We’re approaching the time of year when I forsake my married name and relive my bachelorette days. No, I’m not craving a sketchy bar hook up—I’m after my Irish roots and Corned Beef and Cabbage Grilled Cheese .
I grew up Erin O’Neill. Could that name be any more Irish? In grade school, my Grandpa O’Neill told me the less-than-appetizing history of The Red Hand of Ulster and how it came to be on our family crest. I was fascinated. (For the curious, our mutual friend Wikipedia had the deets.) In college, I raided every scrap of St. Patrick’s Day décor from the clearance aisle at Target, then proceeded to hang it year-round until graduation. I sport my Irish heritage with gusto, especially around St. Patrick’s Day.