I WENT BACK , later last week, to that new Indian restaurant. Spicy Bite, which, if I remember my writing rightly, I highly recommended. Well, the buzz wore off and the second serving of soup wasn't nearly as good. Still good. Don't get me wrong. It's just that I believe I gushed. Overly. Better than tom ka gai. Better than canh chua tom. Did I say that? If so, don't believe me. We had more people this time and tried a mess more dishes, every one of which was fantastic except for the hot-and-sour chicken soup. Go figure.

Oh, it was still pretty good, but the vegetables weren't as plentiful or colorful or fresh. It's hard to say with soup. Sometimes the top of the pot is better, sometimes the bottom. Anyway, the point here isn't a retraction. The point is I had every reason in the world to go back again again, to get to the middle of this mystery and/or break the tie. Seemed like the perfect idea for lunch yesterday.

One problem: yesterday was Monday and Spicy Bite, dopey me, isn't open for lunch Mondays. La Carne Asada, a couple doors up, is. It's a little Nicaraguan hole-in-the-wall I've always wondered about. I don't know. Something ... The name? Something. Anyway, I've always wondered and always imagined my wondering would end some day in a long, sweet, greasy afternoon nap.

It did! You see? So I'm not always wrong about everything.

Hold on a second. I have to go vote for Kucinich.

Dang, man, sometimes I get bummed about my country. How's that old saying go? Something about the more you believe you are free, the more you aren't, or something. So, let's see, extrapolating, here ... (gimme a second), what would this say about the land of the free and the home of freedom fries?

Well, but, hell, man, we're the hottest ticket going, ain't we? Why, here even Negroes, even ladies get to exercise their God-given right to vote. For example. For the lesser of two evils. No less. Who can beat who. Fun! And then everyone gets pissed off about Ralph Nader. He's a white man. Why shouldn't he run for president? I'd run myself, but I don't like to be obvious.

Barbara Lee, I'm telling you. Write her in.

But, no, we have to be serious this time. This time the stakes are too high. Must beat George Bush. Must beat Bush. OK, I'll agree to hold my hands out in front of me, glaze-eyed, and walk around like that until November, if you all agree to acknowledge that we live in the most laughably sorry-ass-backward example of a freedom-loving country on this planet, bar none. Not even Afghanistan, not even Womanwalkbehindyourmanistan. News flash: No sense of humor. No soul. No guts. Not free. Repeat after me: None of those things. And even the cliché that any white man can grow up to be president of the United States is ridiculously overstated. Look at Kucinich. He's from Cleveland. Poor. Probably likes the Indians. Loves pierogis. Probably hates the Yankees and the Red Sox. Yet: unelectable. Where are we? What century?

I sure do wish I was smarter than I am, all kidding aside, but ... without cable TV, this is the best I can do.

Nicaragua is another example of a country. I never been there, but I know what their flag looks like! Blue stripe, white stripe, blue stripe. And, in the middle of the white one a triangle, I think with mountains and water and maybe a little sunshine in it. Green? If you really want to know, there's a huge homemade bedsheet banner tacked to one wall of La Carne Asada.

Tacked to the other wall is an equally huge unframed painting of a little village with a river running through it and two angels up in the sky over the mountains. [Study question: why would so many people, including my grandparents, come from dreamy mountain villages with rivers running through them and angels in the sky to open restaurants on Mission Street and vote Kerry/Edwards?]

There's one long table down the middle of the place, booths around the outside, and a frayed red carpet, drop-top ceiling with fluorescent lights, not on. Paper cutouts of palm trees. And a sort of a shrinish area along the wall over the door to the street, which you're going to have to go see for yourself. It's beyond my powers of description.

I had hoped to not say anything at all about the food, in order not to put my foot in my mouth or get anyone all riled up. But: It's good. It's cheap. Fried pork. Fried bananas. Fried cheese. Carne asada.

La Carne Asada. 3515 Mission (at Santa Marina), S.F. (415) 821-5852. Sun.-Mon. and Wed.-Fri., 11 a.m.-9 p.m.; Sat., 11 a.m.-10:30 p.m. Takeout available. Discover, MasterCard, Visa. Beer and wine. Wheelchair accessible.