I’ll never forget the drive to Blakeney – we’d packed the car with enough cheese and crackers to fend off a siege, but halfway there, just past Fakenham, the satnav decided to have a midlife crisis and sent us down a narrow lane that was basically a goat track. Mud everywhere, and me white-knuckling the wheel while my other half laughed and snapped pics for posterity. “This is an adventure!” she said. By the time we rolled into Blakeney’s winding streets, I was ready for a pint, but honestly, that little mishap just amped up the anticipation. Spotting our cottage right in the heart of it all, with its traditional charm and that promise of a wood burner for chilly evenings, I felt the stresses melt away. First impressions? Spot on – sunny bedroom overlooking the quay, cosy as anything, and it screamed “relax here, you’ve earned it.”

We wasted no time settling in and plotting our food assault on this Norfolk gem. Blakeney’s got that perfect village vibe for it – seafood fresh off the boats, proper pub grub, and just enough local spots to keep things interesting without straying far. First evening, we wandered to The Blakeney Hotel for fish and chips that were so crisp and flaky, I’m still dreaming about them. Golden batter, mushy peas on the side, and a cheeky half of bitter to wash it down. Sat outside watching the seals bark from the marsh, feeling like we’d stumbled into a postcard.

Next morning, I fancied playing chef in our little kitchen. Popped over to the village shop for local crab claws – sweet, meaty beauties – and attempted a crab salad with whatever herbs I could rustle up. It was a right faff, picking the shells without mangling my fingers, and the dressing ended up a bit vinegary, but slathered on fresh bread from the bakery down the lane, it hit the spot. Laughed at myself later, thinking how I’d gone from ready meals to “gourmet” in one holiday. Self-reflection moment: maybe I’m not the next Jamie Oliver, but there’s joy in the mess, innit?

Lunches became a ritual at The White Horse, where their crab sandwiches are legendary – doorstep thick, with mayo just right and a side of proper chips. We’d linger over coffee, people-watching the locals and day-trippers. Evenings? Back to the cottage for wood burner suppers. One night, I braised local sausages from the butcher with apples and cider from a nearby farm stall – simple, hearty, and surprisingly swish. Paired with a bottle of white from their well-stocked fridge, it felt like proper home cooking, minus the washing up dread.

We hit the Saturday market in nearby Cley (barely a couple of miles hop), loading up on smoked mackerel, cheeses, and those fat Norfolk oysters. Shucked a few raw back at the cottage with lemon and tabasco – briny heaven. Pub-hopping capped it off: The King’s Arms for ploughman’s with crumbly cheddar that stuck to the ribs, and a final night at The Wiveton Hall Café for their seafood platters. Mussels in creamy garlic, prawns, and more crab – over the top, but gloriously so.

By the end, we’d eaten our way through Blakeney like pros, bellies full and hearts content. That cottage wasn’t just a stay; it was our launchpad for the best eats. Can’t wait to go back – next time, I’m mastering that crab.