right and began the short walk back to the office with my wrap, drink and unwanted nuts. I had a quick glance up and down the street and nipped across to the footpath on the other side.

About 10-15 yards in front of me I noticed a homeless gentleman sitting cross-legged against the shutter doors of a recently closed Apache Pizza with a paper cup on the pavement in front of him and a sign that read “Please, money for food”. The universe had presented a solution to my dilemma, just as Roosevelt had presented Stalin with a solution to the problems on the Soviet Union’s southern border with Mongolia by granting him a greater sphere of influence in the region of Manchuria in China’s northeast corner.

I approached the man, half-kneeling, and locked eyes with him. I quickly ascertained that his English was limited, so instead I gestured with my arm extended, holding the bag of nuts.

The man looked at the nuts and then at me, with a slightly bewildered expression across his face.

“You take,” I said, pushing the bag in his direction with more purpose. “For you”.

This time the man took the bag, looked at it and flipped it over to look at the other side of the packet before handing it back to me.

“No, no. I don’t want.”

So I told him about the Sol Zone.