Andrew Morrison, WaiterBlog.com

Last week, my wife and I went to the annual "Bindustry" shindig at Gord Martin's beloved tapas parlour Bin 942. Too late to enjoy the pre-party media reception, we wriggled 15 feet to the bar through a friendly crush of at least a hundred people. Feeling too much like sardines, we split for dinner after recruiting some hungry friends to join us.

Where to go on a sleepy hockey night, as well as on the quiet heels of Dine Out? What restaurant could possibly be "happening" on a Monday in February? We hummed and hawed on the sidewalk for awhile, until one of our number suggested the newish Lolita's, which opened this past summer. Sure enough, the self styled "South of the Border Cantina" was jumping chock-a-block when we arrived.

It's odd, really, finding a beach side paradise several blocks from the ocean. What's more surprising is that Lolita's is more fun than any of our waterfront restaurants. Like a coastal dive where intoxicating, tropical aromas hit the nose like a heat wave in a boxing glove, opening the wrought iron door and stepping inside is a trip in itself. Waves of laughter layered with the din of dining made it instantly inviting, and despite the fact that there wasn't a table to be had, their simple Caribbean inspired design (just rough enough around the edges) made the 20 minute wait rather close to tolerable. Two beaming servers offered cold beers while they smiled apologies. Sweet.

We eventually took over the elevated communal table at the front and watched as the room, built with sunny escapism in mind, emptied and filled again. The attractive and tattooed staff were pouring exotic tequilas and rare rums for well dressed youths at the packed 14-seat wooden bar, while plates that wafted exuberant smells steamed at the tables. A banquette running parallel to the bar sat another 14 relaxed looking people (average age about 30) while the seat at the rear kitchen window held another three. Lolita's might be small and tight (requiring workers and customers to navigate what sometimes amounts to an obstacle course of chairs, elbows and asses), but when it's at its busiest, every part of the place seems to defy expectations by functioning seamlessly - kind of like a problem-free Volkswagen van.

Funky amber lights held by what appear to be cast-iron impala horns emitted soft, almost sexual glows, and a neon-lit tropical fish tank spanked the darkness with obnoxiously kitsch turquoise. If you imbibe liberally (from anything, but the lacklustre wine list), the thatched installation on the ceiling reveals - when squinted at just so - a glimpse of imaginary stars. And after two of their powerful mango margaritas ($7.50) you might just hear waves crashing.

It's all awesome. Truly, if Gord Martin opened a Bin in Baja, I'd wager it would look and feel a lot like Lolita's. After learning that vivacious owner Lila Gaylie used to manage his Bin 942, I ordered another drink. She and brother Jaison have a good thing going, and they deserve a round of applause for revitalizing a part of Davie that has been lost in a Greek tragedy for far too long.

We started off with Guacamole Classico, a simple bowl of the real deal with seasoned tortilla chips and a side of frijoles dip. A bit of a stretch at $8.50, but it was better than most guacs I've tried, and if a restaurant can tempt me to strip down to my shorts with its atmosphere alone, I'll gladly give it an extra buck or three for something that so simply reflects its small and shareable food concept.

The crispy taquitos stuffed with slow roasted, beer marinated beef brisket ($10.75) followed, served with a cooling crema fresco and mild pico de gallo salsa. Washed down with a cold bottle of Sol ($4.75), it was the cheapest vacation I'd had in ages. The chicken flautas ($9.75) were nothing extraordinary; I thought the salsa verde was weak and watery, and it was tricky to tell the difference between it and the dish that followed. The pulled anchiote-spiced chicken taco was boring compared to the halibut version with it's sweetly delicious mango salsa. Two loaded tacos are just $14, so we did another round. The vegetarian taco of wild mushrooms, goat cheese and potato was interesting with its injection of bright-pink pickled onions - my dining companions applauded its earthy flavours - but I thought its one redeeming ingredient was a colour. Unfortunately, our server forgot to order the grilled steak taco we asked for (she brought us two chicken tacos instead) and when it arrived it was chewy, under seasoned, and not at all good.

Imperfectly sated but thoroughly pleased, we left Lolita's as we found it, loud and hopping. For my part, it didn't take long before I felt its pull again. Just a few nights later I came back with two chefs and sat at the kitchen window. Though not the prettiest or the cleanest of kitchens, the two disheveled cooks were fastidious, chatty, and genuinely enthusiastic about their food. We enjoyed the beef taquitos (again), but were really wowed by the oversized Chile Relleno ($13). Skinned and stuffed with Monterey Jack, cheddar, mozzarella, ricotta and goat cheese, the monster poblano pepper came deep fried with a crispy panko crust. It was by leaps and bounds the best tasting and best presented plate I'd sampled. Rounded out by generous portions of rice and beans (sauced with gentle red and green salsas), ours was the size of a head of lettuce. Some cleansing Red Stripe beers followed at bill time, but I chose their dreamy Del Monte cocktail ($7.50) to help return me to the sand one last time before leaving. The little pink umbrella garnishing this refreshing mix of muddled pineapple and strawberry infused vodka has since ended up clutched in the hand of my son's Luke Skywalker action figure. Like Lolita's, it's always sunny on Tatooine.