I’ll never forget the drive to Brancaster – we’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the satnav to chuck us down a narrow lane that turned into a proper muddle. A sheep decided it was the perfect moment to block the road, staring us down like it owned the place. Twenty minutes of gentle honking later, we were back on track, laughing about it over a thermos of tea. By the time we pulled up, the anticipation was buzzing – Norfolk’s north coast had been calling us for ages, promising that proper seaside escape.

First impressions? Spot on. It’s a cracking ground-floor apartment in what used to be the iconic Dormy House, just a ten-minute stroll from Brancaster’s vast, golden beach. The Scandi-style interiors are dead simple and restful – pale woods, plush throws, all that calm hygge vibe that makes you want to kick off your shoes and stay put. Perfect for a foodie holiday like ours, with a kitchen that begged to be used.

We wasted no time diving into the local grub scene. Day one, we wandered into Brancaster Staithe, barely a mile away, for fresh crab and lobster straight off the boats at the little hut by the quay. Washed it down with a pint at The White Horse pub – their fish and chips are legendary, crisp batter hiding flaky cod, and chips so chunky you could club a seal with them (not that we would). Proper pub atmosphere too, with locals chatting about the day’s catch.

Cooking became our daily ritual. The markets in nearby Burnham Market – a quick five-minute drive – were a revelation. We loaded up on artisan cheeses, plump Norfolk sausages, and veg so fresh it practically waved at us. Back at the apartment, I fancied myself a chef with a seafood linguine: mussels from the Staithe, garlic, chilli, a splash of white wine. Turned out alright, though I overdid the pasta – a bit of a gloopy mess, if I’m honest. Laughing over our plates, wine in hand, we reflected on how these daft kitchen fails make holidays memorable. My other half nailed it the next night with a roast chicken, stuffed with local herbs, served with bread from the village bakery.

Evenings meant pub-hopping on foot. The Jolly Sailors in Brancaster Staithe does a mean Ploughman’s – mature cheddar, pickled onions, and crusty bread that’s pure comfort. We tried their venison pie too, rich gravy bubbling over mash. One night, we pushed the boat out at The Crown in Brancaster, savouring moules marinières and a treacle tart that had us scraping the plate. It’s all so unpretentious here, miles from tourist traps, just hearty Norfolk fare with sea views.

Selfishly, I’ll admit it: amid all the eating, I had a quiet moment on the balcony, plate of crab claws in lap, pondering how we rush about life back home. This spot forced us to slow down, savour every bite. We left fuller in every sense – bellies happy, spirits lifted. If you’re after a holiday built around fab food and cosy nights in, this is your spot. Can’t wait to go back.