Thus far, Spice Valley is proving one of the better-kept secrets of Oxford. For some weeks I have been recommending it to friends; not one of them had heard of it, though it opened before Christmas. It is in part of what came to be known as the Old School House, in Gloucester Green. Previously it was used by the Oxford Information Centre; before that, as bus station offices; and from its construction in Victorian days up until the 1930s as the Central Boys' School.

The feeling of the classroom is still very much present, chiefly as a consequence of its high ceiling and windows. When we first visited the restaurant, on a Saturday night about six weeks ago, we were the only people there. This provoked an eerie feeling, in which it was quite possible to picture, behind the ranks of silent waiters, haunting images of schoolboys bent over their desks, their teacher in his chalk-begrimed cloak, cane at the ready.

Happily, these did not put me off going back, for I found the place stylish - if in need of the bustle more customers would have supplied - and the food first-class. I had eaten one of the unusual speciality venison dishes, bonhoor karai, in which the juicy chunks of meat are cooked in a wok-like pan (the karai) with fresh ginger, garlic, tomatoes, onions and capsicum.

I also made the acquaintance, once again, of owner Monir Ali whose sister Spice Valley in Abingdon - tucked behind the Coxeters building -I reviewed enthusiastically on its opening a decade ago. Mr Ali I first knew, in fact, more than 30 years ago when he worked for his uncle at Udin's Tandoori in Walton Street. This long-famous place was once praised to me (to my great surprise) by one of the directors of Tabasco during lunch at the company's Louisiana headquarters -he had lived near it in his student days.

I chose to return to Spice Valley on a St Valentine's Night outing with Rosemarie. I confess this was because I thought it certain we would be accommodated, having found a couple of other places already full when I tried to book. It turned out we were one of a dozen or so people there, quite enough to make it feel 'buzzy', especially with all the heart-shaped pink balloons about the place.

I bet very few of the happy couples at the establishments we had been turned away from had as good a dinner as we did - the food fresh and flavoursome, traditional, while boasting imaginative touches, and always presented with a cheerful courtesy.

As ever in a Bangladeshi restaurant, we began with poppadoms and chutneys, in the presentation of which so much can be judged about the quality of a place, or otherwise. These poppadoms were light, crisp and slightly warm. The onion and coriander had clearly just been made; the lime pickle, which in youth I found fearfully hot, went down by the spoonful (odd how tastes change); the yoghurt and mint was there to keep things cool.

Perhaps a little greedily we chose three appetisers, which Mr Ali, who could see we were sharing, sensibly arranged to have served on one large plate. My first choice had been lamb tikka, for which the chunks of deeply flavoured (more like mutton) meat had been marinated in spices for 24 hours before barbecuing. Rosemarie's 'must' was Nargis kebab, the Scotch egg of the East, with minced lamb substituting for the beef, and cooked in a piquant tomato sauce. Nowbi kebabs were two cylinders of smooth-minced chicken and herbs placed lengthways on skewers and baked in the clay oven.

My choice of main course came from the restaurant's 22-strong list of speciality dishes -among them chicken makanwalla (with butter sauce and fresh cream), salmon lajabab (honey glazed with a mild sauce), king prawn nawabi (marinated in a brandy-infused sauce) and pistachio chicken (with roasted nuts, as the name implies). It was chicken bahari, chunks of off-the-bone meat cooked in a cast-iron skillet with a lively tasting sauce of mixed green herbs and spices. It was delicious and so generously supplied that I came nowhere close to finishing it.

The same was true of Rosemarie, who had a giant portion of lamb sagwalla, with big pieces of tender meat cooked in lots of chopped fresh spinach, with a slight touch of garlic. There was oversupply, too, of all three accompaniments - pilau rice, a delicious 'stew' of aloo gobi (spiced potato and cauliflower) and courgette bhaji (cooked in slices with garlic).

Though we would not have dreamed of asking for this service, Mr Ali insisted on having all this surplus food packed up in cartons to be taken home by us in a carrier bag. This act of generosity meant that we had the makings of another excellent dinner three nights later - with only a Tesco chicken tikka masala to bulk things out.

I feel sure you can work out what was left over this time . . .