I’ll never forget the drive down to North Devon – we’d piled into the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes near Braunton. The kids were chanting “are we there yet?” while I wrestled with a rogue pasty that exploded mustard all over my lap. Classic me, turning a three-hour journey into a comedy of errors. But as we crested the hill and spotted the coastline glinting in the distance, all that faded. I could already taste the sea salt and fish suppers ahead.

Pulling up to this stunning holiday home – a proper seven-bedroom beauty on a spacious plot hugging North Devon’s golden shores – my heart did a little flip. It’s the sort of place made for big family get-togethers, with everyone having their own en-suite haven to crash after a day of feasting. Just a stone’s throw from Braunton village and a quick three-mile hop to Saunton Sands, it felt like we’d struck gold. First impressions? Blown away. The garden begged for barbecues, and the kitchen was a dream – massive range cooker, all the gadgets, ready for my grand cooking experiments.

Food became our religion that week. Braunton’s a buzzing little hub, and we dived straight into its indie shops and markets first thing. The weekly farmers’ market was a revelation – stalls groaning under fresh Devon crab, artisan cheeses that could make you weep, and piles of vibrant veg that screamed “make pasties!” I grabbed armfuls of local spuds, smoked mackerel, and clotted cream, dreaming of turning it all into a slap-up feast. Back at the house, my attempt at a Devonshire cream tea went hilariously wrong – scones more like hockey pucks – but slathered in that cream and strawberry jam from the village deli, no one cared. We laughed till our sides hurt, me reflecting on how I’m forever the optimistic disaster in the kitchen, but it’s those flops that make the best memories.

Evenings were pub perfection. The Williams Arms in Braunton, just down the road, served up the juiciest steaks with chips so crispy they crackled. We went twice – once for their Sunday roast, where the Yorkshire puds were bigger than my head, and pints of proper ale flowing like old times with mates. Another night, we hit the Village Inn for fish and chips wrapped in paper, eaten al fresco on the beach at Saunton as the sun dipped. Cooking at home ramped up too: a seafood paella using crab from the market, mussels steamed with cider from a local microbrewery we stumbled on. One disaster was my “gourmet” pasty attempt – pastry like cardboard – but the kids devoured it anyway, declaring it “better than shop-bought.”

For breakfasts, we raided Braunton’s cafes like Corelli’s, where their bacon butties are legendary, or whipped up full English fry-ups with eggs from the farm shop. Self-reflection hit me one morning over coffee: holidays like this remind me to slow down, savour the simple joy of sharing meals with loved ones, away from the daily grind. We even squeezed in a surf lesson at Croyde Bay, fuelling up on beachside pasties from the Olde Cider Bar beforehand – salty, flaky perfection.

By week’s end, bellies full and hearts fuller, we’d eaten our way through North Devon’s best. If you’re rounding up the clan for a food-focused escape, this spot’s unbeatable. I’m already plotting the next trip – with fewer kitchen catastrophes, hopefully!