I’ll never forget the drive down to Ballylickey – we’d set off from Dublin full of beans, munching on motorway sandwiches, only for the sat-nav to chuck a wobbly just past Bantry. It rerouted us down a narrow lane that felt more like a sheep track, with hedges brushing the car mirrors. I was convinced we’d end up in someone’s front garden, but after a few tense minutes and a bit of reversing (my other half’s specialty), we spotted the cottage nestled quietly near the water’s edge. Heart racing a tad, but oh, what a first impression – it looked like the perfect hideaway, all cosy and inviting under that soft Cork sky. I could already picture lazy evenings with a pint in hand.

Pulling onto the private driveway was a relief, and stepping inside, we were hit with this brilliant spacious kitchen-diner that screamed “cook up a storm”. Fully kitted out with everything you’d need, it had a big table begging for family feasts. There was even a utility room with a washer and dryer – godsend after a day’s traipsing. The sitting room with its Smart TV was spot on for collapsing into later, but honestly, food was the star of our stay.

First morning, we pottered into Ballylickey House for breakfast – their smoked salmon and scrambled eggs on soda bread were pure heaven, washed down with strong tea overlooking Bantry Bay. It set the tone: this trip was all about eating our way through West Cork. Back at the cottage, I fancied myself a chef, attempting a seafood chowder with fresh prawns and haddock from the Bantry market. The market’s a gem on Fridays, stalls groaning under local cheeses, crab claws, and the creamiest yoghurts you’ve ever tasted. Mine turned out a bit lumpy – more potato soup than chowder, truth be told – but we laughed it off over glasses of Murphy’s stout, scraping the pot clean anyway.

Evenings meant pub-hopping within easy reach. The Herons Cove in Ballylickey does mussels in garlic butter that’ll make you weak at the knees, paired with a crisp pint of Beamish. We stumbled there after a rainy wander, dripping but delighted, and the warmth of the place (and the fire) sorted us out. One night, I tried my hand at soda bread using a recipe scribbled from a local – flour everywhere, but it puffed up nicely, slathered in butter and served with cheese from the market’s Ardrahan stall. My lot demolished it, though I caught myself thinking, “Blimey, when did I last bake at home? This holiday’s got me slowing down, enjoying the simple stuff.”

Another highlight was lunch at Blairscove, just up the road – their seafood platters are legendary, oysters straight from the bay, all fresh and briny. We waddled back for a siesta, then fired up the kitchen for a roast chicken dinner, stuffing it with herbs from a nearby farm shop. Pub grub at the Tankard in Bantry rounded off a couple of nights – hearty beef and Guinness pies that hit the spot after a day’s market browsing.

Looking back, it was those meals, mishaps in the kitchen, and cracking pub chats that made it. I came home a stone heavier and a whole lot happier, vowing to recreate that chowder. West Cork’s got me hooked – next time, I’m mastering the bread.