Forty years ago, the grand old house with the blue door, in Rue de Cers, in the sleepy village of Olonzac was a lemonade factory.

It didn’t make a lot, but what it made was very good – created to a traditional recipe and bottled in the old-fashioned way for more than 100 years. Now it is a very different drink that brings lovers of fine living to this historic home – wine.

Under the direction of Stephen Desmazieres and Jean-Marc Jarlot, this rambling town house, with its sweeping staircase and spacious rooms, has become a bolthole for those eager to learn more of the twin delights of this beautiful patch of South West France – food, and especially – the fruits of the vine.

“We love cooking,” says Stephen. “But you cannot come here without learning more about our local wines, which are very good – as everyone around here will remind you.”

That region is Minervois – a rugged landscape of tortured crags, rocky plateaus, deep canyons and rolling vineyards – all in the shadow of the snow-capped Pyrenees and just a cork’s throw from the sandy shores of the Mediterranean.

A short drive from the fortress city of Carcassonne, it bursts at the seams with ruined forts, abbeys and medieval villages, but has managed to escape the tourist hordes.

Its solitude, however, is at odds with its fame as a centre of vine cultivation.

This is Languedoc Roussillon, after all, and the names of its towns and villages trip of the tongue of anyone who has spent too much time staring at wine labels – Fitou, Corbieres, Limoux, Malepere, Saint-Chinian...

But you can forget wine snobbery. Fermented grape juice is the lifeblood of Languedoc, appreciated as much by aristocrats (yes they do still have them) as by peasants (and, yes, they have those too… with the badge of ‘paysan’ worn with pride).

Being a self-confessed wine philistine, I took the advice of Villa Limonade’s Stephen, selected a tasting glass and silver spitting bucket, and went back to school for a crash course in oenology – the study of wine.

A few happy hours later, I am sizing up, sniffing and quaffing the best that Languedoc has to offer, and feel almost qualified to be let loose among its vineyards. But first there is more work to be done, in the shape of dinner accompanied by Minervois’ finest – this time without the bucket.

Stephen and Jean-Marc kept up the viticultural tutorial while whipping up a repast that would put many a Michelin-starred restaurant to shame. Curious to find out more about the method behind the magic, I set out in the morning to go to the source of ‘the sauce’.

A walk through a French vineyard is an enlightening experience. On one side of a dusty track outside Olonzac are the hallowed vines of the appellation Minervois. Those on the other side, a distance of no more than six feet, fall outside the appellation and do not command anything like the same price. To my eye they look identical. But they are not. It’s what the French call ‘terroir’ – the influence of the land on the wine. And the fruity produce of their 100 year-old Carignan, Mourvedre, Syrah and Grenache vines pay – handsomely.

If you really want to see the difference landscape has on wines, take a trip onto the barren 300 metre-high limestone plateau to the tiny appellation of St-Jean de Minervois.

Here the Miquel family have been turning out naturally sweet ‘vins doux’ wines from the white Muscat grape since the 15th century.

Highly sought-after, these bright, golden fortified wines ooze pear and citrus, honey and white flower. And, they appear to grow from solid rock. Raymond’s family produces 70,000 bottles a year. “It takes five men three hours to plant 3,800 vines,” he says, among freshly planted vines, and with no soil to be seen.

It’s not just wine which attracts the traveller, though. This is a land rooted in history – a history of bloodshed and tragedy belied by its mellow charm.

At the heart of the area is Minerve, a fortified medieval village perched on a spur of rock in a loop of the Cresse gorge. Today it’s a dreamy spot of stone cottages and churches. But it has a dark and horrible past.

This was a refuge of the Cathars – followers of a new Christian faith, who were denounced by Rome as heretics, condemned to death – and crushed.

Crusaders led by the brutal Simon de Montfort laid siege to Minerve in 1210. Anyone who converted to Catholicism would be saved. The Cathars refused – and 180 were burned at the stake.

De Montfort used as his base the fortress of Carcasonne – itself taken by siege. And the ghosts of the Crusaders loom large in what is still Europe’s largest medieval citadel.

More soothing is Fontfroide Abbey – a riot of 12th century cloisters, stained glass, towers and shady gardens. Its well-respected wines are worth the trip alone, and there are few holier places in which to enjoy a tasting.

Very different, but no less impressive, is Narbonne. Founded by the Romans, much of what they left remains – with carvings dating back to the time of Christ. Spacious and lovely, it is a lush city draped along the wide Robine Canal, which flows to the nearby Med.

Unmissable are the dizzying medieval cathedral, the third tallest Gothic structure in France; the Archaeological Museum in the lavish surroundings of the Archbishop’s Palace; and the Musee Lapidaire, or Stone Museum, a maze of Roman carvings in an empty church.

For foodies, it also houses one of France’s gastronomic gems: the Halles, a vast covered food market. Here, over a plate of sausage and tapenade, I met Olivier Calixe, who produces wines from La Clape, a craggy stone-strewed promontory just beyond the town.

He summed up its charm. Pouring out a glass of his favourite Sarrat de Goundy red, he grinned: “It’s so good here, I feel sorry for everyone else!”