ALCOHOL WAS NOT involved. The Gulf War veteran weighed twice as much as the fiddle player from Berkeley. He'd been on the front lines of the war; she'd been on the front lines of war protests. They were sitting at opposite corners of a table, both very brave, and each with strong opinions.

I had a piece of pie.

Do I have to tell you how the conversation went? It had to do with the idea of reinstating the draft, and it was, as you might imagine, a heated discussion. I was absolutely thrilled. Another one for the highlight reels, right up there with jumping out of an airplane and eating at Ann's Cafe.

I've never been to war, never killed anyone or been shot at. I've never protested a war, either. Never been arrested. But I love peach pie.

I don't know about the other people at the table. One at a time, they were getting up and leaving. The fiddle player was my friend, my guest, my date. I was sitting between her and the soldier, paying very close attention to my piece of pie.

Then, as the conversation was cranking up into yet another level of heatedness, I noticed Mr. Potato Head setting on the table right in front of me. His eyes were cross-googled, his glasses on crooked, and his hat askew. It seemed almost certain he had something to say. Exercising my own brand of bravery, I hoisted Mr. Potato Head into the airspace between the combatants, cleared my throat, cocked his little plastic arm, and ventriloquized in the goofiest voice I could find, "Excuse me, but I have something to say ..."

And that's how I wound up in the emergency room last Saturday night.

Just kidding. I spent the night on a floor in a charming and charmed house in Berkeley, and I fell asleep laughing and woke up laughing. Which – you can't beat that. But I was hungry, so I sneaked over the bridge and went looking for my friend Earl Butter, one of my oldest and dearest comrades in absurdity. There is no better person in all of the Bay Area, that I know of, to help you keep a good laugh rolling.

"Help me," I said when I'd tracked him down – at his apartment of all places.

We wound up in West Portal at the Bullshead, which won some kind of an award in the Bay Guardian a couple years ago: Best Place to Get a Big Slab of Meat, or something like that. Another good omen was as soon as you walk into the place there's a glass display case like at a butcher's shop, full of raw red meat.

They have turkey burgers, chicken breast sandwiches, and prawns and salmon and stuff, but their specialty is steaks and burgers. We were seated at a table in the corner, sandwiched between a pair of elderly women not talking to each other, and a middle-aged woman eating alone and reading a book. There was no music whatsoever, so the atmosphere was ours for the taking.

"Did you know Mr. Potato Head was transgendered?" I said, as loudly as possible.

Third-pound burger goes for $7.60, half-pounder for $8.75. Then on up, depending on what all you want on it. And they all come with fries included. Or potato salad or cole slaw, but the french fries are fresh cut and delicious, so ...

Butter gets a buffalo burger. See, any one of their burgers you can get with grinded-up buffaloes instead of moo-cow, if you want, and it turns out, according to a little sign on the wall, that buffalo meat is so much better for you than beef that it's practically health food. It was not too late to change my burger to a buffalo burger too.

You know, in the past when I've had buffalo instead of beef burgers, they've seemed kind of dry and gray, but maybe I'm just remembering wrong, or didn't get them at the right place. The Bullshead buffalo burger rocked. It was really rare, really juicy, super flavorful, perfectly charcoal-broiled, and the third-pounder seemed as big as what some places call a half-pounder.

Old Earl was happy with his too, and even happier with the ketchup squirters, speaking of absurdity. They have these ... artsy-pants zigzag spouts on top especially designed for Three Stooges-style slapstick. I tried to get him to run home and put a white shirt on, for added effect, but ... no go.

The Bullshead. 840 Ulloa (at West Portal), SF. (415) 665-4350. Mon.-Sat., 9:30 a.m.-10 p.m.; Sun., 3-9:30 p.m. Beer and wine. American Express, MasterCard, Visa.

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Dan Leone is the author of Eat This, San Francisco (Sasquatch Books), a collection of Cheap Eats restaurant reviews, and The Meaning of Lunch (Mammoth Books).