The world is swimming in soups. Famous soups range from Soupe a l’Oignon, simmering under its golden cap of melted Gruyere cheese and a large crouton to Gazpacho, whose multitude of bastardisations I see on menus from Adelaide to Anaheim. The one thing all gazpachos have in common is that they’re served cold. Having supped on some of the best gazpacho in southern Spain, I consider most imitators to be mundane.

Beetroot in soup? Borscht: Lovely both hot and cold if it’s made well with a dash of red wine vinegar and from fresh sweet beetroot.

Chicken soup? Where to begin? Yiddish? With noodles. Chinese? A simple broth with wontons. Malay? Laksa with fat rice noodles, gently pounded laksa paste and fresh coconut milk. Cock a leekie? Mulligatawny? Chicken goes into all of them. All delicious and supposedly healthy.

Of course I have a real passion for pea and ham soup on a cold day, thick and dense with rich ham stock, boiled peas, potatoes and carrots. On a chilly day in Amsterdam when my life began to look distinctly Van Gogh-ish just before he committed suicide, I was made whole again by a bowl of Dutch pea soup.

I love soup.

At the Hotel Indonesia Kempinski I was chatting with one of its sous-chefs about Sop Buntut, the local oxtail soup. In a tropical country, this hot and hearty soup made from bones and meat that needs to be braised for hours, is both an anomaly and a life saver. I mean, how many nasi goreng, nasi lemak and satays can one human eat before taste overload overwhelms and a KFC begins to look like a plausible alternative for lunch?

Up to the plate, steps Sop Buntut. I’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner and haven’t had the same soup twice.

You start with a bowl of fragrant broth made with oxtails, ginger, nutmeg, cloves and water. Carrots, shallots, leeks, celery stalks and leaves, tomatoes, potatoes and coriander are usually part of the mix. But not always. Chef’s whim prevails. Sometimes the oxtails are seared in butter or oil first. Often they’re just thrown into the pot with a few knobs of crushed ginger, an array of spices and water. Bring to a simmer, skim the rising scum and add vegetables of your choice. Season well with salt and black pepper. It helps.

At the Indonesia Kempinski's buffet restaurant my Sop Buntut also featured cardamom and a touch of cinnamon in its broth. I ladled it into my bowl, the sous-chef standing by watching me choose my additions: fried shallots, chopped fresh coriander, chilli sambol, some ikan bilis which weren’t necessary but raised an approving look from sous-chef nonetheless, a drizzle of kecap manis and some finely chopped roasted peanuts. This sop buntut had rice noodles instead of potatoes, a bit of celery instead of carrots, a scattering of freshly diced tomatoes instead of tomato paste. I threw on some more chopped coriander and carried it back to my table.

The intense aroma of spice shot right to my inner nose, straight to the oldest part of my brain, the part that senses smell and includes fight or flee response. In short, mine was a visceral response. Was this the best Sop Buntut I’ve ever eaten?

After I finished the first bowl and had a second, I decided that it was.

Beware of pretenders to the Sop Buntut hall of fame. A few I’ve eaten have been ordinary. Its ubiquity in Indonesia is like Nasi Goreng's, it's literally everywhere and varies enormously from region to region. One place in Bandung offered bottled satay sauce as an accompaniment, not a very nice one either. Others have incorporated too many potatoes or carrots for my liking.

Sop Buntut should be redolent of spice and intense with umami from well braised oxtail meat and bone. Meaty and aromatic. Restorative and nourishing. I like to see in my bowl of Sop Buntut a focal point of calm in crazy Jakarta. The spice draws me in, perfect for lingering.

I love soup and I love Sop Buntut particularly. But then, an Avgolemono soup I had once in Chania lingers in my memories too. A bean soup I ate in Tunis was quite good too. Of course Provencal fish soup is lovely. Bouillaibaisse? Ah yes...

Soup. Soup. Soup.