Nan and the egg flan

I wouldn't describe Nan as a gifted or even enthusiastic cook; but her cooking reflected her personality - generous, colourful and just slightly strange.
 
My continuing love of the tinned tomato stems from Nan's trademark Sunday breakfast - scrambled eggs served with at least two slices of white bloomer and submerged with tinned tomatoes and juice.  The eggs were beaten using a miniature plunger in a pyrex glass.  The glass was decorated with the heads of the Fab Four - a little creepy when their eyes went yellow, but it did produce a satisfying froth.

One of her culinary specialities was egg flan; economical as it was made with as much pastry as filling.  The pastry could only be eaten if soaked liberally (and for sometime) with gravy - after applying gravy it was necessary to eat all the filling, the mashed potatoes and green beans before attempting the pastry.
The flan was always cooked in an oval heatproof glass dish that was reputed to be unbreakable.   One day, when getting the flan out of the oven, Nan burnt her hand on the oven shelf and dropped the dish.  What might have been a lunchtime calamity turned into a mealtime miracle when the dish shattered into many pieces, but the flan - encased in its concrete pastry jacket remained in one piece.

Nan and the mince

A teenage boyfriend visits me at Nan's house and is invited to stay for tea.  Her speciality mince with mashed potatoes and peas is on the menu.  Most of my Nan's cooking involves a 'secret' ingredient; this one is a packet of oxtail soup added to the greasy mince.  We sit down, Uncle silently reading the Oxford Mail, boyfriend being charming to Nan, Nan flirting like mad (she can't help herself) and me sulking because everyone is ignoring me. Uncle has a quizzical look on his face that morphs into disgust.  His rapid, somewhat desperate swallowing suggests his distress is food-related rather than something in the newspaper.  The mince tastes odd, not unpleasant, but not exactly right.  In fact in tastes of no oxtail known to man, woman or ox.
 'Muuuther, what have you done to the mince?' The cry of an anxious man who likes his food.
Boyfriend, having been at boarding school, will eat anything and empties his plate: 'Delicious, best mince I've ever had.'  It was at that moment that I realised our relationship probably wouldn't last.
Nan, delighted, offers him more.  Boyfriend, polite, greedy or possibly both accepts.  Nan disappears into the kitchen, only to signal wildly for me to join her.
'I think I've discovered why it tastes a bit odd,' she whispers dramatically, producing a packet of chocolate Instant Whip from behind her back.