I finally made it to York after a bit of a faff on the journey down from Leeds. I'd booked the train, thinking it'd be a doddle, but some signal failure meant we sat in a siding for half an hour, staring at nothing but sheep and my own growing hunger pangs. By the time I pulled into the station, I was starving and just desperate to get to the holiday house. The taxi ride through those narrow streets built up the anticipation – York always feels like stepping into a chocolate box, doesn't it? And when we arrived, blimey, first impressions were spot on: this stylish terraced house with its private hot tub out back looked perfect, cosy and modern without being fussy.

We dumped the bags and headed straight out for a nose around – no point wasting daylight on unpacking when there's food to be had. First stop was the Shambles, that wonky old street packed with butchers and eateries. I grabbed a pork pie from one of the stalls, flaky pastry and proper meaty filling, washed down with a flat white from a little indie café. It hit the spot after the train debacle. Back at the house that evening, I fancied playing chef. The kitchen was brilliant, all sleek with everything you need, so I nipped to Bootham Market for fresh ingredients – local eggs, chorizo, and some ripe tomatoes. My attempt at a Spanish-style frittata turned into a bit of a scramble (pun intended), but it tasted grand with a cold beer from the fridge. Sat in the hot tub afterwards, bubbling away under the stars, I had a proper moment of self-reflection: when did I last just switch off like this, no emails, no rush? Felt dead luxurious.

Next morning, we wandered to York's Provisions on Lendal for brekkie – their avocado on sourdough with poached eggs was lush, and the coffee kept us going for a mooch around. Lunch was at The Star Inn The City, a cracking pub just a short stroll away. I went for the fish and chips, proper haddock in crispy batter with mushy peas that were spot-on. The ale selection was tempting too – opted for a pint of Black Sheep, smooth as anything. Evenings were all about experimenting in the kitchen again. One night I tried making Yorkshire puddings from scratch using flour from the market, battering up some local sausages for toad-in-the-hole. They rose a treat, surprisingly, and we devoured it with gravy while planning the next day's eats.

Couldn't resist the food markets either – Parliament Street market had stalls groaning with cheeses, pies, and fresh bread. Snagged some Stinking Bishop and crusty loaf for a cheeky picnic in the Dean's Park, though half got eaten before we even sat down. Another highlight was popping into The House of Trembling Madness, that quirky pub with its wonky floors and massive beer range. Their ploughman's was hearty – cheddar, pickle, ham – perfect fuel for more wandering. One daft cooking fail was my go at sticky toffee pudding; it stuck to everything but came out tasting alright with custard from the corner shop.

All in all, it was a proper feast of a holiday, centred on York's brilliant grub scene and that ace house kitchen. Left feeling stuffed, content, and already plotting the next trip.