Just got back from the most brilliant week in a cosy holiday cottage in Suffolk, and honestly, the food stole the show – who knew a rural bolthole could turn me into a temporary foodie?

We rented this charming thatched cottage near Woodbridge, all stone floors and a cracking Aga that promised home-cooked wonders. First morning, I stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, and cracked open a pack of proper Suffolk bacon from the local butcher in town. Sizzled it up with eggs from the farm down the lane – you know, the free-range ones with those vivid orange yolks that make you feel virtuous just looking at them. Paired it with thick-cut bread from the village bakery, slathered in butter. Simple, but blimey, it tasted like breakfast was invented right there.

Ventured out to the weekly market in Stowmarket, a proper Suffolk treasure trove. Stalls groaning under piles of Aldeburgh oysters (didn't fancy shucking them myself, mind), wheels of creamy Baron Bigod cheese, and the juiciest strawberries you've ever seen. Bargained for a punnet – well, tried to, but the farmer just laughed and threw in extras. Back at the cottage, I attempted a crumble with those berries, flour, sugar and a knob of butter. Disaster? Nearly. Forgot the oven was on full whack from the bacon, so the top scorched like a bonfire. Laughing through the smoke, we salvaged the soggy middle with clotted cream. Lesson one in self-reflection: I'm no Great British Bake Off contender, but the effort made it taste better.

Pub lunches became our religion. The Butt and Oyster in Pin Mill was a highlight – right by the water, with boats bobbing outside. Ploughman's lunch: hunks of mature cheddar, pickled onions, and that tangy chutney that sticks to your ribs. Washed down with a pint of Adnams Ghost Ship, crisp and citrusy. Another day, we hit the Dog at Grundisburgh, where the Sunday roast was a beast – crispy Yorkshire puds the size of hubcaps, roasties golden and fluffy, and local pork belly that melted like butter. I overdid it, naturally, waddling back to the cottage with a food coma brewing. Gentle nudge to myself: portion control isn't just a suggestion, mate.

Evenings were for cottage cooking experiments. Grabbed fresh crab from Orford, picked up cockles and samphire at the quayside, and tried my hand at a seafood linguine. The Aga was a temperamental beast – boiled the pasta to mush while I faffed with garlic and chilli. Still, with a bottle of Adnams Broadside and crusty bread to mop up the sauce, it was divine. One night, we cheated with fish and chips from the chippy in Felixstowe, eaten on the patio under fairy lights, vinegar dripping everywhere.

Suffolk's food scene is unpretentious magic – markets bursting with local bounty, pubs dishing out hearty grub, and that joy of messing about in a cottage kitchen. Left with a belly full of memories and a vow to master the crumble next time. If you're after a holiday where every meal's an event, Suffolk's your spot. Can't wait to go back.