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My paternal grandparents were born in Cork, Ireland. My grandfather, Donal, who we called “Daddad,” proposed to Sheila in his twenties, then very soon after hopped on a ship to find work in Canada—Ireland’s economy wasn’t doing so well and he needed reliable work. When he got to Canada, he found himself in a very long line at the employment office. A man approached the line and called, “Is anyone here a miner?” Daddad glanced around at the long line of men ahead of him, realized no one was volunteering, and confidently called back, “I’m a miner!” (Spoiler: he had zero mining experience.) So off he went to the mines. He ended up working as a miner, and later as a lumberjack, in Canada for five long years. Five years, with only the occasional letter to keep him linked to Granny; can you imagine? Upon his return they soon married. After a year of trying to make ends meet in Ireland, its economy still in rough shape, he called it quits and journeyed back to Canada, this time sending for Granny and their first child, Don, to join him when he had a place. After dabbling in multiple career paths to make ends meet—bus driving, landscaping, a photography business—he decided to head out to the Western United States. And so Granny, Don, and now little Trudy as well, went back to Ireland while Daddad got on a boat headed for somewhere on the American coast—he didn’t know where. When he got off the boat he saw, for the first time, the fog-drenched zig-zagging skyline of San Francisco. That’s where the O’Regans grew into a family of eight before they moved to Summit Road and, finally, Santa Cruz.

Though Granny and Daddad lived in the Bay Area for the rest of their lives, Ireland never truly left them. Their accents and good-natured humor made them many friends. Daddad remained fluent in Gaelic, and they proudly mounted a green home phone in the shape of their mother country to their wall. Every St. Patrick’s Day, Daddad would visit our school classrooms and tell the origin story of the holiday, as well as the best way to get gold from a leprechaun. (The story involved grabbing the collar of one young volunteer child’s shirt and reciting a twenty five syllable password one would have to present to the leprechaun; I still remember that password to this day. Find me on St. Patrick’s Day and I’ll tell it to you.) Daddad also taught all 15 of his grandchildren several Irish songs, including “Danny Boy,” “The Boys From the County Cork,” and “Who Killed Cock Robin?” We were then (strongly) encouraged to perform them all for our parents each year at the family lake trip. Needless to say, I still remember most of them word for word.

Granny and Daddad passed along many things, including a few choice Gaelic phrases, the aforementioned songs, stories, a proclivity for speaking certain phrases in Irish accents, a love of animals, and much more. Irish cooking and family recipes, however, was not really among them. We have a recipe for Granny’s scones (which I will post soon) but that’s about it. As an adult, I’ve bought and read several Irish cookbooks, searching for that connection to my culinary history. One recipe I’ve made many times now is soda bread, which is a quick bread leavened only with baking powder, as opposed to yeast like most breads. It’s simple, delicious, and a wonderful canvas for so many flavors; it’s a perfect accompaniment to stew. The X cut on the top is to allow enough heat to penetrate the dough and allow for expansion, ensuring a good bake, although folklore would have you believe that it’s there to let the devil out. Both seem equally reasonable.

Every time over the past few years, St. Patrick’s Day has come around and, without fail a couple of days before, I’ve realized I should have made a soda bread post. I don’t make soda bread often, but when I do I’m reminded how much I love it; it’s essentially a giant scone which can (and really should) be packed full of savory elements. I’ve tried many combinations, but this is one I keep coming back to. So this year I’m way ahead of the game; now I will certainly have a soda bread recipe on the blog come St. Patrick’s Day. I should say: a lot of simpler, traditional soda breads are drier and more like, well, bread. Because of the amount of cheese in this recipe, the whole thing ends up being more like a large, moist savory scone. Perhaps I’m not being very true to traditional soda bread, but at the very least it tastes great. And that’s, in my opinion, the most important thing for any recipe.

Cheese & Onion Soda Bread

Makes 1 soda bread / serves 4-6 / recipe loosely adapted from Lateral Cooking by Niki Segnit

1 small-medium red onion
2 tbsp unsalted butter
olive oil
¼ tsp fine sea salt

4 slices of bacon, cooked in a pan until crispy and broken into bite-sized pieces (optional)

210g (1 ½ cups) all-purpose flour
70g (½ cup) whole wheat flour
¾ tsp baking soda
½ tsp kosher salt
30g (3 tbsp) unsalted butter, cubed
60g (⅔ cup) grated medium or sharp cheddar cheese
45g (½ cup) finely grated parmesan, divided
leaves from 4 bushy sprigs of thyme, divided
260ml (1 cup) buttermilk

First, peel the red onion and slice it in half, then into thin half moons. Heat 2 tbsp butter and a glug of olive oil in a medium-large pan over medium heat. Once the butter has melted, add the onion slices. Stir in 1/4 tsp fine sea salt and the leaves from 2 sprigs of thyme. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very soft and quite brown, about 15 minutes or longer. Turn the heat to medium-low or low if the onions are burning at all during the process. Set aside to cool.

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Line a baking sheet with lightly floured parchment paper or a silicone mat.

Sift 210g all-purpose flour, 70g whole wheat flour, ¾ tsp baking soda, and ½ tsp kosher salt into a large bowl. Stir together briefly. Rub in 30g cubed butter until it’s almost entirely incorporated, then mix in the bacon bits (if using), 60g grated cheddar cheese, all but a small handful of the 45g grated parmesan (save the rest for sprinkling on top), and the leaves from the last two sprigs of thyme. Make a well in the middle and pour in ⅔ of the buttermilk, mixing with a fork or wooden spoon until it’s soft but not super sticky—add the rest of the buttermilk a bit at a time until it’s a cohesive, shaggy dough.

With floured hands, transfer the dough to the lined baking sheet and pat it into a dome. Use a toothpick or skewer to prick it all over, then use a sharp knife to cut a deep X across the top (don’t cut all the way through but you do want to make it pretty deep). Sprinkle with the remaining grated parmesan.

Bake for about 40-50 minutes, until golden brown. Enjoy that day, ideally while still warm. Sláinte!