Chances are, like many in Albany, you've only been to the restaurant side of Montero's. But, through the arch to your right, past the first bar and through the short hallway adorned with wrought iron sconces, there's a large dance hall with a stage, a second bar and a mirrorball. When I arrived on a recent Friday, though a somewhat hesitant salsa dancer, I knew I was in for a treat. 

As the clock neared 8:30 p.m., the hall filled with shoe-gazing singles, and canoodling couples waiting for the lesson to start.

Salsa teachers Joel Lunzaga, 45, and Sorcy Jimenez, 46, gathered the students and divided them. Brought a date? You'll have to separate for a few minutes to learn the basics.

In Joel and Sorcy's lesson, gentlemen start on one side, ladies on the other. The steps are learned apart, perhaps to spare the men from stilettos, and to protect painted toes from being squashed by a loafer. Then we pick up the pace. Then faster still, to music. 

One by one, new steps are added. Turns and pivots are coordinate with arms. Couples finally come together and, before you know it, even the gringo with two left feet begins to resemble a salsa dancer. 

Tonight's band, Julio Bravo y Orquesto Salsabor, has begun to set up as beginners continue to master the basic steps and progressions. There is less silence, less explanation. More music, and drinks, and happy chatter. Even the most timid of dancers has loosened up. It's time for the band to take over. 

By the time the musicians hit the first few notes, it's a full house at Montero's. The regulars playfully dance with the music, rather than letting the music play tricks on them. If the newbies are patient, with a bit of practice they might start to rip up the dance floor with the best of them. For now though, Joel and Sorcy stand on the side, watching as their students laugh and scramble to keep up with the beat.

While on the dance floor, I meet a much older couple. Cecy Cheveres, 76, from San Leandro, has been coming here for years with her dance partner, a 69-year-old mystery Albany resident of 30 years who wasn't comfortable being named in an online article. But I'd be willing to bet you've seen him around town at one time or another. 

Just as they're getting into a juicy story of their early dancing days, his at the Palladium in New York, and hers at the Palladium in Los Angeles, Cheveres interrupts my questions to say, "I'm so sorry, we have to dance now so we have to leave you."

Later Cheveres tells me her doctor's only advice to her is to "just keep dancing."

"The salsa sin," as she puts it, has been with her her entire life. Her partner seconds the statement. "I've been dancing all my life. Tap dancing, salsa dancing, you name it."

But dancing in Albany? "It's not quite Berkeley and it's not quite El Cerrito," the private dancer tells me. Laughing, he adds, "If I live the rest of my worthless life in Albany, I'll be happy."

In just a few years, Juan Romo, the owner of Montero's and a San Pablo resident, has turned this corner of San Pablo and Solano avenues into a mecca for salsa dancers. They flock here not just from Albany and Berkeley, but east of the tunnel, from across the Bay Bridge and even San Jose.

"I bought the restaurant 12 years ago. Then started buying the little places next to it, little by little, all the way to San Pablo Avenue," the 40-year-old explains. "I took over the corner just for the salsa." Romo also owns Cafe Monte Cristo's in Berkeley and Talavera on upper Solano Avenue. 

When the dance hall finally opened in 2002, there was no need to look for a teacher. Romo had been working with Lunzaga back when his Cafe Caracas (now Monte Cristo's) used to host a salsa night. He canceled it due to lack of space for the dancers. Thus his search for a new salsa spot began. 

There aren't many places where you can really let loose and let your feet do the talking to a live salsa band on a Friday night. The next option is San Francisco, but by the time you add up toll, parking, cover and overpriced drinks, you start to wonder why you went out in the first place. 

When asked about holding this lively night in Albany, neither Romo nor Lunzaga hesitate.

"It's a happening corner, but it's safe too. If you look out here on a Saturday night, with people pouring out of the Ivy Room, salsa music here and Rocky Horror at the Albany Twin, it looks like a scene from San Francisco," says Lunzaga.

Romo agrees.

"This was my first business, so it's like a home, and it's very safe here," he said.

As I'm getting ready to head home, a gentleman comes up and courteously asks if I'd like to dance. I've been completely focused on capturing everything happening around me, plus the beat doesn't sound familiar. I hesitate.

"It's cumbia. Salsa side-to-side," he insists. I oblige, and he's right. It's the same basic step, but done laterally. And that's the beauty of salsa – once you learn the basic step, even if you get tangled up, just get back to the basics.

Besides my mystery dancer, I was disappointed to meet so few Albanians at Montero's. Maybe you haven't been in a while. Maybe you've never been at all. Or maybe you count yourself among those gringos with two left feet. Forget all that. I suggest you give this class a spin and rediscover this Solano Avenue gem. The rest of the Bay certainly has.