I've always been fond of big houses, maybe because my formative years were spent in one. Something about the noble proportions of the rooms lends a sense of nobility to the inhabitants by some kind of architectural osmosis. Big houses have a character all of their own, not just because of their history, but because the very fabric of the house - its atmosphere - defines behaviours in whoever visits.

There have always been generally accepted and immutable laws regarding big houses. The first is that they are cold, very cold. Long, stone-flagged corridors ensure that any inherent heat is immediately absorbed by the stone, and add to that a belief shared by many denizens of big houses that any kind of heat could wreak havoc with the furniture, ensured that the temperature rarely rose above freezing point. A second law of the big house design is that whatever style the house may be built in, the plumbing will be relentlessly twelfth-century. Even the most gracious of houses were originally designed with just one bathroom on each floor, and you could be certain that whatever modicum of heat may have been afforded in other rooms, the bathroom - the one room where you'd stand totally naked - would be entirely unheated. A third law applied too; the grander the house, the worse the food.

Most big houses had a resident harridan called 'cook', who terrified employers and tended to throw a hissy fit if one extra guest was added to the dinner table. Invariably the food was horrendous, yet cook was always treated with kid gloves, since should cook ever leave, the inhabitants would almost certainly die of starvation caused by their total incapacity to feed themselves. But thankfully, things change. Even such immutable laws as those that govern big houses are changing.

Some of Ireland's most impressive houses have turned themselves into hotels, golf clubs and leisure centres. The arrival of paying guests may have the original owners turning in their graves, but the net result has been that the houses' future is secure, the roofs are fixed, the plumbing is twenty-first century and the rooms are warm. All this means that staying in big houses these days gives you modern comforts as well as the elegance of times past.

Follow the road along the southern edge of the Shannon Estuary from Limerick and you arrive in Glin, where you'll find the seat of the Fitzgerald's in Glin Castle. A long drive takes you past fields of young calves and wild garlic up to the castellated front of the Castle. I got there on a sunny afternoon and got a tour of the curtilage from Honor Fitzgerald, from the formal gardens at the back of the house, to the walled garden where much of the restaurant's produce comes from, to the rustic Hermitage in the woods above the castle.

Inside the castle is a wonderland for furniture lovers. Really beautiful pieces of Irish furniture are in every room, in the public rooms downstairs and in the splendid bedrooms upstairs. The combination of Irish art on the walls, the fine furniture and the intricately worked ceilings creates the integrated feel of a museum display coupled with the intimacy that comes from a real, lived in home.

The dining room is a deep, relaxing red. Around the walls various previous Knights of Glin look down upon the diners and at a table by the window overlooking the Shannon, I sat with Honor, Tom Rixton and Patricia O'Shea, about to dine. The dining room seats less than thirty, and this number means that it's almost impossible to dine here unless you're staying. You could be lucky and find an empty table, but essentially the answer is book in to stay if you want to dine here.

The dinner menu is a table d'hote priced at €48, and the first thing that caught my eye was the wild garlic soup with crème fraiche and croutons. How nice, I thought, that the chef makes use of nature's bounty growing wild outside. The other choices for starters were a gravadlax tian, seared scallops au beurre blanc and a pork and apple salad. I ended up with the gravadlax, but also tasted the soup, which was really good. No mean feat either, as wild garlic can easily lose it flavour when cooked.

There were four main courses to choose from, grilled corn-fed chicken, baked sea bass, salmon and fillet of beef. I was tempted by the sea bass, but having arranged a swap with my fellow diners, I picked the beef. With my beef, which was cooked pink and was so tender that you could almost cut it with a fork, came a flat of vegetables; potatoes gratin, buttered courgettes and turnips. Nothing fancy, just well-cooked vegetables fresh from the walled garden, presented simply. For me that's real food - simple, genuine and honest.

The service throughout this meal was exemplary, and I'll bet that never before in the long history of Glin Castle has the food been this good, this well presented or this well served. Despite feeling replete the dessert menu managed to tempt us: a simple fresh fruit salad, a tiramisu, a naughty chocolate risotto and a perfectly delectable pannacotta served with fresh strawberries came to us and we managed it all, the perfect pannacotta still fresh in my memory.

If graceful living appeals to you, if the elegance of Georgian style lifts your spirits, then a visit to Glin is what's called for. Rooms are priced from €280 and that includes a full Irish breakfast.