SoLuna, on Broadway at Sunset: Try it, you'll like it.

Mexican restaurants have to be really good to survive for any length of time in San Antonio, so I seldom rush to visit a new one. I don't really know, but I suspect that relaxed approach has spared me many a mediocre meal.

SoLuna has been in the restaurant space at the corner of Broadway and Sunset for a while; I don't really know how long. Twenty years ago there was a vaguely-French restaurant in that space, where my wife and I had our first breakfast together after our wedding. So there was a small sense of personal connection that eventually was sufficient to get us to spend a Friday evening there.

The decor is bright and pleasant despite being trendy. The entry is into the bar, which at that hour was crowded with people waiting for tables, and one old man with the look of a personal injury lawyer checking emails on his cellphone while tossing back margaritas. We lucked into a seat and room to stand, but could not attract the attention of either of the two bartenders, who seemed resolute in their desire to ignore everyone in front of them and cater only to the waiters' service window. Fortunately we didn't have to wait too long before a man who looked for all the world like a customer tapped me on the shoulder and said he had a table for us.

We were seated in the first dining room off the bar. The walls were bright white and decorated with two very nice paintings, one a monumental monochrome of Frida Kahlo, black on orange; the other a portrait of someone who looked like a friend of mine but, I'm sure, was actually somebody who is more widely known. I thought maybe Shakira, but decided not. (The menu boasts, accurately, of "Fine Art On Display.") I could see another portrait of Kahlo in the next room. Overall the impression was one of taste and discernment, but that was overshadowed by the rambunctious acoustics and disorderly service. We were seated for some time, with only a menu to amuse us, before a server brought water, chips and salsa. The salsa was interesting -- roasted pepper, no tomato -- but on the oily side. We had made our selections and finished off the basket of chips before our waitress appeared to take our drink orders. We had finished off a second basket before she suddenly reappeared, dispensing napkins throughout the room. Apparantly a shipment had arrived. She took our orders and we stared in some displeasure at a third basket of chips. Before we succumbed to its dubious siren call, the waitress reappeared, now providing eating utensils all around. Apparently another shipment had come in. It was like witnessing a Soviet-era supply system.

There is a trend in restaurants to try for loudness, with uncarpeted floors and concrete-hard walls to bounce sound around until it forms an unpleasant din. Rosario's, in South Town, is probably the worst offender, or possibly Azuca, also in South Town; but SoLuna makes a valiant effort in that regard. The conversations of the other patrons in the fairly small dining room, combined with the general roar from the adjoining bar, made for a cacaphonous hour or so, yet it wasn't so loud as to grate on the nerves, the way it does at those other restaurants.

What does that mean?

And then the food came.

My wife had chile en nogada, served with rice and borracho beans. It was excellent. The beans were excellent. The rice was excellent.

I had ordered chile poblano al carbon, also with rice and borracho beans. The first dish placed in front of me, though, was something else, possibly tacos al carbon. It looked very good but wasn't what I wanted. The lady at the next table, who ended up with them, seemed to like them. My correct dish arrived mere moments later.

I have never, in all my years of eating food good, bad, and indifferent, tasted anything that actually made me say "wow" out loud. But last night I said "Wow." It was really that good. A poblano pepper roasted (over charcoal, if the menu is right) and stuffed with a mixture of chicken and cheese: it sounds so simple, so unglamourous, so fundamental, so Not Wow, but it made me say "Wow." Out loud.

It was a shame that after two baskets of chips and two bowls of oily salsa, and the rice and beans, and a mediocre and overpriced margarita, I couldn't finish it, but my wife enjoyed the remnants the next day.