I know the work that goes into these; believe me, we've tried to make them. Once, the Russian and I spent hours stirring the sugar and cream only to have a chewy, gooey, sorry mess to show for it. (He is particularly fond of caramel).
There are the little striped bags we buy at the annual fair for ... what did the man say? Fourteen dollars? We divvy them up abstemiously - and wish for more.
And then one Sunday, into our hands falls an entire bag of Amélie-love; we look at each other in wonder. Can it be?
There are none left now, in case you're wondering. I'd invite you for coffee and a caramel, but alas ... there is only coffee now.
Yet if you'd like to fill up the jar, by all means!
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