This week had a particularly pleasant interlude, a kind of mid-week break, which even coincided with some unseasonably good weather. I've said it before: sometimes the gods smile upon us, and this week they were grinning from ear to ear. My wife and I had been invited to Mount Juliet to sample the cooking of the renowned chef Albert Roux of Le Gavroche, who was hosting a dinner there. Only a fool would turn down an invitation like this, so in the afternoon we set off for Thomastown in Kilkenny.

The long drive up to Mount Juliet through its parkland is delightful; after a stretch of woodland you turn a corner and suddenly there's the first view of the house standing on a hill overlooking the River Nore. Over a bridge and up the hill and you're there. A big, three-stories over basement mansion, it's impressively grand. Inside, huge open fires greeted us in all the public rooms and we were shown to our elegant and spacious bedroom. I think I could get accustomed to this kind of grandeur very easily. I especially liked the fact that there is a sense still that this is a country house. It is very grand, but it hasn't been so over-restored as to feel like a modern hotel. There is nothing screamingly new, nothing that jars with the timeless elegance of the rooms. We changed and went downstairs to the Lady Helen dining room where we were to dine on four courses of M. Roux's excellent board, accompanied by four well-chosen wines. I can still remember the exquisite taste of the veloute of shell-fish. If this is the sort of thing that appeals to you, Albert Roux will be back in Mount Juliet in November for more gastronomic nights.

After a leisurely breakfast Susie, the horse-mad one, went off to see the stud where once the McCalmont family bred such immortals as Tetrarch, who is buried in the grounds. By half-past midday we were ready to leave, and so we took the road to Kilkenny. It's a city I've always liked, bustling, lively and unprovincial, but still small enough to be very much on the human scale. I had a purpose in this - I'd been told over dinner the previous night of a restaurant called Cafe Sol run by two ladies who had served their time in Ballymaloe House. That was recommendation enough for me, and we found it without much difficulty in Kilkenny's city centre.

We walked into a completely full restaurant, buzzing with people enjoying themselves. A lady with a charming and infectious smile greeted us and within moments had found us a table, which we temporarily shared with two other people. We sat down, relaxed, and looked around us. About sixty people filled the room, and I was one of three men. I'm quite used to women outnumbering men in Dublin restaurants, but this seemed almost single sex. I was thinking about this skewed sample of the genders as I picked up my menu. The answer as to why there was this preponderance of women came at once as soon as I looked at it. There was no sign on it of the preferred fare of the average Irish male. In short, no chips, no meat and two veg. This is high-class girlie food: salads, club sandwiches, more salads, pasta, even more salads, and of course, every girl's favourite, grilled goats' cheese.

It's even designed in such a way that there are no starters and main courses. Perfect for whoever wants one well-made, simple non-fattening dish and then perhaps a big chunk of chocolate and cream cake to follow. So being half way between the Irish male and the Italian male, I scoured the menu looking for meat. A lambs' kidney salad looked like a candidate for my starter, and a special of the day, mutton pie, fitted the bill for a main course. I beamed with anticipation. Not surprisingly Susie looked up from the menu and announced, 'That's just the sort of menu I like. Lots of really nice things to choose from... I'll have the goats' cheese.' There's a surprise, I thought. 'And then I'll have the fish pie.'

Susie was in no mood for more wine after the night before, but I thought we'd manage a half bottle between us. The same smiling lady suggested we could try the Tyrell Cabernet/Merlot mix from Australia, so we did, along with a jug of sparkling mineral water. The wine was delicious and when the starters came I felt quietly pleased with myself for having brought us here. Two really good salads lay before us, nicely dressed, mine with pink-cooked kidneys and Susie's with a generous slice of cheese served on a large crouton surrounded by mixed leaves. When something this simple tastes this good, we decided, there is someone in the kitchen who knows what they're doing.

I can't say that either of us were very hungry after the starters, but our pies arrived in little individual pots looking, well, good enough to eat. We swapped tastes, since Susie decided that hers was probably one of the best fish pies that she'd ever eaten, and I was enjoying my mutton. I was also enjoying the fact that it was called mutton pie rather than lamb pie. What is this fixation with only calling meat by its baby name? I mean, would you actually eat a chicken? They're tiny and yellow. No, we eat hens - big, grown up birds. Yet wherever you look there is chicken instead of hen, lamb instead of mutton. When is pork going to be replaced with piglet? I've already seen baby carrots on a menu, so it can't be too far away. Infant broccoli, toddler sprouts, new-born onions - we could start dining on only the tenderest, sweetest neo-natal foods. Anyway, mutton has nothing to be ashamed of, so good for Cafe Sol for calling a spade a spade.

We moved tables for our coffee, since I had the urge for a fag and we had been sitting in the non-smoking section. There was a great sense of comfort and ease in this restaurant, people were laughing and smiling which is always a joy to see. I went to pay at the counter where I was presented with a surprisingly modest bill of £28.35. Looking at it now, I see we were charged for half portions for the starters, which seems very generous, considering what we got. £8.50 bought the excellent wine, so all that good food came to less than £15. Now that's what I call value - even if that is just a man's opinion.