I’ll never forget the drive down to Carbis Bay – sat nav had me convinced I’d make it in four hours flat from Bristol, but no, a cheeky diversion around some roadworks on the A30 turned it into a five-hour crawl. By the time I pulled up, I was starving and dreaming of pasties, but the moment I stepped into that first-floor apartment with its massive bay window overlooking the beach, all was forgiven. The view hit me like a wave – Carbis Bay stretching out to St Ives, with Godrevy Lighthouse winking in the distance. I half-expected dolphins to pop up right on cue, though they played hard to get the whole week.

We’d stocked up on the essentials at the little Pendeen Watch deli just down the road before unpacking – fresh bread, local cheeses, and a slab of clotted cream that was calling my name. First night, I fancied myself a proper chef, rustling up a Cornish seafood linguine with prawns and mussels from the St Ives fish market we’d nipped to earlier. The open-plan kitchen made it dead easy, with everything to hand while you gaze out at the sea. It wasn’t MasterChef standard – a bit of overcooked pasta, if I’m honest – but washed down with a crisp Cornish lager on the window seat, it felt like five-star dining.

Next morning, we wandered over to Carbis Bay beach for a proper fry-up at the Hidden Hut café. Bacon, eggs, sausages from local farms – proper greasy spoon heaven, with sand between your toes and gulls eyeing your plate. I scoffed mine so fast I nearly inhaled a chip. Laughing about it later, I realised holidays like this are my reset button; back home, I’m lucky if breakfast is a rushed Weetabix, but here, every meal’s an event.

Afternoons were for pub-hopping. The Carbis Bay Hotel’s beach bar became our local – chilled pints of Tribute ale, watching surfers while munching crab sandwiches made with meat straight off the boats. One evening, we pushed the boat out at The Hub in St Ives, just a short stroll away. Their platters of smoked mackerel, pilchards, and saffron cake were spot on, all sourced from within a stone’s throw. I tried recreating the mackerel at the flat next day – grilled with lemon and herbs from the nearby market – but mine tasted more like an enthusiastic bonfire. Still, the views made up for it, sipping wine on the sofa as the sun dipped behind the lighthouse.

Markets were the real stars, though. St Ives’ Thursday one had us loading up on saffron buns, fudge, and veg so fresh it practically jumped into the pan. Evenings ended with lazy suppers: one night, a veggie pasty feast from Philps, another a homemade chowder using smoked haddock from the harbour. We’d flop on the sofas, telly on low, full and fizzed out.

By the end of the week, I’d piled on a few pounds, but who cares? It was bliss – proper foodie heaven with the sea as your backdrop. If you’re after a holiday where every meal’s a highlight, this corner of Cornwall’s got it in spades. Can’t wait to go back.