Rose has a granny. I know that this isn't anything groundbreaking, but it is important for the story. All of us have grandmothers, some of us have grandmas, still more have gigis, and mormors, and all of the other charming things that we call those lovely (and sometimes scary) women who raised our parents.
Well, Rose has a Granny. Her name is Paulette. Paulette is from Belgium and met Rose's Granddad in a dance hall in Belgium during World War II. True story. They danced, they laughed, they didn't speak each other's languages, and they fell in love. I KNOW. THESE THINGS REALLY DO HAPPEN! When Rose's Granddad returned to England after the war he promised Paulette that he would come back to marry her and Paulette waited... and waited. Her friends thought she was nuts, but one day this gentleman shows up on her doorstep to marry her and bring her to England... The rest, as they say, is history...
But what about the scrambled eggs? Well, Granny is Belgian. This means that she is naturally adverse to inappropriately prepared or low quality food. She once ranted for a solid three days about how the Sainsbury "French" mustard was nothing of the sort and that they should be ashamed of themselves for marketing such a product and someone should go and get her PROPER mustard... Also a true story.
There is a family legend about the "Coffee Conversation" as well. This was from Rose's childhood when the entire family engaged in a weeklong argument/discussion about the virtues of coffee and when it should be consumed and what kinds should be consumed at what time... I think that you get the idea, although you will NEVER get the intensity.
Paulette is a tiny woman. She has a lovely accent and is always dressed stylishly. When we last visited her Rose told Granny that she was going to make some scrambled eggs, to which Granny mumbled something that I can't remember. However, when Rose presented the eggs, made in the fashion that I know and love, Paulette was confused and not a little surprised to see lumpy yellow eggs. She said simply, "Those aren't scrambled eggs; scrambled eggs are a cream..." and proceeded to mumble disapproval for the remainder of breakfast... So, in respect of Granny Paulette, we developed the Art House version, barely acceptable scrambled eggs: