When I think of some of the pedestrian platefuls that have been pushed my way at silly prices, it's all the more wonderful to get a meal that is not only stunningly good, but comes at a price that takes the phrase 'value for money' to new heights.

Now I'm the first to admit that going to somewhere like Ballymaloe House in search of good food is hardly an original thought. There isn't a food guide that doesn't give the place lavish praise not only for the food they prepare, but also for the quality of the welcome for overnight guests. Yet when the opportunity arose for a group of friends to go there for lunch I just had to say 'Yes'.

The last time I had lunch in Ballymaloe was in July on a hot, sunny, summer's day. I can still remember my delight at every part of the meal as we sat in the airy and bright conservatory. Now I wondered if anything remembered with such pleasure could ever be repeated, especially on a dull, autumnal day.

We arrived early enough to have the time for a pre-prandial walk, by way of an appetite stimulant. I assure you that this is not strictly necessary as the food here would entice even the most committed weight-watcher to eat. With an hour or so to kill before lunch we strolled around Ballymaloe's parkland, enjoying the tranquility, the views and the gardens. The house itself is an old castle, which although modified through the centuries, still retains its 14th century keep. Covered in creeper, the house manages to look both imposingly elegant and welcoming at the same time.

Stepping into Ballmaloe is much like entering someone's house. It really is a family-run affair. Ivan Allen greeted us at the front door and made us feel instantly at home, while his son-in-law, Jim Whelan helped us through the wine list that is in part his creation. It's an impressive list, the bulk of wines being priced between £20 and £40, but for once I don't have a whinge about that. The mark-up is modest and the wines represent good value for money.

Although the summer was long gone, the conservatory still made a pretty setting for lunch. It overlooks a stream running through the gardens, and looking inwards you can see the back of the keep incorporated into the house. There are seven or eight tables set with starched white linen, while the room is dominated by a life-size cast blackamoor holding the obligatory lamp. We sat, sipping our Laurent-Perrier rose, looking down at a menu that was every bit as appetising as last July's. Hors d'oeuvres to start, then a choice of soups, six main courses to choose from, and lastly a selection from the dessert trolley. That's the kind of meal that makes no concessions to whether it's lunch or dinner - it's food on a trencherman scale.

That little item, hors d'oeuvre - so innocent on the menu - is perhaps the magnus opus of the meal. It's laid out on a table in an adjoining room and you help yourself. And my, how we helped ourselves. Lobster vol-au-vent, pate maison, a rough terrine, a herb pate, a beetroot salad, a tomato salad, green salad, eggs, pickled rays' wings, smoked salmon, roasted peppers, mussel crostini, bruschetta, breads of various ilk and a big bowl of real, home-made mayonnaise. Now I don't like cucumber, but there was also a bowl of thinly sliced sweet and sour cucumber which was so good I ate a second helping. If the meal had stopped right there after my seconds it would have been memorable, but there were still three courses to come.

While we gorged on the hors d'oeuvre we drank La Source de Vignelaure, a provencale rose made by Ireland's own David O'Brien in the eponymous chateau. Two years ago I had the good fortune to stay with David during the vendange and it was good to see his hard work finding acknowledgement on this prestigious list.

The two soups offered were French Peasant soup and Jerusalem artichoke soup, both of which were faultless. And so to the main courses. Our party eschewed the grilled chicken, the poached monkfish and the black-eye bean stew, so nothing to report there. We did have the roast rack of lamb, the escalopes of beef and the steak and oyster pie. Now the pie is an odd one: the Catalans love mixing fish and meat but I've never been a convert. But here the tastes blended to perfection: now I'm a convert. The lamb dish was two perfectly cooked chops, trimmed for finger eating; the beef was three medallions cooked 'a point' with a horseradish mayonnaise, which is truly inspired. When we chaps had manfully finished what was on our plates we were offered seconds, which we stoutly accepted. These culinary delights we accompanied with Alexis Lichine's Prieure Lichine 1989, a grand cru of the Margaux.

Feeling somewhat replete we eyed the desserts with a little apprehension. But how could we resist old-fashioned bread and butter pudding, spicy pear tart, strawberry ice-cream, orange jelly and meringues? The heartless waitress was deaf to our pleas of 'enough, enough' and continued to spoon on 'just a little taste' of everything. Sheer, sinful pleasure. To celebrate the ending of so sumptuous a meal we enjoyed a bottle of Ch. Coutet 1985, a premier grand cru of the Barsac; a luscious, rich, fruity dessert wine.

Looking back on what I've written I wonder why I feel compelled to deliver this paean of praise to a place that has had more than most. The answer, of course, is that it's about as good as you can get. You don't get fussy, fecky little dishes out of this kitchen - you get the best ingredients cooked to perfection and finely flavoured. It's this last point that has me so besotted: the cleanness of the flavours. They're clear and precise; put together for no other reason than they go well together.

Whether lunch or dinner, this was one of the best meals I've eaten this year. And here's the rub: this gastrofest cost £16.50. Remember that the next time you eat a mediocre meal at twice the price. For me, a meal like this becomes a touchstone - a measure against which to rate others.