THERE ARE NOT a lot of things in life that are better than lasagna. This thought is thought by the chicken farmer, like many of his thoughts, in the bathtub. In the chicken yard the chickens are sunning themselves on a log. Two apple trees are fixing to fix the farmer an apple pie, any day now, and beyond that: the big boys, the redwoods, imperfectly still in the stir of a mild Sonoma Coast breeze.

The chicken farmer takes a bath outside. Could this be, he wonders, one of the few things in life that are better than lasagna? Taking a bath outside with chickens and apple trees and redwoods? Answer: No.

Now, to take a bath outside with all of the above and with a big steamy plate of lasagna.... That would just about seal it. That would be one of those things like levitating, or riding a motorcycle with naked ladies, where, OK, now you are ready to die. I've eaten popcorn, eggs, soup, sausage, salad, and probably some other things in the bathtub, but never lasagna.

Why is that?

And why is the chicken farmer still thinking about lasagna, after last week's well-documented indulgence? Answer: It's another week! Jesus, how often do you think about sex?

I'm clean now. I towel off, go inside, check my e-mail, and here, serendipitously, is a little note from Momi Toby's Revolution Cafe, in Hayes Valley, saying, essentially, We got your lasagna right here, buddy.

Remember? Two weeks ago I bemoaned the fact that Papa Toby's Revolution Cafe, in the Mission, let me down lasagnawise twice in a row. It's on the menu, but they didn't have it. All out once, not in yet the other time.

So my guess is that Momi, which came first, supplies the goods to Papa. That's just a guess. But it means, if I'm right, that Momi's lateness (delivering the goods that day) gets Papa in trouble with me, and then they're going to step up and say, Yoo-hoo, lasagna over here! Now, I know you're not supposed to put yourself in the middle of domestic squabbles – especially highly cartoonish ones that you've completely fabricated yourself. But since when do I not do what you're not supposed to do? So ...

Momi Toby's. Where the lasagna is. I'm there.

Earl Butter will back me up on this because he's there with me: good lasagna. Right, Earl? No sausage or meat or nothing in it, but for $7.50 it comes with a small pile of Caesar salad, a couple pieces of bread, and it's cheesy and steamy and saucy. It's lasagna! It's got pesto and spinach, too. Earl, who's working on a big belly and so eats a lot more than I do these days, he wanted to get another piece, he liked it so much. But I wouldn't let him. I thought if we were going to eat lunch twice, we ought to at least eat at two different places. I still had some time to kill before my baseball game.

Don't worry, I'm going to come back to Momi Toby's, but first we drove around aimlessly in my pickup truck and found a street fair in Japantown. Some crazy street with some crazy name, but we heard loud music and saw smoke, so we parked.

And we went looking for the perfect dessert for meatless lasagna: meat. Barbecued riblets. Beer-bowl chicken. Fueled by which, I went four for six, pitched five innings, gave up two runs, and got the win. But I also booted two grounders, so I could not in all fairness award myself the week's MVP eggs. I gave them to Cookie Rojas.

Stopped back in at Momi Toby's for some fuel for the trip home: cup of coffee and a slice of pie. Blueberry, my favorite, with a criss-cross delicious crust. Cat working there cuts me the biggest piece of pie I ever seen in a restaurant. Of course, it cost $3.95, but still, this was two pieces of pie, most places. If I'd of still had the MVP eggs on me, I'd of given them to him, sorry Cookie.

Sat in one of the nice, cozy, woody, window seats, and then, driving back to the shack all tanked on Momi Toby's coffee and sugar, I had me my most revolutionary idea ever: to egg the president. Which isn't what it sounds like. I want to get a carton of eggs to George Bush, to eat. Can you do that? Except I want it to be an entirely apolitical act. Just: eggs.

From the chicken farmer.

Momi Toby's Revolution Cafe. 528 Laguna (at Linden), SF. (415) 626-1508. Mon.-Fri., 7:30 a.m.-10 p.m.; Sat.-Sun., 8 a.m.-10 p.m. Takeout available. Beer and wine. Credit cards not accepted. Wheelchair accessible.

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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).