SOJO in Oxford

3/10

If Giles Coren, the notable food critic, favourably reviews a 
restaurant it must be good. No questions asked. When I started to read 
his review of the restaurant, SOJO, in Oxford, feeling as a wearied 
traveller feels when consulting an oracle, I felt in good hands. That 
Mr Coren focuses on a cricket game that he played earlier more than the 
restaurant itself is irrelevant, it merely suggests that he had worked 
up a large appetite. And that it was sated is indeed testament to a 
good restaurant, surely. What should we learn from this? Not that Mr 
Coren plays cricket. Rather, that whatever he says goes. So, as I 
entered SOJO in Oxford, as a student with a stomach unsatisfied by 
college hall food, I expected good food and decent service. I was so 
wrong. Neither was up to scratch, and I found myself cursing Coren, 
speculating as to the reasons that induced him to give this restaurant 
a glowing review.

My girlfriend and I were seated in the most abrupt manner possible, a 
shove and a grunt. It was as if we were intruding, as though we were 
not welcome. The hostile stares from the staff seemed to confirm this. 
One of the waiters came over to our table and tossed a (yes one, not 
two) menu onto it. Within minutes he returned expecting to take our 
order. I told him that I liked chicken and wished to have a dish that 
deviated from the norm (sweet and sour chicken) and asked what 
I should have. One expects, justifiably, a waiter to have some 
knowledge of the menu given out in the restaurant he or she works in,

so that the waiter can recommend dishes that a customer might like. 

That is not to say that I expect the waiter to have an encyclopaedic 

knowledge of, say, Asian cuisine, but rather that a simple suggestion, 

having listened to what a customer likes and dislikes, might be 

appropriate. Instead of recommending a dish that might tickle my fancy, 

he retuned my eager enquiry with a look of complete vacuity. After some 

time – obviously he was deeply thinking about the best dish for me – he 

responded by pointing to a random dish in the chicken section of the menu. 

I went with it, and my girlfriend went for a tofu dish. The food arrived 
within ten minutes, incredible timing, we thought. But, the food was so 
quick for a reason, that is, it was likely thrown into oil, cooked 
quickly and then thrown onto dishes, which in turn were thrown onto our 
table. The food was greasy, the sauces, the rice and noodles were oily, 
and looked as if all had been cooked in one pan. Not only were the 
dishes visually unappealing, but also offensive to one’s taste buds. I 
paid the forty pound bill, begrudgingly, and vowed never to return.

On my way back to my room, hand in hand with my girlfriend, I enquired 
whether or not our experience was an exception and that perhaps if I 
were to go on another night the food would be better. But the thought 
soon occurred to me that consistency is a culinary virtue.