The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopaholic

I've gone off the Tiger prawn recipe because it turns out Tiger prawns are very expensive. So what I'm going to make instead is chicken and mushroom balti. It all looks very cheap and easy, and I just need to write out my shopping list.

When I've finished I'm a bit taken aback. The list is quite a lot longer than I'd thought it would be. I hadn't realized you needed so many spices just to make one curry. I've just looked in the kitchen, and we don't have a balti pan, or a grinder for grinding spices, or a blender for making the aromatic paste. Or a wooden spoon or any scales that work.

Still, never mind. What I'll do is quickly go to Peter Jones and buy all the equipment we need for the kitchen, and then I'll get the food and come back and start cooking. The thing to remember is, we only have to buy all this stuff once – and then we're fully equipped to make delicious curries every night. I'll just have to think of it as an investment.

By the time Suze arrives back from Camden Market that evening, I am dressed in my new stripy apron, grinding up roasted spices in our new grinder.

'Phew!' she says, coming into the kitchen. 'What a stink!'

'It's aromatic spices,' I say a bit crossly, and take a swig of wine. To be honest, this is all a bit more difficult than I'd thought. I'm trying to make something called balti masala mix, which we will be able to keep in a jar and use for months, but all the spices seem to be disappearing into the grinder and refusing to come back out. Where are they going?

'I'm absolutely starving,' says Suze, pouring herself a glass of wine. 'Will it be ready soon?'

'I don't know,' I say through clenched teeth, peering into the grinder. 'If I can just get these bloody spices out…'

'Oh well,' says Suze. 'I might just make some toast.'

She pops a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and then starts picking up all my little bags and pots of spices and looking at them.

'What's all spice?' she says, holding up a pot curiously. 'Is it all the spices, mixed together?'

'I don't know,' I say, banging the grinder on the counter. A tiny dusting of powder falls out and I stare at it angrily. What happened to a whole jarful that I could keep for months? Now I'll have to roast some more of the bloody things.

'Because if it is, couldn't you just use that and forget all the others?'

'No!' I say crossly. 'I'm making a fresh and distinct balti blend. OK?'

'OK,' says Suze, shrugging. 'You're the expert.'

Right, I think, taking another swig of wine. Start again. Coriander seeds, fe

'What's this?' says Suze, looking at Luke Brandon's card on the kitchen table. 'Luke Brandon? How come he sent you a card?'

'Oh, you know,' I say, shrugging casually. 'He was just being polite.'

'Polite?' Suze wrinkles her brow, turning the card over in her hands. 'No way. You don't have to send a card to someone just because they returned your twenty quid.'

'Really?' My voice is slightly higher than usual – but that must be because of the roasting aromatic spices. 'I thought maybe that's what people did these days.'

'Oh no,' says Suze assuredly. 'What happens is, the money's lent, it's returned with a thank-you letter, and that's the end of the matter. This card – ' she waves it at me 'this – is something extra.'

This is why I love sharing a flat with Suze. She knows stuff like this, because she mixes in the right social circles. You know she once had di

'So what do you think it means?' I say, trying not to sound too tense.

'I reckon he's being friendly,' she says, and puts the card back on the table.

Friendly. Of course, that's it. He's being friendly.

Which is a good thing, of course. So why do I feel ever so slightly disappointed? I stare at the card, which has a face by Picasso on the front. What does that mean?

'Are those spices supposed to be going black, by the way?' says Suze, spreading peanut butter on her toast.

'Oh God!' I whip the balti pan off the stove and look at the blackened coriander seeds. This is driving me crazy. OK, tip them away and start again. Coriander seeds, fe

Somehow, miraculously it doesn't. Forty minutes later I actually have a curry bubbling away in my balti pan!

This is fantastic! It smells wonderful, and it looks just like it does in the book – and I didn't even follow the recipe very carefully. It just shows, I have a natural affinity with Indian cookery. And the more I practise, the more accomplished I'll become. Like David E. Barton says, I'll be able to knock up a quick, delicious curry in the time it takes to call the delivery firm. And look how much money I've saved!

Triumphantly, I drain my basmati rice, take my ready-made naan breads out of the oven, and serve everything out onto plates. Then I sprinkle chopped fresh coriander over everything – and honestly, it looks like something out of Marie-Claire. I carry the plates through and put one in front of Suze.

'Wow!' she says. 'This looks fantastic!'

'I know,' I say proudly, sitting down opposite her. 'Isn't it great?'

I watch as she takes her first forkful – then put a forkful into my own mouth.

'Mmm! Delicious!' says Suze, chewing in relish.

'Quite hot,' she adds, after a while.

'It's got chilli powder in,' I say. 'And fresh chillies. But it's nice, though, isn't it?'

'It's wonderful!' says Suze. 'Bex, you're so clever! I could never make this in, a million years!'

But as she's chewing, a slightly strange expression is coming over her face. To be honest, I'm feeling a bit breathless, too. This curry is quite hot. In fact it's bloody hot.

Suze has put down her plate and is taking a large slug of wine. She looks up, and I see her cheeks are red.

'OK?' I say, forcing myself to smile through the pain in my mouth.

'Yeah, great!' she says, and takes a huge bite of naan bread. I look down at my plate and resolutely take another forkful of curry. Immediately, my nose starts to run. Suze is sniffing too, I notice, but as I meet her eye she smiles brightly.

Oh God, this is hot. My mouth can't stand it. My cheeks are burning, and my eyes are starting to water. How much chilli powder did I put in this bloody thing? Only about one teaspoonful… or maybe it was two. I just kind of trusted my instincts and chucked in what looked about right. Well – so much for my instincts.

Tears start ru

'Are you OK?' says Suze in alarm.

'I'm fine!' I say, putting down my fork. 'Just… you know. A bit hot.'

But actually, I'm not OK. And it's not just the heat that's making tears run down m face. Suddenly I feel like a complete failure. I can't even get a quick and easy curry right. And look how much money I spent on it, with the balti pan and the apron and all the spices… Oh, it's all gone wrong, hasn't it? I haven't Cut Back at all. This week's been a complete disaster.

I give a huge sob, and put my plate on the floor.

'It's horrible!' I say miserably, and tears begin to stream down my face. 'Don't eat it, Suze. It'll poison you.'

'Bex! Don't be silly!' says Suze. 'It's fantastic!' She looks at me, then puts her own plate on the floor. 'Oh Bex.' She shuffles across the floor, reaches up and gives me a hug. 'Don't worry. It's just a bit hot. But otherwise, it's brilliant! And the naan bread is delicious! Honestly. Don't get upset.'

I open my mouth to reply, and instead hear myself giving another huge sob.

'Bex, don't!' wails Suze, practically crying herself. 'It's delicious! It's the most delicious curry I've ever tasted.'