I’ll never forget the drive up to Barnard Castle – satnav had me convinced I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere near Darlington, and I ended up in a queue of tractors on a single-track lane that felt like it hadn’t seen tarmac since the war. Heart in my mouth, I thought, “Great, first holiday mishap and we haven’t even arrived.” But 20 minutes later, there we were, pulling up to this freshly converted apartment in the old White Swan pub, right at the foot of the ancient bridge and peering across the River Tees to the castle. First impressions? Blimey, what a spot. The views from the first-floor windows were straight out of a postcard – river rushing below, bridge from 1569 glowing in the late sun, and that 12th-century castle looming like it was waiting for us to wave. I was buzzing already, imagining cosy evenings in after stuffing our faces.

We’d stocked up on the way with basics from a little market in the town – Barnard Castle’s Saturday one is a gem, all local cheeses, plump veg, and jars of that sticky Teesdale honey. Unpacked, and straight into cooking mode. The kitchen’s a proper treat, modern and compact, so I fancied myself as a chef for the first night. Grabbed some lamb chops from the market (proper Durham fellas raising them nearby), chucked them under the grill with rosemary from a posh jar, and rustled up a Teesdale twist with new potatoes and a heap of watercress. Turned out alright, if a bit charred on one side – I blame the excitement. Sat by the window with a glass of red, watching the river, and thought, “This is living.” Gentle nudge to myself: maybe I should try cooking more at home instead of takeaways.

Next day, we hit the town’s food scene proper. Breakfast at a cracking little café on the high street – bacon butty with black pudding that melted in your mouth, and the strongest tea this side of Yorkshire. Then wandered to the Bowes Museum café for elevenses; their scones with clotted cream are legendary, massive and fluffy. Lunch was at The Bridgend, just a stroll away by the bridge – fish and chips overlooking the Tees, batter crisp as you like, and mushy peas that hit the spot. Pub grub doesn’t get better; we even snuck in a pint of Black Sheep to wash it down.

Afternoon market forage led to dinner experiments back at the flat. Picked up venison sausages, artisan bread, and a wedge of that creamy County Durham blue cheese. My other half took over the hob this time – pan-fried sausages with a quick onion gravy and fried eggs on toast. We laughed when it nearly boiled over; holidays make you bolder in the kitchen, don’t they? Evening called for the local pub crawl. The White Swan’s own bar downstairs was heaving with locals – proper pie and mash, steak and ale version, served with a side of gossip about the castle ghosts. Next door at The Teesdale, it was Sunday roast heaven: tender beef, Yorkshire puds the size of saucers, and veg roasted to perfection.

By the end of the week, we’d grazed our way through every eatery within spitting distance – the Old Well for curry night (lamb bhuna that had us moaning), and a final market splurge for picnic sarnies by the river. Reflecting now, it wasn’t just the food; it was that perfect unwind after foraging and faffing about cooking. If you’re after a base for eating your way through Teesdale, this is it. Proper nourishing holiday.