By Paul Reidinger

BACK IN THE day when San Francisco really was a gay city (as opposed to being supposed to be a gay city, as it is today, while not really being one, despite all the marrying and litigation about marrying), Letitia's was either at or near the center of that heart of darkness we remember as Castro queer restaurant-dom. The margaritas liberally flowed, les bons temps roulered, the food was mediocre and expensive (the classic condition of gay food), and no one was in any condition to notice. Over in Pacific Heights, meanwhile, sweater queens and blue-blazer queens sized one another up at Alta Plaza, with its many suggestive levels and a wall-size mirror worthy of a packed roomful of Narcissi eager for a night's adhesion.

Today the mirror is gone, Alta Plaza is gone, and Letitia's has arrived, bringing along some cosmetic changes, a solid if not extraordinary menu of Mexican standards, and an array of prices that, in a pricey neighborhood, seem less out of place than they did in the Castro. Added wrinkle: La Posada, the longtime fixture kitty-corner from Alta Plaza and sibling restaurant to Letitia's, is now the Fillmore Grill, with a strong hetero vibe. ("Grill" is, I hardly need point out, among the manlier words in the lexicon of food.) And another: the A-list homos seem slyly to be filtering back after a period of millennial near-exile in which the space was occupied by a brew pub called B Spot. ("Brew pub" is another quite manly phrase, a pair of curtly monosyllabic words joined as though in an arm-wrestling match.)

If Letitia's old locale was big, dark, and a little breathless, with a faint reek of spilled Dos Equis, the new digs are brighter but more eccentric. Despite the scatterings of Mexican floor tiles and hangings of Mexican wall art and an adobe-colored paint scheme, the interior looks fairly generic and, in its layout, still feels like a bar. In part this is because the middle of the restaurant still is a bar, and a big one. To the left, as you enter, is a large waiting area – much used, since the restaurant doesn't take reservations – while right of the bar and up the stairs are the two not-large dining rooms. The waiting area was elevated in Alta Plaza days (a small stage for drama queens); now it is slightly sunken, though not enough to interfere with the reconnaissance of foot traffic hurrying along the busy corner of Fillmore and Clay.

It would not strike me as insane to make the waiting area into another dining zone. (You can get food there now, but the low chairs and tables make eating a clumsy operation, particularly if one has enjoyed a margarita or two). But while we await this development, we will wait – not too long, we hope – for a table upstairs, whereupon, being seated, we will immediately be offered a basket of chips (thick, not too salty) and salsa (rather thin, tomatillo green, peppery, nicely acidic).

A common issue in Mexican restaurants is premature engorgement: by the time the first starter arrives, you have already plowed through several baskets of chips, a beer, and a margarita and are no longer hungry. Restraint with respect to chips is therefore an indispensable survival skill, especially if your starter is a crock of queso fundido ($8.95), melted cheese gone a bit orange from suspended bits of Mexican chorizo. Even if you've been careful about the chips, the queso fundido (and its associated tortillas, served warm and soft in a tortilla warmer) might easily do you in. But let us suppose you are strong and lucky – or at least extremely hungry.

Many are the times I have deplored the use of expensive maritime delicacies such as crab and lobster in burritos and enchiladas, heartily finished as they tend to be with lots of garlicky tomato sauces and melted cheese. The sweet flavor of the sea disappears, only to reappear as a vaguely sour memory when the bill arrives. Letitia's crab enchiladas ($17.95) are sufficiently more expensive than everything else on the menu to remind one that one is ordering crab – out of season, no less – but while I cannot say they are worth the cost, I can say that at least you can taste the crab. Still, crab was not meant to be eaten this way.

A better-balanced dish is the chile relleno ($10.95): our old friend the poblano pepper, roasted, peeled, seeded, stuffed with cheese, dipped in a flour batter, and fried, then napped with salsa española. Better yet, if not quite as light, is the pollo vallarta ($17.95), an immense platter of chicken strips and prawns sautéed in a sauce of white wine, onions, peppers, and tomato, with Monterey Jack cheese melted on top. On the side: beans and rice, as is standard with all the main courses at dinnertime.

At lunch the pace is less frenetic, the crowds less dense, the caloric load less burdensome, though it's hardly insignificant. A quesadilla with chorizo ($7.95), sliced into quarters like a pizza, sustained me far into the evening, while the enchiladas pueblas ($8.95) features, in addition to shredded chicken and guacamole, a mole sauce as smooth, dark, and rich – and free of bitterness – as a good dark beer or an espresso from Peet's. Not quite a mirror image of the latter, perhaps, gastronomy-wise, but close enough.

Letitia's. 2301 Fillmore (at Clay), S.F. (415) 922-1722. Lunch: daily, 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Dinner: Sun.-Thurs., 4-10 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 4-11:30 p.m. Full bar. American Express, MasterCard, Visa. Noisy. Wheelchair accessible.