I’ll never forget the drive down to Dumfries and Galloway – sat nav leading us faithfully until it decided to have a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. We ended up in a field for a tense five minutes, laughing it off with a quick thermos of tea from the boot, before finally spotting the twinkling lights of Carsethorn. The anticipation built as we neared the village, imagining cosy evenings ahead after that little adventure.

Pulling up to our ground-floor retreat in a terrace of old fishermen’s houses, I was gobsmacked by the terrace view – it stretched right across the Nith Estuary to the Solway Firth, with the Lake District hazy in the distance. Proper jaw-dropper, that. And it was just a stroll to Carsethorn Beach, plus Arbigland House’s gardens were practically on the doorstep. But let’s be honest, the real star of our stay was the food – or should I say, our valiant attempts at wrangling it.

First morning, we wandered down to the beach for a bracing walk, stomachs rumbling, then hit the local shop in Carsethorn for supplies. Fresh eggs from nearby farms, crusty bread, and some smoked haddock that smelled like heaven. Back at the cottage, I fancied myself a chef, poaching the haddock with a bit of cream and leeks scavenged from the veg drawer. It turned out alright – creamy, flaky, with a hint of sea salt – though I did burn the toast. Hubby joked it was “gourmet charcoal,” but we scoffed it anyway, sipping tea on that epic terrace as gulls wheeled overhead.

Evenings were for pubs, naturally. The nearest gem was a short drive to the Ship Inn in Kirkcudbright – no more than a few miles, thank goodness after our arrival fiasco. Proper local spot with wooden tables sticky from years of good times, and we plumped for the seafood platter: mussels steamed in white wine, plump prawns, and battered cod that melted in your mouth. Paired with a pint of something crisp and local, it was bliss. I reflected there over my second pint, staring out at the estuary lights – when did I last slow down enough to savour a meal like this without scrolling my phone? Felt like a proper reset.

Next day, we timed it for the farmers’ market in nearby Dalbeattie – stalls groaning under Dumfries and Galloway’s finest: artisan cheeses that could make a mouse weep, venison sausages, and jars of spicy chutney. Loaded up, I tried my hand at a venison stew back home, slow-cooked with root veg and a splash of red from the offy. It was a triumph this time – tender meat falling apart, rich gravy that filled the cottage with warmth. We ate it greedily by the window, watching the firth at dusk.

One rainy afternoon, we braved the Steadings Inn just up the road for lunch – their haggis bonbons were a revelation, crispy outside with neeps and tatties mash that transported me straight to Burns Night. Washed down with Irn-Bru, because why not? Our stay was a feast of simple joys: botched breakfasts turning legendary, pub crawls that weren’t crawls at all, and market hauls that made the kitchen our playground. If you’re after a holiday where the eating’s as good as the views, this corner of Scotland’s got you sorted. We’re already plotting a return for more.