Twilight of the Caramels

Like a research account that doesn't carry over to the new fiscal year, I've been spending down my stock of caramel. I used to have a real research account. At least that's what it was called. In fact the only research involved in my spending concerned the rules for my spending.

My bookshelves are crowded with volumes purchased the first week of June, right before receipts were due, and that I would gladly have traded for a Green Star Elite twin screw juicer, a Falk twelve inch copper oval gratin, a case of Brachetto Villa Giada. I used to subscribe to the American Academy of Religion and the Society of Christian Ethics, but I would rather have subscribed to a community supported agriculture share, with an added share of fruit, poultry, and eggs.

Among the volumes of philosophy and theology and the gothic novels I did sometimes slip through a cookbook, but only after checking how the title appeared on the receipt. My Bombay Kitchen looked just ambiguous enough that I dared it. A Perfect Scoop also. The Professional Pastry Chef unfortunately printed two words too many, so it stayed on the shelf.

My iPhone is another legacy of my research account. I had wanted to spend two weeks in Mexico at language school, but when I asked for approval I was peremptorily rejected. In a fit of pique I wrote back and asked permission to buy an iPhone. (They were new on the market at the time.) To my surprise a few minutes later I got the green light. So I took the bus downtown and picked out the most expensive one available. We have been living together uncomfortably ever since.

I can't  show a lot of results for my so-called research. But along the way I have discovered a nifty five word synonym for ultimate sweet and savory deliciousness:  peanut butter caramel pretzel chocolate.

So now my caramel account is empty. But unlike my old research account, I didn't have to search to find ways to use it up. And I even learned something.