wo economic events marked the past week for me. They were outwardly unrelated, but when considered together, they raised any number of financial issues.

First, I had dinner at Rustico?s in Flatts, a simple meal, at a cost of $40. Then I sold a fax machine/copies/scanner that I had owned for a while and for which I had no further use, for $100.

On the face of things, those two numbers, side by side, are ridiculous. A light meal ? half a salad, a small plate of pasta, a soda and a coffee ? which lasted the few hours until breakfast the next day, for $40; a complicated piece of computer equipment that has already seen good service, and will last for years to come, for less than three times as much.

Start with the notions that Rustico?s does not provide great value for money, and that the fax machine, being used, was a bargain. Even allowing for those things, something seems awry. At the heart of matter are several other factors, and in trying to understand how I could get such rotten value as a buyer, and give such good value as a seller, I considered each of them.

The first element in the price disparity is the labour cost. My dinner was made in Bermuda, by people earning among the highest salaries in the world for the jobs they do. The fax machine was probably made in a developing country, largely by other machines.

The fax machine was previously owned; my dinner wasn?t. The dinner was in a chic restaurant, and chic is among the most expensive elements of the cost of anything. Curiously, though, if I had eaten instead at the Paraquet, the antithesis of chic, the meal would not have cost much less.

I should explain that I have no real gripe with Rustico?s. It did replace a much more attractive value proposition, a solid diner where everybody knew my name, and I could eat for $10, but I understand. That space in Flatts demonstrates a curious principle in Bermuda?s boom economy: things only get better. The Halfway House was, once, a hole in the wall serving burgers and booze to taxi drivers. It had character and not much else. Then it was upgraded to become a neighbourhood diner, which had less character and better food, and then it was upgraded again to become an Italian restaurant. Lord knows what it will be next: probably a five-star, $100-a-plate restaurant.

Demand is a big factor in the price of things. Many people, it seems, are keen to drop big bills to eat out in Bermuda, but only one person showed any interest in my fax machine when I advertised it. Fax machines are on the way out; pasta is entirely in. Ten years from now, fax will be as antiquated as carbon paper, but food will still be extremely popular.

Restaurant economics are curious. My dinner was composed of a few lettuce leaves, some grated cheese and a slice of bread (the salad), a dozen pasta tubes and some sauce and filler, a soda made in Devonshire, and a cup of coffee. The cost of the ingredients was probably no more than a buck or two. What cost real money were the chef and the waiters, the rent and the tablecloths, and all the taxes everyone in the chain had to fork over to government.

By contrast, the fax machine cost considerable money to build, even if a computer constructed most of it. Not much labour was involved.

Since I can buy lettuce and pasta at the supermarket, I know exactly what it costs to make such a meal. Since I can?t tell a circuit board from a DVD, and could not begin to make either, I have no idea what a fax machine costs to make.

Regardless of all this, one over-riding truth remains. The amount of work I had to do to earn $40 for a meal was exactly 40 percent of the amount of work the buyer of my fax machine, another knowledge worker, had to do to earn $100. The one thing the meal and the machine had in common was that their value was measured in dollars.

Everything, you will have noticed, is measured in dollars. And every dollar is worth exactly the same as every other dollar ? but we often forget that. We tend to think that a dollar in the bank is somehow worth more than a dollar in our pockets. You might think twice, perhaps, about writing a cheque for something, but putting your hand into your pocket is less painful. Charging on your credit card seems the easiest thing of all.

It shouldn?t be. A dollar is a dollar is a dollar, and remembering that is crucial to getting rich slowly. In fact, a credit card dollar is the most expensive dollar of the lot, especially if you don?t pay it off immediately. Borrowed dollars are the most expensive because they go on costing you until you pay them back. That?s why paying off debt is Job One in the wealth accumulation business.

Each week, when I write this column, I know that you already know in your hearts, what I?m telling you. In this regard, but only in this regard, I?m like the Bible, providing a blueprint for how to behave. We all know that we should love our neighbours, but not many of us do. (If you knew my neighbours, you?d know why.)

In life, you can get by without observing much of the Biblical code: look at politicians. But you won?t get rich slowly, or ever, if you ignore all the good advice I give you every Saturday.

So here?s this week?s tip. Eating out is among the most expensive things you can do, especially in Bermuda. It is also among the most enjoyable. You must, however, balance how often you eat out with how much you want to get rich.

Long ago, when I used to give people financial advice, the easiest way to turn their lives around was to ask them how often they had eaten out in the past month or two. Then I?d advise them to eat out once less often per month, and put the cost of that meal into a savings account.

It didn?t always work. One guy stopped eating out altogether, and took up home cooking. By the time he?d bought designer pots and pans, and bottled sauces from the finest delicatessens, and started throwing out any food he made that wasn?t quite up to his perfectionist standard, he was worse off financially than he had been before.

Here is a rule instead of a tip. Actually it?s a demand. If you can?t meet it, don?t read any more. Do ? not ? throw ... food ? away. Ever. Apart from being a waste of your money, it?s an insult to everyone in the world who is worse off than you, which is almost everyone in the world. Do not buy food you are not going to eat.

By not throwing away food, you won?t save the world, but you might save a buck or two, so if you have no social conscience whatsoever, think about yourself. Throwing away food is like setting fire to money. Do not do it. Got it?

Phew. Now I?m all hot under the collar. It?s a curious thing. I barely believe in anything, but I will toast stale bread, or eat yesterday?s leftovers, because to throw them out offends me more than almost anything else.

You don?t have to be like me (or even look like me, you?ll be pleased to hear) to get rich slowly, but you do have to use your brain and eat all the food you buy. Is that so much to ask?