I’ll never forget the drive down to Salcombe – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Exeter, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a scenic detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “Are we lost?” the kids piped up from the back, but honestly, that little mishap only ramped up the excitement. By the time we crested the hill and spotted the sea glittering below, all was forgiven. Pulling up to our family-friendly coastal retreat in the heart of Salcombe – a proper gem with its shimmering swimming pool and the buzz of this seaside town right on the doorstep – I was buzzing. First impressions? Spot on. It felt like stepping into someone’s lovely holiday home, all welcoming and primed for lazy days.

We’d stocked up on the essentials at the local market on North Sands before unpacking – Salcombe’s got these brilliant little stalls groaning with fresh Devon produce. Think plump strawberries from nearby farms, crusty sourdough, and wheels of local cheddar that could make you weep. Our first evening, I fancied myself a proper chef and attempted a seafood linguine using prawns and mussels we’d nabbed from the fishmonger down by the harbour. Disaster? Nearly. I overcooked the pasta into a gloopy mess, but sloshing in some cream and a handful of parsley saved the day. We devoured it on the terrace as the sun dipped, laughing about my culinary ambitions. “Mum, it’s like restaurant food… if the restaurant was run by pirates,” my youngest quipped. Cheeky monkey.

Next morning, we wandered to the Salcombe Dairy for their legendary ice creams – salted caramel for me, every time – then hit the Winking Prawn down on the beach. Proper pub vibes with outdoor tables overlooking the water, and their fish and chips? Divine. Crispy batter, fat chips, and mushy peas that hit the spot after a splash in the pool. We spent the afternoon pottering around the town’s eateries, grabbing pasties from the bakery on Fore Street that were still warm and stuffed with proper Devonian steak. I tried my hand at a barbecue lunch back at the retreat, firing up the grill with sausages from the local butcher and a pile of fresh salads. Turned out alright, though I did char a few bangers – gentle reminder to myself that I’m better at eating than cooking under pressure.

Evenings were for the pubs. The Fortescue on Island Street became our haunt – cosy corners, cracking pints of local Otter Ale, and platters of crab claws that tasted straight from the sea. One night, we shared a massive seafood chowder there, thick with smoked haddock and chunks of potato, followed by sticky toffee pudding that had us all scraping the bowl. I caught myself midway through, spoon paused, thinking how these simple meals with the family, amid the salt air and laughter, were the real magic. No fancy holidays needed.

By the end of the week, we’d grazed our way through every market stall and pub within spitting distance, bellies full and hearts content. Salcombe’s food scene is pure joy – unpretentious, fresh, and utterly addictive. Can’t wait to go back for more.