I’ll never forget the drive down to Salcombe – we’d packed the car to the brim with cool bags stuffed with fresh veg from the local market and a bottle of prosecco that was meant to survive the journey. But about halfway through Dartmoor, disaster struck: the prosecco decided to pop its cork all on its own, fizzing everywhere like a naughty firework. Cue me swearing under my breath (well, quietly, with kids in the back) while the other half mopped up with tea towels. Still, by the time we crested the hill above North Sands, all that was forgotten. There it was – this gorgeous holiday spot sitting high with the most epic sea views, sun-soaked terraces begging for a GandT, loads of space for the family, and our spaniel went mental with joy, tail wagging like a windscreen wiper.

First impressions? Pure magic. We arrived buzzing with that holiday anticipation – you know, imagining lazy lunches and no washing-up – and it delivered straight away. The place felt like a proper retreat, welcoming us with open arms (and a dog bed for our four-legged mate). We dumped the bags and cracked open some crisps on the terrace, staring out at the sparkling estuary. But let’s be honest, the real star of our week was the food. Salcombe’s got this brilliant vibe for eating, all fresh seafood and proper pub grub, and staying somewhere with a big kitchen meant we could mix it up between posh nosh out and our own dodgy cooking attempts.

Day one, we wandered down to North Sands beach – it’s just a short stroll – and hit up the beach café for fish and chips wrapped in paper, still hot and crispy with mushy peas on the side. Heaven. The kids devoured theirs, sand and all, while we adults savoured the vinegar tang and that sea-breeze freshness. Later, we pottered into Salcombe’s little market on the quay, picking up plump local tomatoes, crusty bread, and the freshest mackerel you’ve ever seen. Back at the house, I fancied myself as a chef and tried grilling the mackerel on the barbecue. Disaster two of the trip – it stuck like glue, and we ended up with slightly charred fish that tasted more of smoke than sea. Laughing our heads off, we drowned it in lemon and salad, and it wasn’t half bad. Self-reflection moment: I’m no Jamie Oliver, but there’s something dead satisfying about faffing in a holiday kitchen with a view.

Evenings were pub time. The Winking Prawn down by South Sands is a gem – we walked there one balmy night, bellies rumbling. Proper Salcombe fare: crab salads piled high with mayo and chunks of white meat, washed down with a chilled white from the Devon vineyards. Another night, the Hope and Anchor in the centre did us a cracking seafood platter – prawns, scallops, the lot – and a pint of Otter Ale that slipped down a treat. We even managed a family curry night using spices from the market, though my naan breads came out more like frisbees. The terrace became our dining room, fairy lights twinkling as we tucked into barbecued bream bought straight off a fisherman's boat.

By the end of the week, we’d eaten our way through Salcombe’s best – from cream teas at the cafés to pasties grabbed on walks around the headland. It was all about those simple, delicious moments: sharing platters, toasting with local gin, and yes, even my cooking fails that brought us closer. If you’re after a holiday where the food leads the fun, this is it. We’re already plotting a return for more of the same.