I’ll never forget the drive down to Dumfries and Galloway – a proper Scottish road trip with the sat-nav playing up just as we hit the twisty bits near Newton Stewart. We’d loaded the car with enough crisps and sandwiches to fend off a siege, but about 20 minutes from our holiday pod, I took a wrong turn onto some single-track lane that had more sheep than tarmac. Cue a hilarious three-point turn in the drizzle, with my other half laughing so hard she nearly spilled her thermos of tea. Still, by the time we pulled up, the anticipation was buzzing – that first glimpse of the cosy pod nestled in its peaceful spot had us grinning like kids at Christmas.

First impressions? Spot on. It was one of those quirky, compact pods – think Scandi-style snugness with a modern vibe, perfect for two of us to hole up and pretend we’re proper chefs. No grand mansion, just enough space for a well-equipped kitchenette that whispered promises of home-cooked feasts without the faff of a full house.

Right, the food – that’s where this trip truly shone. We kicked off with a rummage through Newton Stewart’s high street market on arrival day. It’s a gem, that place, with stalls groaning under fresh veg, local cheeses, and the fattest sausages you’ve ever seen. I grabbed some smoked haddock, tatties, and a wedge of crowdie cheese, dreaming of a hearty Cullen skink. Back at the pod, my cooking attempt was... enthusiastic. I boiled the haddock with onions and milk, mashed in the potatoes, but somehow ended up with a soup that was more sludge than silk. We laughed it off with a cheeky dram from the local whisky bottle we’d packed – lesson learned: less faffing, more following the recipe next time.

Evenings were for the pubs, and oh boy, did we hit the jackpot within a stroll. The Bladnoch Inn down the road served up the best battered haddock and chips I’ve had in ages – golden, flaky, with mushy peas that were pure comfort. We washed it down with a pint of Tennent’s, chatting with locals about their fishing tales. Another night, we ambled to the Crown Hotel for venison stew that melted in your mouth, rich with gamey goodness and served with crusty bread. I tried my hand at replicating it back at the pod using market venison – onions, carrots, a splash of ale – but mine was a tad chewy. Self-reflection moment: I’m more taster than masterchef, but there’s joy in the messing about, isn’t there? Makes you appreciate the pros even more.

We kept it local with a visit to the Cree Valley farm shop for bacon, eggs, and those incredible homemade sconies with clotted cream. Breakfasts became a ritual: frying up rashers while the kettle screamed, then scoffing them on the pod’s little deck with views over the fields. One afternoon, we even managed a picnic of smoked salmon and oatcakes from the market, paired with a flask of soup I’d actually nailed this time.

By the end of the week, we’d eaten like kings without straying far – markets fuelling our pod experiments, pubs providing the pro finishes. Dumfries and Galloway’s food scene snuck up on us, simple and satisfying. If you’re after a holiday where the eating drives the memories, this is your spot. We’re already plotting a return for more mishaps and masterpieces.