Just got back from the most brilliant week in a cosy holiday cottage in north Norfolk, and honestly, the food was the absolute star of the show. Perched near Blakeney, with its reed-thatched roof and a kitchen that screamed "rustic charm" (translation: slightly dodgy oven), it was the perfect base for indulging in all things edible. I arrived famished after the drive from London, so first stop was the village pub, The White Horse in Blakeney – a proper Norfolk gem with low beams that had me stooping like a guilty schoolboy.

They do these crab sandwiches that are basically a love letter to the local catch. Fresh Cromer crab, mayo just right, on thick white bread – I wolfed one down with a pint of Adnams Ghost Ship, that citrusy ale that hits the spot after a long journey. Pub grub here isn't fancy; it's hearty, like the fish pie loaded with smoked haddock and a cheesy mash top that stuck to my ribs through a blustery coastal walk. Sat by the fire, chatting with locals about the best spots for whelks, I felt that warm glow of being properly fed and welcomed.

Next morning, I pottered to Wells-next-the-Sea market – what a feast for the senses! Stalls groaning under samphire (that salty marsh grass that's Norfolk's pride), fresh mackerel glittering like silver, and cheeses from the Walsingham dairy that could make a vegetarian waver. I stocked up on rashers of bacon from a free-range pig farmer, some artisan sourdough, and a punnet of strawberries so sweet they didn't need sugar. Back at the cottage, I attempted a full English breakfast. Big mistake. The bacon fried up a treat, eggs poached (miraculously), but my black pudding sizzled into a charred brick. Laughing at my own incompetence over a cuppa, I reflected on how cooking disasters like that make holidays memorable – beats a sterile hotel buffet any day.

Lunches were picnic-style, with samphire blanched and tossed in butter, paired with hunks of cheese and that sourdough smeared with Norfolk honey. Evenings meant more pub crawls: The Lifeboat Inn in Sheringham for their seafood platters – prawns, oysters from Brancaster, and mussels in a creamy cider sauce that had me mopping the bowl with chips. One night, I tried cooking again: a seafood stew with market-fresh cod and mussels. The recipe said "simmer gently," but my enthusiasm turned it into a hearty chowder. Still tasted banging with a bottle of local Aspall cyder.

The highlight? A Sunday roast at The Crown in Thornham. Succulent Norfolk Black Turkey, roasties crisp as you like, Yorkshire puds the size of saucers, drowned in gravy. I overdid it, naturally, waddling back to the cottage stuffed to the gunwales. Gazing out at the marshes, pint in hand, I had a quiet moment thinking how these simple, local eats ground you – no Instagram fakery, just proper flavours and full bellies. If you're hankering for a holiday where the eating outshines the sightseeing, snag a Norfolk cottage. My waistline might disagree, but my taste buds are still singing.