I’ll never forget the drive down to South Devon – sat nav had us twisting through those narrow lanes near Totnes, and wouldn’t you know it, we had a proper comedy moment when the car decided to throw a wobbly over a rogue pothole. Bags flew everywhere, crisps scattered like confetti, and my other half yelled, “Watch the pasties!” We were starving after the M5 crawl, dreaming of proper cream teas. But as we crested the hill into rural Broadhempston, hearts lifted – there it was, this charming cottage nestled in a cluster of four pretty ones, all luxurious inside with plush sofas and a kitchen that screamed “cook up a storm”. First impressions? Bliss. Sun streaming through the windows, countryside views that made you breathe deeper. I was buzzing already, picturing lazy mornings with brekkie on the go.

We’d planned this family getaway to unwind, but let’s be honest, it turned into a full-on food fest. That first evening, no faffing about – straight to the local pub in Broadhempston, just a hop away. The Barking Dogs is a gem: proper Devon vibes with low ceilings and a roaring fire. We demolished plates of fish and chips, golden batter crisp as you like, mushy peas on the side, and a pint of Otter Ale that slid down like silk. The kids went mad for the sticky toffee pudding, me? I nursed a scrumpy, reflecting on how I’ve spent too many holidays rushing about. This was my cue to slow down, savour the simple stuff.

Next day, markets called. Totnes is minutes away, and their Saturday market is legendary – stalls heaving with artisan cheeses, local honey, and fresh veg that still had the dew on. I grabbed Dartmoor smoked cheddar (smoky heaven) and plump tomatoes for a mega fry-up back at the cottage. Our kitchen was a dream: massive fridge, all the gadgets. I fancied myself as Jamie Oliver, rustling up a pasty attempt with steak from the butcher’s stall and clotted cream fudge for afters. Disaster? Mildly – pastry a bit wonky, but slathered in butter and shared with laughs, it tasted like victory. The luxury facilities made it easy: hob that heated in seconds, comfy stools for grazing.

Evenings were pub crawls on foot – well, short drives, really. The Broadhempston Inn does cracking Sunday roasts: crackling that crackles, Yorkshire puds like clouds, gravy you could swim in. We’d waddle back, bellies full, collapsing on the cottage sofas with local cider. One night, I tried a seafood linguine in the cottage, using prawns from Torquay’s harbour market (so close, we nipped over). Garlicky, lemony perfection – though I burned the garlic first time. Self-reflection hit then: I’m a rubbish chef at home, stressed in my tiny flat kitchen, but here? It was joyful, no pressure, just feeding the clan with Devon’s bounty.

Markets midweek in Totnes yielded pasties from the proper bakers – spicy lamb ones that put mine to shame – and we picnicked in the cottage garden, cheeseboard groaning. Pub grub kept us going: pies at the local, all flaky pastry and tender filling. By week’s end, we’d ballooned happily, but those meals bonded us more than any hike could. If you’re after ultra-relaxing eats in South Devon’s heart, this spot’s your ticket – drag yourself away only for more scran. Pure magic.