For a long time I have held a steadfast belief in a scientific principle called the Law of Culinary Equilibrium. It derives from Newton's Third Law, which states, "To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."

I'm not sure where or when I first heard of the Law of Culinary Equilibrium. It's entirely possible that I made it up, er, discovered it. Origins aside, here's how it works: If I eat a horrible taco al pastor, one that is so bad as to be undeserving of the name and that should require the chef's compulsory deportation back to Puebla if that is in fact where the offending cook hails from, I must within 24 hours consume an exquisite taco al pastor. Bad Cubano, one that's not absolutely shatteringly thin, garlicky and filled with delicious roast pork and ham? Same deal. You get the idea. I've found that practicing the Law of Culinary Equilibrium not only restores order to the gastronomic universe, it restores my faith in humankind. That and it greatly reduces my urge to hurl a cinderblock through the window of the offending establishment.

Of course some might wonder how a veteran eater like me encounters a bad meal. To this I answer that since I often write about food in New York City I'm charged with a Star Trek-like mission: "To boldly eat where no man has eaten before." As much I'd like to stick to my favorite taquerias and dim sum joints, I simply can't, if only because the next great discovery often lies behind a new storefront.

Sometimes though, a bad meal stems from my own equally bad judgment. The other day I decided to check out a place in my neighborhood of Rego Park, Queens. I shall refer to it as Crunchy Earth Mother Café, if only because it's been open a scant three weeks and I wish the management no ill will. I truly don't what I was expecting when I ordered what the earth-toned menu refers to as "a falafel panini." After all I know what a falafel is and I know what paninis are. Perhaps, I hoped it would turn out to be something far greater than the sum of its parts.

Sadly, the falafel panini turned out to be something far less than the sum of its parts. Here's what I got for $5.49: a thin sandwich filled with unfried falafel meal, slathered with an evil dill yogurt sauce, dressed with tomatoes and romaine between two slices of some type of corrugated health bread. It was so bland and meager that I found myself thinking, "Man, this better be good for me." At first my friend Daniel was offended that I didn't offer him any, since I usually let him taste some of what I'm eating. He got the message when I grumbled, "Trust me you don't want any."

Did I say something about bad judgment earlier? A closer look at the printed menu clearly shows this abomination was listed as "Grilled Falafel Panini." Though really would a fried falafel panini be any better? The following day in accordance with the Law of Culinary Equilibrium I hastened to my friend Tzur's restaurant On the Grill, which lies diagonally across Queens Boulevard from Crunchy Earth Mother Café. He's been making falafel since he was knee high to a fat fryer. I immediately ordered a sandwich. To make up for the blandness of the previous day, I asked for small dishes of the following: skhug, a chunky Yemenite Israeli hot sauce and amba, a fiery mango pickle eaten by Iraqi Jews. I also got a few small pickled peppers, just in case.

Now that's what I a call a falafel sandwich! Doesn't look so unhealthy either, does it? Not a bad deal for $3.95. Check out the ginormous falafel ball cresting out of the homemade pita on wave of Israeli salad. With a schmear of hummus on the bottom and five balls of fried chickpea goodness, it's a powerhouse of flavors. Of course the array of hot sauces I had amassed before me along with some Israeli pickles further enhanced the experience. As I finished the last bit of the sandwich, all was suddenly right with the world. Before I left, I asked Tzur whether he'd ever make a falafel panini. His answer was emphatic: "No! I would never do that. It would destroy the falafel. I would never destroy the falafel."

The proximity of two such vastly different falafel experiences has only served to bolster my belief in the Law of Culinary Equilibrium. And I really don't have anything against Crunchy Earth Mother Café. I'll be back there later today for my daily dose of wheatgrass juice. But I plan to stay the hell away from that hideous falafel panini. As my friend Daniel aptly put it, "Just because food is healthy doesn't mean it has to taste bad." It's a shame more health-food spots don't understand that simple concept.