Winging it: holy guacamole!

 

The first time I tried proper guacamole I was 17. I was at my friend Emily’s house, her parents were out and we were entertaining her French exchange. By entertaining, I mean incessant giggling and the odd shot of tequila. Food was taken seriously in that house and I’ve never tasted a guacamole that tasted as good since. Until now.

I had no intention of sharing this recipe. I was just using up some odds and ends. But then the husband said that it tasted like something Paddy would make. This is the highest form of praise that can ever be uttered in our household. Our friend Paddy is an incredible cook – I don’t know how he makes everything so flavourful and just downright delicious, but he does.

Anyhoo, I passed Ridley Road market on Friday after work and was amazed to see some traders still there. Packing up, but still calling to the crowd advertising rock bottom prices in an attempt to shift the last of their stock. It was like an episode of The Apprentice only without the worn clichés and bad grammar.

I picked up four avocados, 10 nectarines, a bowl of cherries and a punnet of strawberries for £2. Awesome. After a weekend of determined scoffing, a heavenly breakfast of cherry and basil compote plus a concerted effort to palm some off on the boys at supper club, I still had two (slightly squidgy) nectarines and two avocados left.

Serves: 4

2 avocados (squidgy)

3 spring onions, as finely chopped as you can get them

1 very ripe nectarine, finely chopped

1 tsp of salsa picante verde de chile habanero

A generous pinch of salt

A handful of coriander leaves, chopped

The juice of one and a half limes

As I said, I was just using up some odds and ends. I was playing. I chucked the onions, the avocado and coriander in a bowl and squeezed over the juice from one lime. I squished it together and tasted. It needed a kick. I didn’t have any fresh chilli, so I reached into the cupboard where I have several bottles of weird and wonderful things stashed. This particular bottle of fire is from Casa Mexico on Winkley Street. It’s hot as hell. I sloshed some in. Phew, it certainly had a kick now. I needed some sweetness to offset the heat. I cursed myself for not having any mango. And then I saw the nectarine. I went for it. More lime, a generous sprinkle of Maldon salt et voilà, holy Guacamole was born.

 

Week thirteen: parklife

Parklife: relaxing in Clissold Park, Stoke Newington, London

Friday

Wake up with: £50

Go to bed with: £50

As predicted, the ‘team meeting’ is less about ‘team’ and more about the dissolution thereof. I am one of the lucky ones for now, and I leave work on Friday still in gainful employment, although the survivor’s-guilt sets in as I cycle home.

I’m almost glad for the opportunity to throw myself into some manual labour to take my mind off the whole thing: the new carpet has been fitted in two rooms, so we can start to put them back together. Cue much hoovering, dusting and heavy lifting. By ten, the husband and I are sat on the sofa, enjoying our tea (spaghetti carbonara cooked by yours truly), watching the TV in a sparkling-clean sitting room. With the door closed, we can almost forget about the rest of the flat.

Saturday

Wake up with: £50

Go to bed with: £20.70

We’re due at a friend’s wedding in Finchingfield today. The day dawns bright and promising: welcome back summer. We’re both up early to continue the endless shuffle of possessions through the flat. The husband does a run to the tip while I continue to wipe and clear and by 10am we’re walking to the station primped and preened in our glad rags (this is something of a miracle given the state of our flat). The train ticket is £19.30 return.

The venue is stunning, the bride looks beautiful and it’s simply bliss to sip champagne in the sunshine and catch up with old friends. The husband and I get a taxi back to the station (£20) in time to catch the last train back to London: I’m stupidly grateful to fall into bed.

Sunday

Wake up with: £20.70

Go to bed with: £16.56

It’s a scorcher. It’s hard to laze in bed with the sun streaming through the curtains, so eventually we capitulate and make a half hearted attempt to do a little more work, before we decide that the DIY will have to play second fiddle to the sunshine today. The husband is dispatched to pick up picnic supplies and we hop on our bikes and head for the park.

After a magnificent open-air lunch, I fall asleep in the sunshine and consequently get ludicrously sunburnt. Oh well, it’s not as if sun damage has been a prevailing feature of summer 2012. We spend the evening ferrying the husband’s record collection between rooms and hoovering up the debris from stage one of renovations. I cook up a vat of ragu to keep us going through the week ahead; it’s going to be another long one. We eat on the balcony and then collapse on the sofa for a Wallander before bed.

Monday

Wake up with: £16.56

Go to bed with: £16.56

Supper Club has been cancelled because the husband is going to see the new Batman film and I have resolved to spend the rest of this week’s money on food for my local foodbank, but when I go to the website, there’s no information on where or when to drop off supplies. I email the director enquiring about volunteering and/or donations, but get no response. Curious. My do-gooding will have to wait until next week.

I have earmarked the entire evening to pack up my clothes and dressing table, but it turns out all my clothes fit into a single suitcase and an hour and six minutes after I first started, the bedroom is completely devoid of my possessions. I’m not sure why I’m surprised: in the last 12 months, I have bought two new dresses (both for weddings), two pairs of leggings from H&M and nothing else.

Tuesday

Wake up with: £16.56

Go to bed with: £8.56

A friend offers us two tickets for Daniel Kitson’s pre-Edinburgh rehearsal at the bargain price of £3 and we practically bite his hand off in our eagerness to get out of the house (and see Daniel Kitson’s new show, of course!). We meet at nine and have time for a glass of wine in the sunshine before the show begins. It’s hilarious and we pour out into the summer night giggling and grateful for the opportunity to leave the DIY behind for a night. Tonight we will have to sleep on the floor, our bed has been dismantled so the bedroom can be decorated this week, ready for the final carpet fitting on Friday.

Wednesday

Wake up with: £8.56

Go to bed with: £8.56

Whether it’s sleeping on the floor, the sudden onset of summer or simply that I’ve caught the cold that’s been doing the rounds, I wake feeling anything but rested, it’s going to be a long day.

The husband offers to gather supplies for the re-scheduled supper club. When he gets home, he is incredulous: “When did food get so expensive?” He splutters. “I just can’t believe how much prices have risen since I last did a proper supermarket shop.” He resolves to adjust the standing order between our bank accounts to reflect the price rise (I am Chief in Charge of Household Expenses and we don’t have a joint account). I can’t really see the point as it’s all going in the same pot anyway, but then I remember my poor, undernourished wardrobe. Maybe an extra tenner wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

The boys pile over for a dinner of lamb kefte, flatbread, tzatziki and Greek salad. The adrenalin that’s been keeping me going for the last two weeks must have finally run out as I can’t keep my eyes open over dinner and fall asleep on the sofa before the clock strikes 10.

Thursday

Wake up with: £8.56

Go to bed with: £5.12

Despite my exhaustion, once I actually get into bed, I cannot sleep. After a night tossing and turning, I get up at 5am, sweating all over with a splitting headache, and what feels like the beginnings of a cold. Great. I climb back into bed with a wet towel draped over my head and shoulders to cool me down but to no avail. By the time the alarm sounds, I am so exhausted that I feel like crying. I spend the day on the sofa feeling sorry for myself, but after a couple of naps and a good 12 hours doing absolutely nothing, I start to feel like myself again and decide it would be criminal to waste what is billed to be the last night of summer sitting on the sofa, when I could sit outside instead. At half seven I decamp to the park and lie on the grass, eating twiglets with my running partner-in-crime. We were supposed to be running this very eve, but luckily for me, she is similarly run down and exhausted so we just gossip and relax in the last dregs of sunshine instead. By the time the husband tucks me in to our make-shift bed, I feel more like myself again. Onwards and upwards.

The art of making chocolate: les coupes de Leonidas

I’ll be frank, there isn’t a whole lot of cooking going on in the LoveRichCashPoor household right now. We’re in the middle of re-painting, which means that everything from the sitting room is currently in the kitchen, while the bedroom is filled to the brim with all the elements of the husband’s former playroom study (think wires, decks, multiple pairs of trainers, computers, mysterious black boxes with lots of knobs on, camera equipment, records… you get the picture). Getting into bed is a veritable feat of balance and gymnastic ability.

In fact, it’s a good job I came back from Belgium loaded with chocolates (thanks dad!). Belgium is renowned for its chocolates and there are artisan chocolatiers on every street corner but I was reared on Leonidas and Leonidas remains my chocolate of choice: specifically truffes speculoos.

At Leonidas, chocolate-making is an art. So how better to show off each tiny creation than by photographing these beauteous bites on famous Belgian works of art?

A visit to Leonidas is an event in my family. We each have our chocolate of choice: at the moment, my sister and I are obsessed with the truffes and coupes. We’ve been through phases of cerise emballee, manons and irresistibles., we’ve branched out into orangettes and mendiants. Heaven knows where our chocolate journey will take us next, but it will no doubt be delicious.

Each of us takes it in turn to voice our request, then we stand back and watch the lady behind the counter leap into action; her gloved hands deftly selecting the gleaming ganaches and laying them in one of Leonidas’ signature gold boxes, lovingly protecting each layer with a sheet of foil. Then the box is wrapped and beribboned and carried home to savour. Yum.

Beautiful south: Marche du Midi, Brussels

 

To the casual observer, it will no doubt appear that I spend my life flitting around Europe. Said casual observer would be fairly justified, but rest assured I am sticking to the budget; it just so happens that both my parents live overseas. Well, that gallivanting gene had to come from somewhere, n’est pas?

 

This weekend was a case in point: I popped over to Belgium to visit my dad. He paid (thanks dad)! Dad is even more punctual than me so, on Sunday, I found myself at the Gare du Midi with an hour to kill before my train home. All the more time to spend exploring Brussels’ largest Sunday market: the colourful behemoth that is the Marche du Midi.

I love this market. There’s fresh produce a-plenty at rock-bottom prices, plant stalls, clothes and home furnishings and a certain spice in the air that sets it apart from similar markets on the continent: this is a predominantly Moroccan area of Brussels. LoveRichCashPoor was already loaded with bounty from dad’s kitchen garden, not to mention the odd slice of cheese and box of chocolates, so I didn’t indulge this time. But I was tempted, reader, I was tempted.

Week eleven: tantrums and tiaras

Friday

Wake up with: £50

Go to bed with: £40.50

It’s my beautiful older sister’s birthday this week, so the budget is accordingly reduced; it’s also time to start scaling down in anticipation of a couple of events later in the month.

The latter half of the afternoon at work is torture; Murray’s playing in the Wimbledon semi-final and I am itching to watch it. When the clock strikes 5.30, I leap on my bike and pedal home as quickly as my legs will take me. The husband’s return signals the start of the Great Clear Out: this weekend we’re going to dismantle his beloved playroom study and turn it into a spare bedroom. Poor boy! To cheer him up (and to satisfy my craving once and for all) I offer to nip out and get us a curry goat from the local Caribbean. Two curry goat with rice and peas and a side of plantain = £9.50. Yum.

Saturday

Wake up with: £40.50

Go to bed with: £30.08

The husband goes to work and I seize the opportunity to escape the DIY for the day: I cycle over to Roman Road to meet the girls for some marvellous market action. We fill our bags with bounty from the fruit and veg stall and the Polish delicatessen, then nip into a salon to have our eyebrows threaded for the bargain price of £3, before retiring to the sporty one’s house around the corner for a lunch of halal rotisserie chicken, salad and olives, followed by lebkuchen all from the market. Heaven.

Meanwhile, the husband has been hard at work ripping out his desk unit and the old boiler cupboard. We spend the rest of the afternoon daubing polyfilla about indiscriminately until we declare it time for tea. The husband declares he wants a fish and chip supper and I’m not about to stop him (as long as he pays). There’s something about spending Friday and Saturday night doing DIY that makes us crave junk food: perhaps it harks back to the early days when we didn’t have any furniture and we just ate pizza (not even the good pizza) off a cardboard box, while staring dismally at the nicotine-stained wood-chip waiting to be stripped off by our own fair hands…

Sunday

Wake up with: £30.08

Go to bed with: £15.73

It’s Wimbledon final day, the fridge is full with yesterday’s haul and the husband is going out. I spend a glorious day pottering about, with every TV and radio in the house tuned in to the tennis. The husband gets home in time for a tea of homemade gnocchi and pesto.

Monday

Wake up with: £15.73

Go to bed with: £5.06

Home via Sainsbury’s to cook this evening’s supper club meal: braised pork belly and stuffed marrow. I decide to use a few of my loyalty points to bulk up the store cupboard: I’m going to require a lot of pasta to get through the rest of the month. The boys aren’t interested in my gooseberry and elderflower sorbet, which I’m thrilled about: all the more for me!

Tuesday

Wake up with: £5.06

Go to bed with: £0.06

Woohoo! I have the day off today. I also have ten million errands to run, so it’s up at 9.30 (that is VERY early in my book), and straight into town to work through the to-do list. Unfortunately, I do not have any credit on my Oyster card, so my last fiver for the week is sacrificed at the Transport for London altar. Still, cycling is not feasible: it has not stopped raining for about three months and I have emergency supplies to buy for my stepmother, a bridesmaid’s dress to find and purchase, essential wedding accoutrements to track down as part of my matron-of-honour-ly duties, a carpet to choose and two wedding presents to buy. The former three do not involve my own money, so I will be paying by card for those but I will have to be extremely careful not to get carried away as per the last time the magic plastic came out.

In fact, one of the reasons I am buying wedding presents in an actual shop rather than on a computer is because I am trying to stick to my no-card rule. Human interaction it is. It feels ridiculously old-fashioned and I get some really funny looks from the customer services desk when I ask if I can look up the relevant wedding lists and pay in cash. I haven’t yet accounted for these in the budget so technically it is cheating but it would be foolish to pay the tube fare twice; as my Gran always says “never waste a journey”.

By the end of the day, I can’t bloody wait to get back to work. This day-off lark is exhausting!

Wednesday

Wake up with: £0.06

Go to bed with: £0.06

The day does not start well. The builder of kitchen-fame is due to pop round and give us a quote for fixing the hole in our bathroom wall (a product of the exploding shower debacle), and to fix the hallway ceiling following the water-tank leak. My hackles are up from the off: I am not a morning person and can’t really stomach any interaction before 10am or three coffees, whichever comes first. When I try to pin him down on a start date and his reply is ‘maybe sometime next week’, I have to leave the house before I say something I regret. I just cannot live on a building site any longer. I cycle to work furiously but, by the time I get there, I’m beginning to feel guilty and sheepish for snapping at the husband and being rude to the builder. Luckily, the husband emails to say he has found someone else who is available to start on Friday. Thank the lord and bless the husband!

My guilt over my brat-like behaviour only increases when the husband gets home and announces that he has cashed in his collection of coppers and is taking me out to dinner with the proceeds. Is he trying for some sort of award or what?

This coin collection has been building for 10 years: every single night he empties his pockets when he gets home from work. And every night, I pick up the pile of screwed-up receipts, change, cufflinks and other man detritus from wherever he has left it and dump it on his desk. Well, sometimes I keep the change, but most the time it filters through to one of the carrier bags that he’s been filling with coppers ever since I’ve known him. Why? I do not know. But I am very glad to see the back of it and even more glad to go on a date with the love of my life. It’s been five long weeks since we went out for dinner together. We share two starters and a main, and buy a Magnum on the way home for pudding.

Thursday

Wake up with: £0.06

Go to bed with: £1.52

The builder is due tomorrow, and the husband has resolved to repaint the house this weekend, so every last thing must be cleared from the study, hallway and sitting room and into the kitchen. I pick up a box and find yet another pile of change underneath. Finders, keepers!

Cheap and cheerful: Roman Road

To continue my countdown to London 2012, I cycled to Roman Road in London’s Mile End on Saturday. My clever little iPhone took me past Well Street Common and through Victoria Park where the paths are lined with lime trees giving off the most intoxicating scent. Roman Road is a long old road, so to avoid confusion, I visited the easternmost section, sandwiched between St Stephen’s Road and Parnell Road.

The Eastenders are a friendly bunch. Admittedly we had the world’s cutest almost-seven-month-old in tow, which tends to make people smile and chuck indulgently, and gets you more free samples of smoked sausage than you can shake a stick at, but baby or no baby, Roman Road is a wonderful place to rediscover your faith in humanity and to fall in love with the marvellous melting pot that is London all over again. It’s not the prettiest of places, but therein lies its charm. The gentrifying upper-middles haven’t moved in en-masse — yet — and the cool creatives are too busy working their magic on Dalston. This feels like real London. And if that’s too much for you, then retreat to The Morgan Arms just off Tredegar Square and you’ll be back in Kansas.

Roman Road is a foodie paradise, but utterly unpretentious—here, delis are still about the food and less about the Farrow & Ball colour schemes, although that is not far off… it’s already changed considerably in the past few years if Google Streetview is anything to go by. Fact checking was tough for this one – I really must carry a notebook wherever I go.

Here’s my top 5:

1) Roman Road market

Fruit and vegetables, plants, home-wares and clothes all at rock-bottom prices sold by friendly stallholders more than willing to engage in a bit of banter. Oh, and you can nip into one of the many salons along this road and get your eyebrows threaded for £3. Beat that!

2) Polskie Delikatesy

Run by a lovely, smiley mother and daughter duo, this exceptional Polish delicatessen sells everything from specialty breads to jars full of pickled cabbage and smoked sausages. In a word: yum.

3) G Kelly Noted Eel & Pie Shop.

You can’t get more East-End than a pie and eel shop and the queues stretch out of the door and on to the street for this Roman Road institution. LoveRichCashPoor had a job getting a photo.

4) Bangla Halal Grocers

Looking for a catfish that is bigger than a 10-year-old child? You have come to the right place. This little gem of a shop also sells every spice under the sun.

5) Old-skool confectionary delights at Mickey’s Sweets

No frills (but lots of fun) in Marlow

One of the last to turn 30, the Doc invited us to Marlow for cocktails and long-awaited catch-ups. We checked in en-masse into the Holiday Inn in High Wycombe, which at an unbelievable £30 a night per person, is excellent value for money. A record 15 minutes later and we were primped and preened and ready to roll for dinner at the Marlow Bar and Grill, followed by the main event: the party itself. The Doc, being of extraordinarily large brain, has married a Brazilian cocktail-maker extraordinaire, so we knocked back caipirinhas a-plenty! The next day, we were not so primped and preened, but we did have a lovely brunch and walk around Marlow: who knew chocolate-box prettiness was the most effective hangover cure of them all?

Pretty as a picture: a walk around Marlow

Hangover cure: survivors’ brunch at Fego

Enjoying the British summer on the River Thames!

A cook’s dream: Steamer Trading Cookshop

So when can I move in? Living in Store

LoveRich CashPoor vs. the supermarket: chargrilled artichokes

There are many things that are out of reach for someone who is eternally on a budget: hair cuts, new clothes, beauty treatments. Still, I’m someone who is just happy to look neat—and I don’t even achieve that most of the time, so it’s not much of a sacrifice to give up these little luxuries.

The thing that I miss the most is browsing food emporia, the culinary world literally my oyster. This weekend was a case in point: I was wondering around the supermarket trawling the ‘reduced’ aisle when some chargrilled artichokes caught my eye.

Those self same eyes nearly popped out as I zoomed in on the price. I mean, I love chargrilled artichokes as much as the next man, but this particular pack contained four quarters, and cost £3.49. There was no gold or diamonds listed on the ingredients, so one can only assume this is a royal rip off, especially in the middle of artichoke season.

I can do better than that, thought I.

Off to the grocer I went and bought three whole artichokes for £3. I had a bottle of sherry vinegar kicking around, of which I used 100ml (£1.59 for 375ml = 42p). I used 100ml of olive oil (£6.21 for 2 litres = 31p), 2 lemons (30p each) and a tsp of fennel seeds (24p for 5g). I used some bay leaves and rosemary from the garden, so I’m counting them as free.

I make that £4.57 for 12 quarters, or £1.52 for four quarters. Now I haven’t counted the energy cost of actually cooking these beauties, labour or packaging costs (although I’m using recycled jars and as previously discussed, my time comes pretty cheap!). In the same way that some supermarkets write off their corporation tax, I’m just going to sweep those costs under the carpet. Even so, that is less than half the cost. Take that supermarkets!

These babies are beautiful alone, or as part of an antipasto/tapas platter. I adore anything with an aniseedy tang, and it will go beautifully with the dish I’m planning to serve these with, but if you are not a fan of fennel, try chilli and rosemary or oregano.

Chargrilled artichokes

Makes: 12 quarters (2 large jars)

3 globe artichokes

2tbsp vinegar (white wine or malt – whatever you have knocking around)

100ml sherry vinegar

100ml olive oil

1 tsp fennel seeds

2 sprigs of rosemary

2 bay leaves

2 lemons

Salt and pepper to taste

Cut long fat strips of zest from the lemons. Fill a large bowl with cold water and squeeze in the juice of one lemon.

Prepare the artichokes, peeling off the outer leaves with a knife until you reveal the softer, yellow leaves below. Pare back the stalk, removing the woody outer layer (if you use baby artichokes, you can skip this step), then cut each artichoke into quarters, rubbing each with lemon juice and dropping into the water as you go to prevent discoloration.

Bring a pan of salted water to the boil, add 2 tbsp of vinegar (I had an inch of white wine vinegar kicking around, but malt will be fine) and the artichokes and simmer for 20 minutes (less if you are using baby artichokes).

Drain and season, then drizzle over a splash of olive oil and the juice of the remaining lemon and toss to coat. Pop a griddle pan on a high heat and sear the artichokes on all sides until slightly charred/browned then pop to one side.

Warm half the oil in a pan, throw in the lemon zest and fennel seeds and heat until they sizzle, but remove from the heat before they brown. Stir in the other half of the oil then remove the zest with a slotted spoon and chuck over the artichokes. In a separate pan, warm the vinegar but don’t allow to boil.

Pack the artichokes into jars with the lemon zest, bay leaves and rosemary. Pour over the vinegar then cover with oil. Leave overnight for the flavours to infuse, then keep for up to a week in the fridge.

Once you have devoured the artichokes, keep any leftover oil/vinegar in the jar to use as a salad dressing.

 

 

 

Week eight: confessions of a shopaholic

Say it with flowers: not-so-sweet williams

Friday

Wake up with: £80

Go to bed with: £60

The week gets off to a wonderful start: delicious injera with school friends at Addis on Caledonian Road. The total for food, wine and service is a very reasonable £15 a head. We transfer over to Patisserie Valerie for pudding and a gawp at the new Kings Cross, then onto the one pub in the whole of London that hasn’t been completely occupied by football supporters for a little supplementary wine. I spend an additional £5 (if it sounds suspiciously exact, it’s because I lent £5 to one of the girls in the restaurant and she then treated me to cake and wine). I set off home on my trusty bike.

Saturday

Wake up with: £60

Go to bed with: £31.48

I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a train but I have to go to Uckfield to look at a house. As a concession to the summer cold I appear to have developed overnight, I decide to get the bus, rather than cycle to London Bridge. Big mistake! An hour later, I’ve only got as far as my office, a 15-minute cycle ride. I just make the train, shelling out £16.70 on the return fare. In the spirit of budgeting, I have bought my own drinks and snacks.

The house is lovely, but not ‘the one’ – the husband would barely fit through the door (height, you understand, not the result of my cooking!).

Still, it’s not a wasted journey; I while away the time until the next train home with a wander around the local Waitrose; I have a craving for curry tonight to clear these damn sinuses.

The darling husband rescues me from 149 hell, by agreeing to pick me up from Angel tube – there goes the last of my Oyster credit. We stop at the shop for milk and a little treat on the way home and I cook up a devilishly hot massaman curry.

Sunday

Wake up with: £31.48

Go to bed with: £10.14

It’s raining and I’m still feeling sorry for myself, so I resolve to spend a lazy day at home. The courgette and tomato plants need potting up, so I nip to the local garden centre to pick up some compost and plant feed. Ouch, almost £20 later, I’m beginning to regret my executive decision to wait for a bigger garden before we build a compost heap.

The husband has got us steak and chips for tea, and creme caramel for pudding. It almost makes up for the fact that the dreaded football is on again. Almost.

Monday

Wake up with: £10.14

Go to bed with: £10.14

It’s a proud day in the LoveRichCashPoor household. Having received a statement informing me in teeny tiny print that my 0% interest period expires on 7 July, today, I clear the outstanding balance on my credit card – and then take the scissors to it to ensure that I never use it again.

Supper club is cancelled for the football, so the husband and I eat our second massaman curry of the week for tea.

Tuesday

Wake up with: £10.14

Go to bed with: -£23.81

Hurrah, the sun has made a guest appearance to the season that will hitherto be known as The Summer the Sun Forgot; I make an executive decision that I deserve a lunch break and go for a little wander around Spitalfields. I’m ostensibly nipping out to buy some squid ink spaghetti, but I get sidetracked on a detour down Fournier Street when I discover that one of the houses is an antiques shop cum cafe. I’m in love, and grateful that I destroyed my credit card yesterday.

I think all that lunchtime virtue sets off a bit of a chain reaction come evening. I’ve arranged to meet an old school friend for dinner at El Parador on Eversholt Street. The cash has run out, but the sunshine, the company and the delicious tapas on offer (and possibly the wine) bring out my reckless streak. I pay by card (debit, obviously), and promptly go over budget to the tune of £20.00. Woops.

Wednesday

Wake up with: -£23.81

Go to bed with: -£33.78

In my experience, budgeting is a little like dieting: the minute you slip, the temptation is to give up altogether. I pop to the supermarket after work and somehow I leave with a pack of tiger prawns, some a cherry tomatoes, a lemon and two bunches of sweet williams (albeit at £1.50 each). This is decidedly off-message but god it feels good.

Thursday

Wake up with: -£33.78

Go to bed with: -£33.78

Total overspend this week: £33.78

As the buyer’s remorse sets in from yesterday’s supermarket blow-out, I give myself a stern talking to – we need washing powder, rice and tea bags and here I am with flowers and shellfish.The worst thing is, I haven’t even bought anything that outrageous – as my inner sulky teenager protests: it’s not as if I bought a new dress or champagne. In a way she has a point: I spent £3 on flowers, bought some compost, a train ticket and two reasonably priced restaurant meals this week and somehow this has amounted to an epic failure. It’s a salutary lesson on what it means to live on a tight budget. My inner sanctimonious goodie two shoes (you know, the one, she’s always banging on about food waste, or reminding everyone that one cappuccino could be standing between me and the dream) points out that a lot of people out there live on considerably less. She’s right of course, but I’d still like a new dress and the flowers are beautiful, so there. Still, next week I will do better.

Had any budgetary dramas of your own this week? Feel free to share them in the comments box below and thank you ever so much for reading.

To market, to market: a walk around Spitalfields

It’s not often that I get a lunch break, but yesterday I succumbed to the sunshine’s siren call and went for a wee walk around the block (I also wanted to buy some squid ink spaghetti for a dish that is coming soon to LoveRichCashPoor). With just over a month to go until London 2012, I thought a little sneak preview was in order…

1) Nicholas Hawksmoor’s Christ Church, and adjoining garden: the beacon of Spitalfields and a great place to stop and stare on a sunny day.

2) Fournier Street, E1: this stunning terrace was originally home to Huguenot silk weavers, the entire street is perfectly preserved.

3) Fournier Street, E1. The original loft extension: the Huguenots constructed glazed lofts to house their silk weaving operations

4) The Town House, Antiques, Gallery, Coffee and Cake. I have always wanted to peep inside one of the houses on Fournier Street and now I have, courtesy of the fabulous Town House. This antiques emporium has been here for 10 years, apparently, but LoveRichCashPoor only noticed it yesterday; it has just opened its doors to the wider world, with coffee and cake served in the small but perfectly formed courtyard garden. Every single item in this two-storey shop is gasp-makingly beautiful. I would move in tomorrow if I could… it’s clearly a common problem, to the extent that Town House is now accepting paying guests on the upper floors. Thank god I cut up my credit card on Monday is all I can say.

5) The Town House (cont)

6) Old Spitalfields market, London E1. A treasure trove of boutiques, street food and market stalls. Thursday brings a host of antiques traders to hawk their wares inside.

7) Food glorious food: tucked inside Spitalfields’ perimeter, there’s a magnificent array of food emporia: cheese at Androuet, felafel at PilPel and John Torode’s Luxe — my go-to for after-work drinks or working lunches (on expenses, you understand). Across the road, St. John Bread and Wine is our venue of choice for a feast (again, not on my tab).

St. John Bread and Wine

8) Adnams Cellar and Kitchen: enamelware and real ale, what’s not to love? Seriously, this is a real gem, with wonderful cookware and kitchen accessories in the basement, a wide selection of beers and wine and there’s always a little tipple to sample…

9) Spitalfields. For some reason best known to itself, Spitalfields is divided into two parts, with two different websites. I’m generally to be found on the Old side, but the New side has lovely open squares, great views over the city, art installations, regular concerts and events and Patisserie Valerie.

10) Crisis Skylight Cafe: a coffee with a conscience, this award-winning café serves great food  with a side of optimism; it’s run by the eponymous education, training and employment centre next door.