This small bungalow on the banks of Shoal Creek once housed the sweet Café Caprice, followed immediately by two beleaguered taco ventures, but seems to have at last found stability (at least for now) as Screaming Goat Tacos.

The goat is just about the only thing that’s screaming here. The restaurant seems to have lost a little color with every transformation, and this latest version is rather whitewashed. The light, pleasant interior of the house has an oddly coffeehouse feel to it, complete with 1980s-Brit-pop soundtrack. You may dine al fresco, or at a counter in view of the trickling creek, which is surprisingly nice when not filled with garbage. A couple of flat-screen TVs are employed now and then to screen football games and host trivia nights (Thursdays), which feature $0.75 flautas.

These are the best order here, especially chicken (the other option is a greasier ground beef). They’re wonderfully crispy and sprinkled with melting cheese; order them ahogadas (“drowned,” an old El Paso trick—and we don’t mean the supermarket brand) in a tomatoey broth that somehow manages to absorb all the flavors of the flautas without rendering them soggy. You’ll want to drink the leftovers with a straw.

Taco options are perfectly respectable—the meat relatively moist, the condiments fresh—but they can be somewhat bland on their own. Homemade salsas can help, as they’re bright and perky; don’t skip the hottest rendition, which is really pretty mild, and full of roasted vegetal freshness. Best of all, you can purchase jars of these for only about $6. We also like the burritos, which have an unusually high flavor-to-wadding ratio and come in top-notch flour tortillas. A pale, herby queso is rather odd but not bad, makes the joint a better game-time option than many sports bars with limp fries and chewy burgers.

As for those tacos, al pastor has little roasty depth or caramelization, no pineapple zing, and no limey zest. Adobado chicken tastes boiled, carne asada like it’s never been near smoke nor fire. Tortas have sweet, somewhat dry buns that do well soaking up the meats’ juices. Breakfast tacos are skimpy, with eggs fried overhard instead of scrambled, and chewy bacon. Skip ’em.

Service is warm and generous, and seems to at last have the luxury of a confidence that comes from knowing they are still here and, for now, show no signs of leaving.