You're young, spirited, full of life, lusting for laughter, love and -- above all -- lunch. In your heightened state of ardor, you sense that your heart's immortal thirst is too big for moderation -- you aspire to sticky fingers, to sumptuous calories from fat, to the sort of meal after which the only compulsory exercise is a nap. Oh yeah, and you're broke. So you decamp with all speed to Nachomama's, where you order a portobello-mushroom quesadilla platter. Gathered here on a single Styrofoam plate are all the sensational objects of your bursting passions: seasoned rice dotted with corn; plump charro beans in a thick, sympathetic sauce; a dulcet globule of sour cream; and, finally, the quesadilla itself. Molten cheese oozes like white lava from the deftly blistered tortilla. Inside, find charred slices of mushroom, sweet grilled onion, flecks of fresh spinach and tomato. The only downside is that it probably isn't nearly as bad for you as it looks.