I’ve just got back from the most brilliant week in a cosy holiday cottage in Northumberland, and honestly, the food stole the show – who knew a remote spot could turn into a gourmet paradise?

Picture this: a stone-built cottage near Alnwick, with a cracking kitchen that begged for some culinary chaos. First morning, I pottered down to the local farm shop in Alnmouth – think wonky baskets of earthy veg, jars of Northumberland honey, and the freshest kippers you’ve ever sniffed. I grabbed some for breakfast, pan-fried them with a bit of butter from a nearby dairy, and served on thick-cut toast slathered in marmalade. Blimey, the smokiness paired with that sharp citrus tang was pure bliss. Sat by the Aga, gazing at the rolling hills, I felt like a proper country chef. Self-reflection moment: usually I’m a takeaways bloke, but there’s something about solitude that makes you want to faff about with fish.

Lunches were all about foraging the markets. Bamburgh’s village shop had these epic pork pies – pastry like a dream, filled with proper herby meat – which I devoured on the beach with a flask of tea. One day, I tried my hand at a picnic Ploughman’s: local cheddar (sharp as a tack), pickled onions from a roadside stall, and a chunk of sourdough from the baker in Craster. Washed it down with a sneaky tinnie from Hadrian’s Wall Brewery. Humour alert: I dropped half the cheese in the sand. Seagulls 1, me 0.

Evenings? Pub crawls, Northumberland style. The Ship Inn in Craster was first up – ordered the seafood platter, piled high with Lindisfarne oysters (slurped with lemon and a cheeky Tabasco kick), crab claws, and mussels in creamy garlic sauce. Washed down with a pint of locally brewed Lindisfarne Ale, which tastes like the sea in a glass. Chatted with fishermen about their catches; turns out that’s where the cottage’s fish came from. Next night, the Wheatsheaf in Alnwick for Sunday roast – massive Yorkshire puds, roast beef pink and juicy, gravy so rich it could renovate your soul. I even attempted a cottage pie back home one night: minced Northumberland beef from the butcher in Rothbury, topped with mash from spuds I bought at Hexham Market. Turned out lumpy, but hearty – lesson learned: don’t multitask with wine.

Markets were my weakness. Hexham’s Saturday one is a riot: stalls groaning under game pies, venison sausages, and fudge that sticks to your teeth. Snagged some for the road. And don’t get me started on the bothy-style suppers – one evening, I slow-cooked a shoulder of local lamb with rosemary from the cottage garden, served with damson chutney from a jarred-up find. Paired with a bottle of something cheeky from the offie.

Reflecting now, amid the feasts, I realised how food grounds you on holiday. No rush, just savouring – from botched bakes to pub perfection. Northumberland fed my belly and my soul; I’m already plotting the next trip. Fancy joining? Bring your stretchy trousers.