Salted Caramels

I ate chicken feet today.  Well, chicken foot.  I only had one — but I would eat them (it) again.  I was at dim sum; the food kept coming, and I really just couldn’t eat that much.
I hate to admit that I was one of those little kids that hated vegetables.  My parents still made me eat them, and I hated every minute of it.  I was never one to throw fits; just a child who understood the difference between happiness and discomfort.  It took a while, but I guess we all grow up at some point.  And I eat vegetables almost every day. Love them.  So, years later, I find myself all grown up, without any food fears.
Is that too bold of a statement? Should I be doubtful when I say something like that?  I’ll try most things at least once.  And I’d eat chicken feet again — I’m just not too thrilled by the act of spitting bones out while sitting at a table filled with people.
On a more appealing note, I made salted caramels this weekend.  I’m slightly obsessed with the combination of sweet and salty (or just salty).  I made a salted chocolate cake for a friend’s birthday this summer, which was demolished at a party; today I thought I’d just stick to the candy itself.  Needless to say, I can’t stop eating them (and about twenty of them disappeared from my counter on Saturday night). They are coming to work with me.  I can’t have these in my house when I’m supposed to be training for a half marathon. 

The recipe was derived from David Lebovitz.