I’ll never forget the drive down to Porthleven – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in Bristol, kids buzzing with excitement, me navigating via a dodgy phone signal. About halfway, just past St Austell, I took a wrong turn onto some narrow B-road that had us crawling behind a tractor for what felt like hours. Cue much eye-rolling from the wife and a hastily grabbed pasty from a roadside van to keep the peace. But as we finally crested the hill into Porthleven, the sun dipping low over Mount’s Bay, all was forgiven. That first glimpse of the sea, with St Michael’s Mount poking up like a fairy-tale castle, had us grinning like idiots.

Our homestay in Marazion was just a short hop up the coast – a stylish, spacious spot perfect for our family crew, with massive views straight out to the Mount and the ocean sparkling beyond. It screamed coastal getaway, blending that modern comfy vibe with Cornwall’s iconic shoreline charm, and only a quick stroll to the beach. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local Rattler cider on the balcony, toasting our arrival. First impressions? Spot on – it felt like home, but with better scenery.

Food was the star of the show from the off, as you’d expect down here. That first evening, we wandered into Porthleven’s village centre, all harbour lights twinkling, and hit the Ship Inn for fish and chips. Crispy batter, fat chips, mushy peas on the side – proper job, washed down with a pint of ale from the Porthleven Brewery just up the road. The kids demolished theirs while we adults snuck extra tartare sauce, laughing about my tractor fiasco.

Next morning, I fancied playing masterchef in the homestay’s cracking kitchen – big enough for all of us to muck about without tripping over each other. Nipped to the weekly market in Porthleven, where stalls groaned under fresh crab, plump scallops, and veg straight from nearby farms. Bargained for some mackerel (felt very Cornish) and a bundle of herbs, then attempted a seaside barbecue on the balcony. Disaster struck when the wind whipped up and nearly sent the fish flying into the bay – gentle self-reflection moment: stick to takeaways next time, mate. But the wife salvaged it with a lemon-drizzle traybake she whipped up from market lemons, and we devoured it all with those epic views.

Evenings blurred into pub crawls and feasts. The Cove down by the harbour did the best seafood platters – prawns, lobster tails, and samphire foraged locally, I reckon. One night, we tried cooking a full Cornish surf-and-turf: pasties from the bakery (filled with proper steak and swede) paired with garlic butter prawns. Messy, but brilliant – the kids rated it 10/10, which is high praise. Popped into the Fisherman’s Arms for post-dinner pints, swapping stories with locals about the best clotted cream spots.

By the end of the week, stuffed to the gills and a stone heavier, we’d nailed the art of Porthleven feasting. That homestay wasn’t just a base; it was our launchpad for the tastiest holiday ever. If you’re after sea views and serious scran, get yourself down there.