I’ll never forget the drive up to the Lake District – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Kendal, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a single-track lane that was more puddle than path. We ended up with mud halfway up the tyres of our little hatchback, me swearing under my breath while my other half laughed and called it “proper Lakeland welcome.” But honestly, as we finally pulled up to this cracking little cottage near Coniston, all that faded away. Nestled in stunning surroundings with luxury touches everywhere, it was all on one level – perfect for us lazy lot – boasting a massive four-poster king bed, a swish bathroom with a rain shower that could drown a sheep, and a big open-plan living space with a woodburner that promised cosy nights. Step outside onto the huge patio with fell views, and there’s your own private hot tub bubbling away. First impressions? Bloody brilliant. I was already plotting which local grub to scoff first.

We’d packed light on clothes but heavy on enthusiasm for the food scene – this is the Lakes, after all, where the pubs do proper pies and the farm shops tempt you with cheeses that could make you weep. First evening, after a quick splash in the hot tub to wash off the road stress (pure bliss, that), we cracked open some Cumbrian ale we’d nabbed from a garage en route and got stuck into cooking. I fancied myself as a chef, right? Chopped up some lamb from the Coniston farm shop – proper fell-bred stuff, tender as you like – and tried a shepherd’s pie in the cottage’s slick kitchen. Disaster. Burnt the top to a crisp while faffing with the woodburner. We salvaged it with heaps of gravy from a jar (don’t judge) and devoured it on the patio as the sun dipped behind the fells. Laughed our heads off at my culinary fail, clinking glasses and toasting to better efforts tomorrow.

Next day, we hit the Coniston village shop for supplies – artisan bread, local venison sausages, and a wedge of that creamy Blue Winiburgh cheese that’s made just down the road. Breakfast was a fry-up dream: black pudding from the butcher’s, eggs from nearby hens, and bacon so smoky it curled my toes. Fuelled up, we wandered to the Black Bull in Coniston for lunch – couldn’t resist their sticky toffee pudding, which is basically a hug in dessert form. Pub grub here is next level; we had Cumbrian hotpot, rich with Herdwick lamb and proper suet pastry, washed down with a pint of Loweswater Gold. Back at the cottage, I redeemed myself with a seafood chowder using smoked haddock from the market stall – creamy, chunky, and served by the hot tub with crusty rolls. Heaven.

One night, we ambled to the Sun Hotel in Coniston for a posher dinner – pan-fried trout from Windermere, fresh as the lake itself, and a bottle of red that hit the spot. But the real joy was our own little feasts: picking up pies from the village bakery (the venison one’s a killer), experimenting with sticky ginger parkin from the farm shop, and even attempting a crumble with brambles we foraged nearby. Not all went to plan – my Yorkshire puds deflated like sad balloons – but that’s the charm, innit? Sat there reflecting as the woodburner crackled, feet up, belly full, thinking how these simple meals in such a lush spot made the whole trip. No fancy restaurants needed; just good local nosh, a bit of banter, and this gem of a cottage. If you’re after a foodie escape with fells on the side, get yourself here. We’re already plotting a return for the sausage roll festival.