I’ve just got back from the most brilliant week in a cosy holiday cottage in north Norfolk, and honestly, the food stole the show – it was less a holiday and more a non-stop feast with a side of sea views.

We rented this cracking little place near Blakeney, all stone walls and beams, with a kitchen that begged for culinary experiments. First morning, I nipped to the weekly market in nearby Holt – proper Norfolk treasure trove. Stalls groaning under fresh Cromer crab, plump whelks, and the sweetest strawberries you’ve ever tasted. I loaded up on local cheeses from the Wax Chandler, that tangy Baron Bigod with its buttery Brillat-Savarin vibes, and some artisan sourdough that could make a sandwich sing. Back at the cottage, I attempted a crab salad for lunch. Attempted being the key word – I cracked the shells like a pro but ended up with more shell in my lunch than claws. Still, slathered in mayo and lemon, it was divine, eaten on the patio with gulls squawking overhead. Self-reflection moment: maybe I’m not the next Rick Stein, but enthusiasm counts for something.

Evenings were pub central, and Norfolk does them right. Our local was The White Horse in Blakeney, a proper freehouse with beams you could bang your head on (did, twice – humour in the bruises). We kicked off with pints of Adnams Ghost Ship, crisp and citrusy, then demolished platters of Whitby scampi and sticky chicken wings. The real star? Their mussels in cider and bacon – plump, steamed to perfection, with crusty bread to mop up the sauce. I hoovered a bowlful and could’ve licked the dish. Next night, we ventured to The King’s Head in Cley-next-the-Sea, another gem. I went for the pan-fried sea bass with samphire – that salty marsh grass picked right from the nearby saltings – and chips so fluffy inside, crisp out. Washed down with a local Woodforde’s Wherry ale. Pub chat was gold too: locals swapping tales of Samphire Joe, the forager who supplies half the coast.

Cooking at the cottage became our thing. Midweek market haul from Wells-next-the-Sea included samphire bundles, fresh mackerel, and racks of Norfolk Black turkey sausages. I tried my hand at a one-pan wonder: sausages with leeks from a farm stall, cider from the market’s craft brewer, and a dollop of apple sauce. Turned out smashingly, though I overdid the cider and we ended up giggly before pudding. For dessert, we cheated with Mrs Smith’s Norfolk Treacle Tart from the deli – sticky, gingery heaven. One gentle reflection hit me there, fork midway to mouth: in the rush of life back home, when do I ever slow down for a meal like this? Just ingredients, mates, and no agenda.

Last day, we hit The Red Lion in East Ruston for Sunday roast – massive Yorkshire puds, crackling pork belly, and gravy that could revive the dead. Stuffed to bursting, we waddled back to pack, already plotting next year’s menu. Norfolk’s food scene isn’t flashy; it’s hearty, fresh, and tied to the land and sea. If you’re after a holiday where every bite’s a memory, book that cottage – just don’t let me near the crab again.