I’ll never forget the drive down to Herefordshire last month – we’d packed the car with enough crisps and sandwiches to last a siege, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Hereford. It rerouted us down some narrow lane that felt more like a sheep’s personal runway, and wouldn’t you know it, we ended up with a puncture from what I swear was a rogue Black Mountain pebble. A quick roadside faff with the spare wheel (me pretending I knew what I was doing while my mate Dave laughed from the passenger seat) and we were back on track, hearts racing a bit but buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation.

Pulling up to this gorgeous detached converted barn on the slopes of the Cats Back, I was gobsmacked. Tucked away in the Black Mountains on the English side of Bannau Brycheiniog, it’s a proper walkers’ paradise, but honestly, from the off, my mind was on the feast ahead rather than lacing up boots. The open-plan living space hit us like a warm hug – oak floors gleaming, woodburning stove ready to roar, and a kitchen kitted out with all the bits: electric oven, hob, fridge/freezer, kettle, toaster. Hot tub out back for later, ample parking so no scraping the bumper. First impressions? Perfection. We cracked open a bottle of local cider right there, toasting the mishap as a story for the ages.

Food became the heartbeat of the trip, especially with that cracking kitchen begging to be used. First morning, I fancied myself a chef and attempted a full English – rashers from a butcher in nearby Longtown sizzling away, eggs from a farm stall we’d spotted en route. It was a triumph, mostly; the toast didn’t quite crisp up in the toaster, but slathered in marmalade from a Herefordshire market it went down a treat. We wandered to the market in Hereford (just a short hop), piling the boot with artisan cheeses, fresh veg, and jars of chutney that tasted like summer in a pickle. That night, I slow-cooked a shoulder of lamb from the haul, chucking in rosemary from the garden patch – the aromas drifting through the open-plan space had us salivating by the woodburner.

Pubs were the real stars, though. The Dragon Inn down in Walterstone, not five minutes away, served up the best pies I’ve had in ages – steak and ale, flaky pastry crumbling under the fork, washed down with a pint of Wye Valley ale. We staggered back (well, drove very carefully) and slid into the hot tub, toes tingling from the day’s gentle ramble. Another evening, we hit the Pandy Inn for fish and chips that were proper golden beauties, mushy peas on the side, all while chatting with locals about their cider presses. My cooking highlight? A disastrous attempt at Herefordshire fudge brownies – too much chocolate, not enough oven love – but Dave declared them “rustic,” and we scoffed the lot by the stove anyway.

Reflecting on it now, amid the feasting and faffing, I realised I’d needed this break more than I thought. No grand hikes, just good grub, cracking pints, and mates – that’s the magic of a spot like this. If you’re after a Herefordshire getaway where the meals make the memories, you won’t go far wrong. We’re already plotting the next one.