Irish romanticism looks west. The mythical land of eternal youth, Tir na n'Og, lies somewhere beyond the Atlantic. The east, meanwhile, looks towards perfidious Albion.

But the east Cork region is rising: indeed, it already has one of the great Irish tourism success stories in Ballymaloe House, Shanagarry. There are beaches, hills, rivers, and an enormous “farm to fork” thing going on. And it now hosts the most important Irish hotel to be launched in recent years: the Capella Castlemartyr. Then Taioseach Bertie Ahern opened it in February. It's a whopper.

I made my way to Cork along rolling roads to the straggling village of Castlemartyr, then turned into the Capella's drive, to be greeted by a “wow” factor. The Capella is an enormous 18th-century house with a ruined, floodlit castle in its vast back garden.

This was entrance as event, and to follow suit I was shown to an enormous suite. Rather than go down the chill-out CD route, the Castlemartyr was keeping things traditional from the oak parquet upwards. “It won't go out of fashion,” they said.

I sank into the colossal bed. Rather untraditionally, there was a zapper to open and close the curtains; fun but I fancied a drink: another event. The Capella's palatial bar has an astonishing 17th-century plasterwork ceiling. After appetisers of stout we went to the Bell Tower dining room, where monkfish sous-vide took the remaining edges off the day. There wasn't much we could do after that, bar retire to the studio-flat sized bed.

I awoke and opened the curtains with the zapper. To cue, two swans flew over the lake. I downed a breakfast of poached duck eggs with boxty potato cakes, then went for a waddle. The old part of the hotel dissolved into a new spa wing, where the blurb said the Auriga spa followed the phases of the moon. Lunacy? Perhaps. I sent my partner in, to wax or wane, and she loved it.

East Cork beckoned. I set off through a rolling agricultural landscape to Youghal, a handsome town with the air of past hard times. With an old high street, historic buildings and a beach, all the ingredients were there to dispel any gloom. I nosed past an ancient Gothic door into a delicatessen with an Italian restaurant called Via above it: all opened last year by Fergal and Jo Dooley. “We couldn't resist it and Youghal needs restaurants,” said Fergal. Under Sir Walter Raleigh, Youghal is said to be where the first potato was planted — and the first cigar smoked — in Europe. Fergal and Jo, meanwhile, have made polenta a first for Youghal.

After a coffee, I walked up to the 13th-century Church of St Mary. From here, there was a great view of Youghal's harbour — and a deliciously Hammer Horror atmosphere in its haunted graveyard. I walked back down to the main street to Ahernes Seafood Restaurant, where I talked to proprietor John Fitzgibbon over seafood chowder against a classic backdrop: turf fire, deep yellow walls, old-fashioned prints. The area was on the way up, said John.

Back along the coast, I nosed past various brown-sign attractions: the round tower at Cloyne, the beach at Garryvoe, Ballymaloe cookery school and the Fota Wildlife Park, where the Sheraton Fota Island Golf Resort & Spa opened in 2006. This is surf-and-turf country, where salty inlets probe into green fields, and I lingered in Ballycotton, where wild sea battered the rocky coast, and then to an orange-painted gastropub called the Roberts Cove Inn.

Eventually, I made it to Cobh, a 19th-century gem, ranged up a hill and topped by St Colman's Cathedral. When the hour strikes, the bells peal the theme from Titanic, Cobh being its last stop. Parts of Cobh's palm-lined prom need a lick of paint, and the Titanic bar looked as if it had gone under. But there were promising signs. The Jacob's Ladder Restaurant had seared loin of monkfish; the Sirius Arts Centre had been refurbished, and the Quays Restaurant fed me smoked haddock with spring onion mash.

The next morning, I went to Midleton, a sturdy farming town with a foodie makeover. At the farmers' market, a little accordion band jigged as I browsed local cheeses and the impressive eels from Cobh's master smoker, Frank Hederman. I walked back down the high street via the Jameson distillery to the Farmgate restaurant.

Frankly, every town should have a Farmgate. You walk into a flag-floored shop that sells everything from wine to local bread, then into a rustic dining room. Astonishingly, beneath the gingham, it's all breezeblocks and girders. “It's an old tyre garage,” said the shopkeeper. Well, it's the finest garage turned restaurant that I've ever seen.

I dropped in at Farmgate's sister restaurant in Cork's English Market, where I had corned beef, a dish that completely revised the mottled mystery meat of schooldays. And I thought: the east is definitely rising.

HOW TO GET THERE

A night at Capella Castlemartyr (00 353 21 4219129;

capellacastlemartyr.com) starts at €225 (£177) including

breakfast, based on two people sharing a deluxe room.

FURTHER INFORMATION

Tourism Ireland (0800 039 7000; discoverireland.com)

Fit for an Earl: East Cork’s

grandest new hotel, The Capella, sits in the grounds of a 1,000-year-old castle

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