I’ll never forget the drive down to Dunster last month – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway through Somerset, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some winding lanes that had me gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. A classic case of technology versus the British countryside, and we ended up stopping at a roadside farm shop for emergency pasties just to keep the peace. Still, by the time we rolled up to our coach house, that little mishap had built up the anticipation – I was practically salivating at the thought of kicking back with some proper home-cooked grub after weeks of rushed takeaways.

First impressions? Blimey, it was spot on. Tucked between the village and the beach, this beautifully presented coach house felt like our own little Somerset sanctuary. We parked up in the reserved off-road spot at the rear, chucked our bikes in the garage, and dashed inside, kicking off our shoes in the hallway before heading up the stairs to this bright, airy open-plan living area. The views were cracking – rolling hills and a glimpse of the sea – and those two comfy sofas were begging for a collapse. But honestly, from the off, it was all about the food. The kitchen was kitted out just right for faffing about, and with Dunster being one of England’s loveliest medieval villages, we were spoilt for local treats.

Day one, we wandered into the village and hit the farmers’ market – a proper gem, with stalls groaning under fresh Exmoor cheeses, plump strawberries, and artisan breads that smelled like heaven. I grabbed some smoked mackerel, a wedge of tangy cheddar, and a bunch of herbs, dreaming of a feast. Back at the coach house, my cooking attempt was ambitious: a Somerset seafood stew with local crab from the beachside stalls. It started off grand, but I overseasoned the garlic and ended up with something more potent than punchy – we laughed it off with a bottle of crisp West Country white, scraping it down anyway. Lesson learned: less is more when you’re playing MasterChef in a holiday kitchen.

Evenings were for the pubs, and Dunster’s got a cracking selection within easy strolling distance. The first night, we piled into the Luttrell Arms – all cosy nooks and real ales – for platters of local pork pies and Exmoor beef pies that were melt-in-the-mouth brilliant. I went for the fish and chips, battered hake sourced right from Minehead harbour, with mushy peas that hit the spot. The next day, after a gentle mooch along the North Somerset Coastal Path (pausing for beachcombing and pasties from a beach hut), we tried the Ship Inn. Their Sunday roast was legendary: tender lamb with all the trimmings, Yorkshire puds like clouds, and gravy so rich I’m still dreaming about it. We even snuck in some market-bought fudge for pudding.

One rainy afternoon, reflecting on it all while nursing a cuppa and watching the telly, I realised this holiday wasn’t just about scoffing – though we did plenty of that – but about that simple joy of pottering in a kitchen that felt like home, piecing together meals from what the land offers up. My cooking disasters aside, it was pure bliss. If you’re after a spot to eat like a local and relax proper, this corner of Somerset’s hard to beat. We’re already plotting a return for more of those pub roasts.