A bowl of soup is a tremendous thing. Cynics can say it’s the most profitable item on a restaurant’s menu, since no matter how much lobster or cream or pistachio goes into the recipe, the main ingredient will always be water. But it also carries a noble modesty. There’s a magic, if you’ll not think it corny, found in even the basest bowl of instant ramen or Campbell’s cream of whatever. Soup is what our grandmothers fed us. It has an ability to warm, heal and comfort. When we suffer winter flu bugs and soup is what we need, the mere mention of it is enough to soothe us.

There are some, like Kenny Bania on Seinfeld, who would argue that soup is not a meal. They have not eaten at Ravisoups.

The chalkboard menu at Ravi Kanagarajah’s soupery, a list of standards embiggened by luxurious finishes such as duck, truffle oil and porcini, awakens our anticipation. Still, we’re unprepared for the level of production design brought to the table. Soups, each garnished uniquely, arrive on a wooden lazy Susan. Beside the 16-ounce bowl are a still-warm cheddar biscuit and a duo of house-made jams — red pepper and mango. While they may not suit all of the globe-trotting selection of soup flavours equally, who could say no to a fresh biscuit and jam?

Apricot lentil ($6.99) presents a perfectly balanced set of flavours. The lentils, puréed to a smooth creaminess, carry the accent of the apricots rather than just their sugar, while the hint of a mild curry’s heat lurks without dominating. A corn chowder ($7.99) is aided by the perfume and grit of coconut as well as genuine, coin-of-the-realm fresh crab.

The chicken hot pot ($7.99), though, makes a lot of noise without saying much. It’s loaded with crunchable, slurpable bells and whistles (chicken, tofu, edamame, thin udon noodles, bok choy tips), and its base is infused with all the right elements (coconut milk, kaffir lime leaves, lemongrass) but it never gets off the ground. The broth is a good beginning for a soup but lacks the acidity or spice to really connect. Likewise, the butternut squash soup ($7.99) tastes like butternut squash soup (not that there’s anything wrong with that). A few morsels of pulled duck are a welcome treat, but do a lonely backstroke in the middle of the big bowl of orange.

Porcini bisque ($7.99) makes a terrifically bold entrance as it stomps onto the stage. A drizzle of truffle oil masks the initial intensity of the mushroom’s woodsy aroma. But beneath the veneer of truffle lies a treasure to ward off winter’s evil grip — chunks of shitake and dark grains of wild rice enveloped by a fierce porcini broth. There’s nothing mild about it as it kicks sand in the face of lesser, wimpier, cream of mushroom soups. And a potato/leek with smoked trout ($7.99) does what the butternut fails to: it makes something exciting out of a predictable classic. The flakes of smoked fish permeate every spoonful of the thick soup, marrying happily with the liquid’s humble earthiness.

Wraps, perhaps compensating for being such a silly cousin to sandwiches, are awesome. A tortilla is ridiculously filled with pulled pork shoulder ($7.99), muscling out a sweet slaw of tamarind-accented nappa cabbage. A wrap of lamb leg ($8.99) presents an equally satisfying meld of sweet and sour. The richly curried lamb is joined by slivers of tart mango and wilted baby spinach. An accompanying salad regroups the stock cast of napa cabbage, mango and edamame to pleasing effect.

A souptarium is hardly a new gimmick. The word “restaurant” first came into use to describe a restaurer, an 18th-century Parisian shop that sold bowls of strong, concentrated soup, marketed as an elixir for exhaustion. We may now have our constitutional monarchy, but most of us are still tired, cold and hungry. We can still use that bowl of elixir. Ravi Kanagarajah has given it a little shine, a little dazzle, while maintaining a recognizable, dependable repertoire. It’s never a good thing to be sick. But if someone loves you enough to bring you 30 Rock DVDs and a bowl of Ravisoups’ porcini bisque while you lie on the sofa blowing your nose, you are the luckiest sick person on Earth.