I’ll never forget the drive up to Anstruther – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway through Fife, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us down a winding single-track road that felt like it was leading to Narnia. Turns out it was just a cheeky shortcut past some farmland, but by the time we emerged, sweaty and arguing over whose fault it was, I was buzzing with that proper holiday anticipation. Would the place live up to the photos? Would the weather hold? As we pulled up, though, my worries melted away – first impressions were spot on, this contemporary apartment tucked into a historic spot screamed cosy home-from-home, all light and airy with a spacious sitting room that just invited you to flop down.

We dumped the bags and headed straight for the dining kitchen, which was kitted out like a dream for keen amateurs like us. I fancied myself a bit of a chef on holiday, so first job was stocking up. A quick wander down to Anstruther’s high street – it’s only a stone’s throw – and we hit the local fishmonger. Fresh haddock straight off the boats, glistening and begging to be battered. Back at the flat, I rolled up my sleeves for a go at proper fish suppers. The hob was brilliant, wide and responsive, but let’s just say my batter was more lumpy than crispy. Still, sat round the elegant dining table with vinegar dripping and laughs flowing, it tasted like the best meal ever. My other half polished off two portions and declared me a genius – polite fibbing, that.

Next morning, we ambled to the harbour for breakfast at one of those no-nonsense cafés where the tea’s strong and the kippers are smoked that day. Smoky, flaky perfection with a doorstep of buttered toast – proper fuel for poking about the town. Lunch was a picnic cobbled from the weekend market just up the road in Pittenweem; we grabbed crusty loaves, local cheeses that were sharp as a tack, and jars of chutney that added a real zing. Spread out on the beach (okay, it was a bit breezy), it felt dead luxurious, even if the seagulls eyed us up like we were the main course.

Evenings were pub time, naturally. The Dreel Tavern round the corner does a cracking steak pie with mash that sticks to your ribs, washed down with a pint of something local and frothy. We tried the chip shop too – Anstruther Fish Bar’s won awards for a reason, their haddock in crunchy batter is legendary, but doing it ourselves that first night gave it that personal touch. One night, I even attempted Cullen skink in the kitchen, cream swirling with smoked haddock and potatoes – turned out lush, if a tad salty. Sat in the sitting room afterwards, full and fuzzy-headed, I had a proper moment reflecting: holidays like this remind you how daft it is rushing through life back home. No deadlines, just good food and better company.

We wrapped up with a final feast of seafood platters from the harbour – langoustines so sweet they didn’t need sauce – and a last pub crawl to the Ship Inn for their mussels in garlic. Fife’s food scene is a hidden gem, dead unpretentious but bursting with flavour. If you’re after a break where the eating’s as good as the relaxing, this corner’s got it in spades. Can’t wait to go back.