Study Ireland – Stories & Guides from International Students

When I boarded the plane to Ireland, I was mostly focused on whether I packed my passport, not whether I packed all the right life skills. I figured I’d adjust quickly, get some good coffee, and get on with classes. I never would have guessed I needed so many skills from my home in East Tennessee. 

Adjusting to life in a new country is a little like learning to cook without a recipe. You have to trust yourself, improvise, and be willing to laugh when things go sideways. The first few days in Limerick were a blur of orientation sessions, figuring out how to get a Leap Card, and awkward small talk with the strangers I’d be living with for the next four months. 

But slowly, things started to click. One evening, all of us were sitting around the dining room table playing cards and swapping stories. My new roommates were from all over the world; we had nothing in common on paper, and yet it felt oddly familiar. It was like playing cards with my Aunt Lisa on Thanksgiving over a plate of leftover turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwiches. So maybe it’s not surprising that the conversation turned to food. Specifically, the meals we all missed most. 

“I’d give anything for a pot of my mom’s collard greens,” I said, almost off-handedly. Back home, this statement would be met with sympathetic nods, perhaps a few claims that their mom’s collards were the best, but everyone would understand. So, I admit, it took me by surprise when I was met with blank stares all around the table. None of my roommates knew what collard greens were, and to my even greater surprise I couldn’t find the words to properly describe what they tasted like. Soon enough, however, we realized that this was a problem for everyone at the table. 

Then, my roommate came up with an idea. She suggested we should have “roommate dinners.” One night a week, one of us would cook dinner of some food at home. It would be a way for all of us to try each other’s favorite meals, share a bit of our homes with the group. We all agreed it was a great idea; the only question was who should go first.   

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what possessed me to volunteer to cook first. Maybe I thought the plan would fizzle out. Or maybe a deeper part of me wanted to do my family proud. Where I come from, cooking for others is how you show you care. It’s part of our identity to share meals with the people you love. Back home, surrounded by so many skilled cooks, my duties in the kitchen usually ended with chopping veggies. These dinners, however, were a chance for me to cook a meal for others by myself. I decided to make breakfast for dinner: French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, fruit salad, and mimosas. It was the kind of thing my dad would make on a holiday, like Christmas or Easter morning, and it was comfortably American in a way that was fun and not cliché.   

What I didn’t realize was just how much work it was to feed six people. I spent hours wandering around Lidl trying to figure out substitutes and read labels (Irish bacon is not the same as American). I don’t think I will ever forget my mom and dad laughing at me over the phone as I fretted about which bread to buy. Then, back in our flat’s tiny kitchen, I became a bit of a whirlwind. There was French Toast batter all over the countertop, bacon grease up the wall, and cinnamon everywhere. I was determined to do things properly, but I hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. I wanted my meal to taste like home. I wanted it to matter.   

And in the end, it did. My roommates loved it. They joked about how much sugar and butter (a full baking stick) Americans needed with every meal, but they didn’t leave a crumb. We talked for hours that night, long after the food was gone and the washing done. I was really proud of myself for making a meal for people I cared about. I went to bed that night with the smell of cinnamon on my hands and a full heart.   

Over the next several weeks, our roommate dinners became a highlight of the week. Each person brought something different to the table, literally and figuratively. We had Turkish Cucik, Canadian Beaver Tails, Italian Carbonara, and German Schnitzel. Every dish had a story. Some were family recipes, others were comfort meals from childhood, some were regional staples, and all were delicious.  

And it was through these meals that something amazing happened. We stopped being just roommates and instead became a kind of family. We cooked together, cleaned together, laughed over good meals, and helped each other feel a little less homesick. For people who started as a group of strangers, those shared meals gave us a sense of belonging that I will always be grateful for.   

My advice for studying abroad at UL is to say yes to dinners. Offer to cook, even if you’re not great in the kitchen. You might surprise yourself with how much you can do. And connection does not always start with big, grand moments; sometimes it starts with a plate of French Toast.