There's nothing quite like a liver-crippling weekend of food and drink to leave a man needing nothing more than a glass of water and perhaps a crust of plain bread. And that's especially true if the weekend in question is in the Burgundy, a part of France that's famous not only for its wines, but for its food as well. The few days of over-indulgence did prompt this thought: there seems to be a general rule that every country has its culinary capital. Most would agree that in France it's centred on Lyons. In Italy there's no doubt it's centred on Bologna, a city whose nick-name is 'the fat'. In Spain the northern coast, stretching from the Basque country through Asturias is the hub of the new cuisine. In Ireland we might argue, but once outside the capital it has to be the South-west.

Quite why some areas put a bigger emphasis on food and cookery I can't explain, but clearly tradition has a lot to do with it and wherever there's been a tradition of plenty, the food is better. Couple this with an obsession with wine and you're definitely into gastronomy territory. The Burgundians combine these two obsessions perfectly and the town of Beaune is devoted to wine in a way that few other towns or cities are. They relish their inheritance, they take huge pride in the world recognition that their wines achieve. Once a year the whole town goes wine crazy at the annual Hospices de Beaune wine auction, where the Hospices auction off the wines from their wonderful estates that have been bequeathed to them over the centuries. The money raised goes to hospitals now, rather than the grand old Hotel Dieu, so the dealers get good wine and the Hospices get finance. What you'd call a good deal all round.

A perfect example of Burgundian gastronomy takes place every year the night before the Hospices auction at Clos de Vougeot. This was a monastery originally founded back in the dim mists of time, and the imposing building sits majestically amid fifty hectares of some of the world's most expensive vines. Walking up to it is quite an experience; the drive is subtly under-lit and it opens into a quad where the steep-sloping roofs come almost to the ground. Inside, in the enormous vaulted dining room, about 550 people are gathered to sit down and eat good food and drink Burgundian wine.

It's the Chevaliers de Tastevin's night; they look resplendent with their silver tastevins around their necks. The musicians are dressed in mediaeval garb, the waiters do their job with all the precision of a military drill. The speeches may be long and in French, but Chiara Mastroianni - the daughter of Marcello and Catherine Deneuve - is a postulant this year and she's on the dais waiting to be inducted. Throughout the nine-course meal (and they were big platefuls) the speeches stopped from time to time for a song. With each menu there was a songbook, so we could all join in the various hymns to the grape in general and to Burgundy in particular. There was also a very short one, repeated very often, which goes la la la, la la la - la, la, la. Clap clap clap, clap clap clap - clap, clap, clap. When you're not clapping you're waving hands in the air. I got quite good at it after a while. Waving your napkin over your head featured a bit as well.

When you've done this kind of madness for three days on the trot, the thought of a quiet lunch in a quiet restaurant becomes rather appealing. Thankfully the dream became a reality in Chablis, the same town that gives its name to the wine.

It's a much smaller place than Beaune, but its heritage is almost as imposing. The sloping hills of the Grands Crus form a backdrop to the town, which in November seems as quiet and as sleepy as its autumnal vineyards. We'd come for a tasting of Premier Cru and Grand Cru Chablis, laid on by the firm of William Fevre, the largest landowner of the Grands Crus, having 10pc of these noble vineyards. They have holdings in six of the seven Grands Crus, only Les Blanchots is missing. After tasting these wonderful wines my appetite, dulled by three days of excess, miraculously returned.

The various owners of the Grands Crus have got together and have both a restaurant and a bistro where their wines are featured. We ate in the 'Le Bistrot des Grands Crus', which is a crisp and cleanly furnished room where the set three-course lunch and coffee is €20. The food was very good indeed, most of the starters were around €8 and the main courses around €10. Among the starters chosen by us were the eggs coddled in pinot noir which were heavenly, a dozen fat snails in garlic butter, a roulade, a terrine and Scottish smoked salmon. Main courses other than my mussels cooked in Chablis were trout in beurre blanc, crayfish, a Burgundian stew and the delicious sausage, andouiette. To taste this Burgundian speciality it helps not to know what the sausage is made from, as the queasier diner might take fright.

With the Grands Crus of Fevre, including a wonderful 1998 'Les Clos', to accompany food like this, you begin to wonder as ever how come it's possible to eat this well in France and spend less than €20 on the meal. To the French, a bistro is almost a snack bar, it's a place that doesn't compete with restaurants proper. And yet, if you could find quality like this in Ireland at the same price, you'd think that you had found culinary nirvana.