Twenty years ago I used to back-pack around France, staying in the sort of grotty pensiones designed for impoverished students. One of the things that most struck me back then was the prevalence of posters pinned to the walls in these salubrious dives which said, in alarmed tones: "Please be nice to tourists. We need them!"
The French, of course, paid the signs no heed. And, 20 years on, numerous surveys show that the biggest drawback to a holiday in France is . . . the French people themselves.
I mention this in the context of the debate which has been raging, in the pages of The Irish Times and elsewhere, regarding our current attitudes to hospitality and tourism. The debate is timely and appropriate, for the changes which our economic boom has created have to be handled with care, and if we do not learn from the experience of countries such as France, then we are putting at risk the enormous possibilities which a vibrant tourism industry can offer.
But it seems to me that there are elements which the debate has not yet touched on, elements which are not a cause for concern, but are instead a cause for celebration. And the chief thing we should be celebrating is the creation, in the last few years, of a truly distinctive, creative Irish cuisine.
When, in the debate, people look nostalgically back to "the good old days", they seem to have forgotten that, with some glorious exceptions, the "good old days" offered the culinarily curious traveller in Ireland a stark, rather dyspeptic choice: you could have a ham sandwich, a cheese sandwich, or a ham and cheese sandwich.
Little more was offered, and the very idea of creativity and quality being synonymous with food - the notion that these attributes were essential to good food - would have been laughed at. Of course there was such a thing as "Irish Cooking", but that was a simple, domestic cuisine. Such fine dining as there was, aped and imitated the French example, and for the most part did it pretty badly.
The rule was simple: Ireland was the country where you drank well, and ate badly.
Today, all that has changed. "Irish Cooking" now means the creative work of our best cooks, and means a cuisine which is distinctive, appreciated and original. There is still too much bad food, of course, but if you choose well, then the culinarily curious traveller to Ireland will find one of the most exciting, emergent cuisines which can be enjoyed anywhere in the world.
This struck me with considerable force at the beginning of the year, as I toiled away at the eighth annual edition of the guidebook, The Bridgestone 100 Best Restaurants in Ireland, which my wife Sally McKenna and I write. Choosing the best 100 restaurants has never been easy, and has in the past has led to considerable controversy as our selection has increasingly diverged from other guides.
But, this year, it was sheer hell to decide who was in and who, regrettably, was out. Almost 20 per cent of the book comprises new entries. That in itself is perhaps not exceptional, but when you consider that in 1998 almost 15 per cent of the entries were newcomers, you get some idea of the torrent of change rattling the kitchen doors of Irish restaurants.
Faced with this sort of competition, one is forced to become super-choosy. It's no longer enough just to be a good cook, for example. You must also run a good room, and have good service, and see that all the details are right. Eating out, after all, is an entertainment, and it's no longer enough for a chef to have a good central performance: he or she must also master the rest of the cast and have the stagecraft to make sure that the entertainment works perfectly.
Above all, what I have seen over the last eight years in Irish restaurant culture has been the creation of a confidence and a creativity which are enthralling. When you eat the cooking of, to take just a few examples, Armel Whyte of Allo's Bistro in Listowel, or Danny Millar in Portaferry's The Narrows, or Neven Maguire in Blacklion's MacNean Bistro, or Denis Cotter in Cork's Cafe Paradiso, you enjoy the work of true originals, people who have forged a new identity and focus for Irish food. No one else cooks like these people.
And you will find that vital creativity expressed by all of the chefs in the 100 Best Restaurants - people using their situation and their skills to bring the best out of their ingredients. You won't find the same sort of creativity in the UK. You won't find it in France, where a powerful culinary tradition effectively stifles much creativity. But in simple restaurants and country houses from Dungarvan to Donegal, Irish chefs are making it up as they go along, their experiences echoing the original work of chefs in places such as Australia and the US.
Well, maybe we have better cooking than ever before, some might say, but surely the real danger is of losing our instinctive hospitality - the factor which has always made travelling in Ireland such a joy. Once again, I think the nostalgia factor blinds us to the fact that while our hospitality was always true and on tap, once again our standards were frequently poor. The lady of the house may well have been delightful, but she was also likely to make breakfast in a deep-fat fryer and to feel that a spray of air freshener was her only responsibility when it came to hygiene.
The companion volume to the 100 Best Restaurants, the 100 Best Places to Stay, echoes its sister volume in proving that not only is Irish hospitality as gregarious and gracious as ever, but that our appreciation and acknowledgment of standards - true, real, international standards - is not confined simply to restaurants.
The financial benefits of the Celtic Tiger are helping to create a more resilient, high quality and successful culture of hospitality, for the smart hoteliers and B & B keepers to plough money back into improving and upgrading their places to stay. Choice has never been better for the traveller in Ireland, and nor has quality.
If this all sounds rather idyllic, and makes it seem as if I have the sweetest job imaginable, I have to acknowledge that there are still deplorable places to stay and to eat. In a grand country house hotel not far from Dublin last year I had a dinner with friends that was little more than a fiasco, from beginning to end, with incompetent service and atrocious food. Recently, a friend, having dinner in a Dublin south side restaurant, ordered creme brulee and was served a dish made with Bird's custard powder. "Do you take credit cards", I asked a B & B keeper in Co Limerick not so long ago. "Yes, but I prefer cash," she answered, without a hint of hesitation or self-consciousness.
The bad places will always be with us, but right now, the best places and the best restaurants have never been better, and that is a cause for celebration.
The Bridgestone 100 Best Restaurants in Ireland and The Bridgestone 100 Best Places to Stay in Ireland, by John and Sally McKenna, are published by Estragon Press at £6.99 each.