I am addicted to salted caramels. This is dangerous, because I exercise, watch my weight, avoid sugar, and look my best not because I care what others think but because it makes me feel good. However, when Trader Joe’s rolls out (oh what an unfortunate choice of words) the chocolate-covered salted caramels this time of year, I want to avoid the store altogether. Note: I went last night and they are sold out! Freedom.
A few years ago, they were a rarity (I did a post on this back when.) Now, salted caramel is everywhere – even in coffee (or, rather on the whipped cream on top of your coffee, which technically makes it schlag, and you should drink it sitting down, with a long handled spoon, savoring every sip, not walking hurriedly down the street or in your car. But I digress.) It doesn’t work everywhere.
Yesterday was somewhat difficult. I was rescued by our dear editor, who whisked me away to wherehsouldwegoletsgofortacos when I really wanted breakfast, and not being a foodie I had missed the whole Milk bandwagon. “Ooh, let’s go there!” said haplessly behind the times me. “It probably won’t be crowded now,” sighed Elise. And off we went.
And I nearly fainted. Partly from hunger, but mostly from the fresh ice cream. This transplanted New Englander has always griped about the dearth of fresh ice cream outside of my homeland, where we have lines at the ice cream store even in winter, and at Milk I felt like I died and went to moo heaven. It was all I could do not to bring home pints of gingerbread or coffee but I knew what would happen. I would eat them before 3pm.
However, we did split a Salty Caramel ice cream sandwich and it is all I can think of. I swear I dreamed of it. I thought of it all through my Yon-Ka Gommage peel, my Lush mask, my intense vacuuming that broke the handle of my Shark, and my innumerable loads of laundry. And oh yes, how did I not know Elise could cut hair? Thanks for the trim, doll! It looks swell.