E.Q.B. In 1995, after spending 20 years in Italy studying art and working for the UN in Rome, Eileen Dunne moved back to Dublin with her husband Stefano Crescenzi. Neither had any experience in retail or hospitality, but, disappointed by the poor availability of Italian food in Ireland, they took over a corner shop in the coastal suburb of Sutton that sold cigarettes and newspapers, and turned it into La Vista, a simple Italian salumeria selling imported wine, cheese and 50-litre vats of olive oil, from which regulars would fill empties brought from home.
The sea air proving too fresh for her, and missing the smell of traffic fumes, Pearse Street native Eileen insisted on a move back to town. In 1999, they turned an old lock shop off Nassau Street into a small trattoria serving just antipasti and wine, and called it Dunne & Crescenzi (D&C, to those in the know).
Sutton regulars, missing the cheese and wine and, of course, the vats of oil, followed them to South Frederick Street. A group of town regulars quickly developed too, many of them hanging out for entire afternoons on the famous and beloved white leather couch; Eileen says many of those regulars are still regular and still ask after The Couch.
Eileen’s daughter, Federica, tells me she’s considering creating a register of the current cohort. My dad was away in America for a few months in 2016, and when a week or two had gone by one of the staff worriedly enquired of a friend of his if perhaps Signor John was… ? No, he was still alive, and yes, he was and indeed still is a regular. He can be found at a corner table there at least twice a week, and I, having inherited his love of a haunt along with his affection for D&C, am often gladly there with him. May I one day make the register.
In the 1990s, when Eileen and Stefano first came to Dublin, most ‘real’ restaurants featured white linen tablecloths and wouldn’t let them bring their children – which the children found shocking, having spent much of their early years in Roman restaurants. In contrast, D&C would be a place that would serve you food from early morning to late at night, and you could bring the kids.
In a city with a restaurant scene that is burgeoning relative to international standards – see its recent hosting of the Michelin awards and associated hoopla – D&C is a quiet and comforting though lively venue. It’s your auntie’s favourite restaurant, and maybe you had your graduation or your 21st birthday there. Its footprint has expanded over the years, but the ethos has remained the same: communal coat racks echoing the vibe of the best least formal trattoria in Rome, a meal any time of day, a glass of wine at a table to yourself where you won’t be pestered. Yes, it’s about classic Italian food – a bowl of pasta or lamb and tiramisu on a Sunday a la Romana – but actually it’s about hospitality at its simplest.
Not for nothing, the staff turnover is remarkably low, and many of the team – angels, all – have been there longer than I can remember.
D&c is a kingdom of women. This didn’t happen by accident; Eileen tells me that a place in which women felt comfortable on their own was important to her from the jump. Whenever I am there, the place is filled with tablesful of women. Women in their nicest blouses, or not; women with their sisters or with ‘the girls’, almost never with their husbands; and they are always having a good time, I mean a really good time, laughing aloud and ordering a final glass of wine after they’ve paid the bill. Dad and I were in recently, and there was a woman holding court at a table with two men – a rare phenomenon – her patter wafting across the room in a way that said, Listen, we know I am the clever one here, so please just let me tell my stories.
