I WAS first introduced to Mexican cuisine in a madhouse.

No kidding: the restaurant was called Casa Loco and, like Chico's, it was in Stone.

Unlike Chico's, though, the Casa Loco experience was a party package tailored to suit the fun-loving 18-30 set.

They swayed to a Latino soundtrack, drank Budweiser from the bottle and folded their fajitas with confidence.

They cheered the big guy with the sombrero and bandolero when he passed among them pouring shots of tequila into the little glasses he kept in his ammo belt.

He didn't offer me one, of course, having pencilled me as someone whose membership of the 18-30 set expired in the years immediately preceding the siege of the Alamo.

I was thus cast in the role of the grumpy gringo in a corner of the cantina, moaning to his long-suffering spouse over the leaky tortilla that had completely ruined his expensive silk tie.

Although I described the ambience as loose and lively, and admitted that the cuisine was different and interesting, dining at Caso Loco did reinforce my view that if God had intended us to eat with our fingers, he would not have given us knives and forks.

Recognising that these are feeble grounds for a lifelong aversion to Mexican cooking, however, I gladly accepted The Son & Heir's invitation to check out Chico's.

Located within the Crown Hotel, though independent of it, Chico's is highly thought of by those who put the food first and the faffing about second.

In other words, the emphasis here is on bringing out the best in the cuisine of old Mexico without necessarily overdoing the fun side of the experience.

The bar stools do have saddles instead of seats, but that's about as wacky as it gets. Well, it's as wacky as it got when we were there, at any rate.

Chico's is a small, stylish bar and restaurant on two floors, with interesting touches like whalebone-backed chairs and dried chillies, beans and heaven knows what else preserved under glass-topped tables.

The decor is evocative without being cheesy, the service prompt and helpful, but not intrusive. I got the impression that it would make our host's day if we asked him to define tacos, burritos, enchiladas, fajitas and chimichangas.

He did say that if we preferred not to roll our own fajitas, the chef would be only too happy to oblige.

I started with a ready-rolled traditional fajita (£4.50), a perfect tortilla filled with chicken and served with guacamole and house salsa.

The tie, which I boldly left exposed and vulnerable, survived unstained.

Then I had what is described as Chico's cracked ribs (£10.25), about a yard of juicy pork ribs, coated with just enough of the chef's own barbecue sauce. The meat parted company with the bone with little more than a sigh, and when it was all gone I counted 11 ribs on my plate.

The ribs came with a good salad and a generous portion of spicy potato wedges which were a bit too spicy for my liking, but superfluous to my requirements anyway.

My companion had started with Chico's Nachos (£5.25), a veritable basket of crispy tortilla chips (I would hesitate to characterise these nachos as Mexican dog biscuits), topped with chicken, salsa, jalapeño peppers, cheese, sour cream and guacamole.

He followed this with Chico's roll-your-own fajitas (£11.95), choosing strips of prime steak as a filling, with all the onions, peppers, salsas and other components. Classic fajitas, he said, and managed to put away four-and-a-half tortillas before calling it a day.

We might then have ordered strawberry kebabs, red cherry burritos or Mexican choux (all £4.50) buns for dessert, but dessert was out of the question.

Instead, we ordered a glass of Mexican Flag, a carefully prepared cocktail with layers of Grenadine, Crème de Menthe and Tequila.

"Viva Zapata!" we cried, and downed them in one.