I’ve 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 such a greedy explorer?

We rented this charming thatched place near Aldeburgh, all stone floors and a cracking Aga that promised home-cooked feasts. First morning, I pottered into the kitchen with big plans for a full English, but my attempt at perfect fried eggs ended in a smeary mess – more Jackson Pollock than brekkie. Laughing it off with a cuppa, we headed to the weekly farmers’ market in nearby Southwold. Blimey, what a spread! Suffolk’s finest: plump sausages from local butchers, wheels of tangy Suffolk Gold cheese, and jars of chutney that could make you weep with joy. I loaded up on smoked mackerel from Orford, fresh samphire from the marshes, and a punnet of strawberries so sweet they didn’t need sugar.

Lunch was a picnic on the beach – Aldeburgh’s pebbles underfoot, crab sandwiches from The Butley Orford Oysterage, where the seafood is so fresh it practically swims off the plate. Those fat, juicy Aldeburgh crabs? Divine. Back at the cottage, I tried my hand at cooking again: a Suffolk ham boiled with cider, served with new potatoes and buttery samphire. It wasn’t half bad, though the ham shrank more than my waistline dreams do after Christmas.

Evenings were for the pubs, the beating heart of Suffolk nosh. Our first was The Crown in Southwold, a proper Adnams ale house with beams low enough to clock your head if you’re daft like me. I went for the Adnams-battered cod and chips – golden, flaky perfection with mushy peas that hit the spot. Washed down with a pint of Ghost Ship, it was pure bliss. Another night, we ambled to The Ship Inn in Blaxhall for a ploughman’s that could feed a village: hunks of mature cheddar, pickled onions sharp as a tack, and crusty bread that didn’t last five minutes. I reflected there over my second pint – sat in that snug corner, fire crackling, how often do we rush meals at home? Here, eating felt like the main event, not a chore between emails.

Midweek, we hit Snape Maltings for a market wander – artisan breads, venison pies, and fudge that glued my teeth together. Dinner that night? My boldest cottage cook-up: local pork belly slow-roasted with apples from the garden, paired with Adnams ale gravy. It wobbled gloriously, though I burned the first batch of spuds – self-reflection moment number two: I’m enthusiastic in the kitchen, but timing’s not my forte. Chuckling, we polished it off with a crumble made from those market strawberries.

Suffolk’s food scene is unpretentious magic – no faff, just hearty, honest grub from sea and soil. Our cottage feasts and pub crawls left me stuffed and smiling. If you’re after a holiday where the eating’s as good as the views, book a Suffolk pad pronto. I’m already plotting the next one.