I’ll never forget the drive down to St Ives – or rather, the near-disaster on the A30. We’d set off from Devon full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav chirping away, when a cheeky diversion sign popped up out of nowhere. Next thing, we’re crawling through some back lane with hedges scraping the wing mirrors, me white-knuckling the wheel while my other half helpfully points out every pothole. “Keep calm and carry on,” she quips, but by the time we rolled into Carbis Bay, we were ready for a stiff drink. Still, as we crested the hill and caught our first glimpse of the sea sparkling below, all was forgiven. What a spot.

Pulling up to our holiday home in the Compass Point development felt like stumbling into a proper treat. Tucked right above the bay with its own shared sea-facing terrace – blimey, the views from there alone were worth the faff. It’s one of those spacious, superbly finished places that makes you feel posh without trying, the perfect elegant base for Porthkidney Sands beach just down the steps and St Ives a quick hop away.

But let’s be honest, the real star of the show was the food. We arrived buzzing with anticipation, straight into the kitchen to unpack the Waitrose haul we’d grabbed en route – pasties, clotted cream, and a slab of local cheddar that could’ve doubled as a doorstop. First night, I fancied myself a chef and attempted a Cornish seafood linguine with prawns from the St Ives fish market. Big mistake. The garlic went rogue, and it ended up tasting like a vampire’s worst nightmare. We laughed it off with a bottle of crisp Cornish white from the offy, picking at it on the terrace as the sun dipped into the bay. Lesson learned: stick to takeaways next time.

Next morning, we wandered into St Ives for the proper local experience. The hubbub around the harbour was brilliant – stalls heaving with fresh crab, lobster, and those fat juicy scallops. We snaffled a couple of crab sandwiches from the Porthmeor Beach Kiosk, eaten on the sand with sand blowing everywhere. Pure bliss, if a bit gritty. Lunch turned into a pub crawl at The Sloop, that cosy harbourside gem where the fish and chips are legendary. Crispy batter, proper mushy peas, and a pint of Tribute to wash it down – I could’ve stayed there all day.

Evenings were for experimenting back at the house. One night, we fired up the barbecue on the terrace (weather holding out, miracle), grilling mackerel we’d bought from a fisher right off the boat. Paired with new potatoes and samphire foraged from the beach path – well, bought from the market, but it felt foraged. Another go at cooking led to my infamous “deconstructed pasty” (translation: exploded in the oven), which we salvaged with heaps of pickle and a cheeky GandT.

Reflecting on it now, sat here back home with a cuppa, that week was a gentle nudge that holidays aren’t about perfection. Sure, my culinary disasters had us in stitches, but it was the simple joy of fresh Cornish grub, shared with the sea breeze and good company, that made it unforgettable. If you’re after a foodie escape in St Ives, hunt down a spot like ours – you won’t regret it.