I’ll never forget the drive down to our holiday cottage near Higher Clovelly – satnav had us twisting through those narrow Devon lanes like we were in a rally, only for me to miss the turning and end up nose-to-nose with a tractor. Heart in mouth, I reversed into a hedge (sorry, farmer!), but we laughed it off and arrived just as the sun dipped low, casting that golden glow over the countryside. From the moment we pulled up, it felt like stepping into a proper rural idyll – this cosy four-bed cottage, all welcoming and snug, nestled peacefully between Clovelly’s donkey-hauled charm and buzzy Woolsery. The anticipation built as we unpacked; I could already smell adventure (and chips) in the air.

First impressions? Spot on. The place was perfect for us lot – space for the family, a cracking kitchen that begged for culinary experiments, and that prime spot for nipping out to gorge on local grub. Woolsery’s turned into a right foodie gem, and we wasted no time heading to their beautifully restored pub, just a mile or so down the lane. Pint of Proper Job in hand, we tucked into pie and mash that was proper homemade – flaky pastry, rich gravy, the works. “This beats our usual takeaways,” I grinned to the missus, though I nearly choked on a chip when the kids declared it better than Nan’s Sunday roast.

Next morning, we hit the local milk kiosk – fresh milk straight from the farm, still warm. I fancied myself a chef, so back at the cottage, I attempted a full English with local sausages from the village shop. Disaster struck: overcooked bacon and lumpy eggs. “Dad’s fry-up experiment,” the teens dubbed it, complete with giggles. Gentle reality check there – I’m no MasterChef, but it was fun faffing about in that big kitchen, windows open to the birdsong. We salvaged it with doorstep toast slathered in clotted cream from a nearby dairy.

Lunch was fish and chips from Woolsery’s chippy – crispy batter, fat chips, mushy peas that hit the spot after a gentle stroll along the lanes. Evenings became a ritual: pub grub again, like their specials board with Devon crab or lamb shank, washed down with Exmoor Ale. One night, we tried cooking a pasty from scratch using veg from a farm stall – mine leaked like a sieve, but paired with that fresh milk rice pudding? Bliss. The kids loved the adventure park nearby for a quick wakeboard splash, but we always dashed back for tea.

It was all about those simple, hearty meals that make Devon magic – no fancy restaurants, just proper foodie haunts within easy reach. Made me reflect on how we rush through life back home; here, savouring a pint and a ploughman’s felt like luxury. If you’re after tranquillity laced with top-notch nosh, this corner of North Devon’s your spot. We’re already plotting a return for more chippy runs and my next (hopefully improved) kitchen capers.