Restaurant review: Sojo, Oxford - Telegraph A few minutes later she returned with a tray, and smilingly unloaded all six of the stipulated soup enhancers. When later reassured that the dish had been transformed into a triumph, she smiled again and insisted that it would be knocked off the bill all the same. Out of an evil soup had come the best and most adorable service you could imagine. There was much else to admire about this cool, buzzy joint. The long room, rising at the back by way of a ramp, looks great in a trendy fringe theatre kinda way, with dark wood slats covering walls as well as floor, banks of spotlights sharing the ceiling with exposed wiring, boxes of beer visible beneath the counter at the back, and colourful prints of Chinese rural scenes and wildlife. More enticing still was the vast menu, which foregrounds many unfamiliar dishes from three regions - Szechuan, Canton (or the throatier but more authentic Guangdong) and Shanghai. According to that menu, a copy of which I tried to steal on the way out, but which was confiscated with the same impeccable courtesy as had greeted my soup wobbly, the cooking is "what a grandmother would put on the table." Evidently, the grandmother in question was neither of mine. One's signature, and indeed only, dish was buttered bread with honey. The other missed out on a glittering career as a poisoner. Sojo's notional gran (in fact a male chef from Shanghai) is quite a culinary talent. The soup aside, almost everything was fantastic. And by everything, I mean such a grotesque number of dishes that halfway through the order, our waitress said "I think you have enough," necessitating the traditional allusion to a tapeworm - at which she had the charity to laugh. Now that's service. A starter of salt and pepper squid, in a colossal portion, was deep fried to crisp and greaseless perfection. Lettuce wrap arrived with a bowl of delectable minced chicken, water chestnut, mushroom and celery, and a gorgeous home made hoisin sauce. "Here's a novelty," said the Jungian as our main courses and side dishes arrived. Have you come across potato in a Chinese restaurant before? Despite my passion for the various regional cuisines of the Celestial Empire, I had not (though subsequent research indicates that stir-fried shredded potato and green pepper is indeed an authentic Szechuan dish). The potato was a shade al dente, but had a fine, smoky twang. Far better were strong, salty, sharp pickled mustard greens with shredded pork, and Miao cast-iron chicken with chilli (a more delicate version of the familiar gong bao). Soft noodles with spicy king prawns were nice enough; but the medal podium belonged to three champions. "Guai Wei" fish slices were encrusted with a sensational medley of spices; and a half-caramelised medley of squidgy aubergine and beef slices came in a wonderfully sweet and savoury, borderline gamey sauce. Gold, though, went to Szechuan spicy diced tofu with minced beef, which basked in a menacingly red pool of chilli oil. Here the chef cleverly deployed the Szechuan peppercorn, that nuclear warhead in the spice arsenal, in precisely the right amounts to enliven the dish without numbing the tongue. This is vibrant rustic Chinese cooking, presented as it should be, laced with inventiveness and technical accuracy. We had gorged ourselves too close to a stupor on very generous helpings even to consider any pudding. "Tell me," said the Jungian, clearly still musing on the soup incident as I paid, "have you had any, erm, interesting dreams lately?" "Funnily enough, there was this bizarre one where I was trapped inside the body of a Basset Hound, and I..." "Yes, well, it is getting late," interrupted his wife, placing a tender hand on my arm. Babysitters and all that. Sojo, 6/9 Hythe New Bridge St, Oxford OX1 2EW, 01865 202888; Capacious meal with wine/Tsingtao beer: £30-40 per head