In Nyree Yergainharsian’s solo endeavour to define her seemingly indefinable identity, she starts by announcing into a microphone how she’d actually rather not be touched by audience members, settling any of our preconceived hopes for (or dreads of) free Irish/Armenian hugs.

We are spared the kind of angst-ridden existentialism one might expect in a play whose maker admits to an objective of self-discovery, and instead offered a miscellany of cultural-historical fact, memories, family quirks and Nyree’s embryonic theory on sandwiches.

In her part-Armenian, part-Irish body (her nose, she explains, is Armenian, while her hands are Irish) Nyree proposes that “identity is just being in a particular place at a particular time.” In a brilliant stand-up style impersonation of her beast-like medallion-dripping Armenian father (exhibiting his “natural jumper” of chest hair) the moment he met her pretty Irish girl mother (who swooned, went weak in the knees and discreetly passed out), it is driven home how identity can be colourfully misinterpreted.

With Ciaran O'Melia’s subtle lighting and its deliberate failure at times to envelope Nyree as she moves from chair to lectern, and the opening supermarket soundtrack that she is powerless to silence, her struggle to be seen and heard is underscored throughout.

If there is a time and a place for everything, this is it for Nyree.