Telephone: 00353 295 0015
Address: Kanturk, Co Cork, Republic of Ireland

There was that moment when a small boy dashed up to Joe Bourke, who was taking our order. "Daddy, Daddy," the small boy cried, "There's a dead animal on the lawn."

"Not now," said Joe calmly, as if dead animals on the lawn were an everyday occurrence. "I'll come and look at it in a minute." I knew then we were home and dry.

Assolas House is a hotel unlike anywhere else I know. The house itself is handsome enough, Queen Anne and a bit, in solid, grey stone.

It's set in a garden that mixes order and the leafy abundance that characterises the southwest of Ireland. The rooms have harmony, grace and space. More than that, they are superbly comfortable.

All in all, Assolas has the relaxed and accommodating air of a well-run private house. It is good-humoured and good-natured. Your enjoyment clearly comes before all other considerations. The second generation of Bourkes to run Assolas House, Joe takes the orders and soothes the fevered brow while his wife, Hazel, runs the kitchen. Between them, they manage a staff who mix sweetness, charm and efficiency. Everything about Assolas House is of a piece. Only breakfast and dinner are served, and for dinner there is a choice of only two first courses, two main courses and a plethora of puddings. I say "only", but for once limited choice seemed entirely justified. There was a tomato mousse with salad or local smoked salmon on a blini with soured cream. Then came roast sirloin of Kanturk beef with Yorkshire pudding and veg, or mussel tart with saffron sauce and veg. And then the puddings. The range may not seem much at first glance, little different from what you can settle down to at home. Well, I suppose that's true, up to a point - but only up to a point. There was much beyond that point.

The quality of the cooking, and so the pleasure of the eating, started with the quality of the ingredients. How often are you startled enough by the quality of butter (served here with home-grown radishes and sea salt while we sipped on our aperitifs) to ask where it came from? Ah, from a little dairy sandwiched between the Kerrygold and Dairycrest mammoth plants in Mallow, just down the road, came the reply. The butter went all glossy on my tongue, creamy and grassy, and left no greasy trail in my throat.

The smoked salmon had been lightly smoked and cut quite thick, which gave it a soft, velvety texture. The buckwheat blini was crisp, both top and bottom, and light and feathery in between. The naturally soured cream lubricated everything. Because each element in this elementary dish was simply prizewinning stuff, the result was close to the sublime. The same could be said of the tomato mousse. When was the last time you had a tomato, let alone a tomato mousse, that tasted essentially and intensely of itself? This did, in a form that wobbled and trembled on the plate before dissolving exquisitely and flooding the mouth with flavour.

The beef arrived, two fat slices of perfectly pink meat relaxing in a puddle of soothing gravy. The Yorkshire pud was as high as a hat, the heat of the horseradish fresh from the garden softened by fluffy cream. And the vegetables - sautéed courgettes, cauliflower cheese (yes, that's right) and panhaggerty potatoes - were piled around, old-fashioned in style and true-fashioned in flavour. The tartlet of mussels with a saffron cream sauce was no more or less than it said on the menu, but the mussels were abundant, small, plump and sweet, and the pastry case was crisp, in spite of the attentions of the mellow saffron sauce. Such plain cooking, such absence of artifice, such transparency of technique seems awesomely radical these days, and wonderfully refreshing.

Puddings came on a trolley. There were about six of them. I tried a compote of raspberries and strawberries, which benefited from the fact that they were autumn raspberries, and emphatically not crunchy Elsanta strawbs. But it was the chocolate tart, more cake than tart, airy, potent, fluffy and crunchy, that won my heart. It was a chocolate pud of which dreams are made. Of course, dreams have their price - I£315.50 for five of us, to be precise, or about £251, which included a bottle of superior champagne, two bottles of terrific Côte Rotie of Guigal, a bottle of splendid Gewürztraminer and half a bottle of Chablis from a short but smartly selective list. As usual with me, drink took up more than its fair share (I£165), but it was worth every penny.

You can eat at Assolas House only if you're staying there, which may limit the number of people who can enjoy this splendid place. But it is worth seeking out. It is a rare refuge, which epitomises civilised, humane values at a time when they seem in short supply.

· Open Dinner only, Mon-Sun. Menus I£30 (around £24) for three courses. Mastercard, Visa only. Wheelchair access (no WC).