I’ll never forget the drive up to Oban – we’d left Glasgow full of beans, sandwiches packed and the sat-nav promising a breezy two hours. But no, halfway there, I took a wrong turn onto some winding single-track road through the hills, and we ended up in a proper standoff with a flock of sheep that looked at us like we were the intruders. Twenty minutes of gentle reversing later, hearts pounding a bit, we finally spotted the signs for Oban, and that first glimpse of the bay with the ferries bobbing about had us grinning like idiots. Anticipation kicked in hard – we were dying for a proper holiday feast after that faff.

Pulling up to the property, just 10 miles out from Oban town, it was love at first sight: a cosy house with that welcoming, lived-in style, perfect for a family like ours. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the terrace, watching the sun dip over the water. But let’s be honest, the real magic was in the kitchen – it was kitted out brilliantly, and with Oban’s food scene on our doorstep, we were geared up for some serious eating.

First morning, we nipped into town for supplies at the local market by the harbour. Fresh seafood everywhere – plump mussels, glistening mackerel caught that day, and the biggest langoustines I’ve ever seen. Bargain hunters that we are, we haggled a bit with the fishmonger (well, I tried, but my Scottish accent’s rubbish), and loaded up on tatties, herbs, and crusty bread from the bakery stall. Back at the house, I fancied myself as the next MasterChef, attempting a seafood chowder. Chopped onions sweating in butter, cream swirling in, the smell wafting through… until I overseasoned it with pepper. Tasted like I’d mugged a pepper mill! We laughed it off with pints at the Oban Inn that evening – their fish and chips were perfection, golden batter crunching into flaky haddock, mushy peas on the side. Proper comfort after my culinary disaster.

Next day, we hit The Lorne for lunch – a cracking pub right in the centre with views over the bay. I went for the local venison burger, juicy and gamey, slathered in chutney that had a cheeky kick. The others demolished platters of oysters and smoked salmon; fresh from the lochs, they just melted. Evenings became a ritual: potter to the Co-op for cheese, local ales, and more veg, then fire up a pasta bake with market chorizo. One night I nailed it – creamy sauce, melting mozzarella – and we toasted on the patio as the stars came out. Self-reflection moment: I’m usually a takeaway lazybones at home, but here, faffing about with knives and pans felt like proper holiday therapy. Who knew cooking could be this fun?

Pub crawls rounded it off beautifully. The Cuan Mor does a mean haggis, neeps and tatties, with a wee dram chaser that warmed us from the inside. We even stumbled on a pop-up seafood barbecue by the pier one dusk – grilled scallops with garlic butter, eaten standing up with sandy fingers. By the end of the week, we’d devoured more than our fair share, bellies full and hearts content. Oban’s food world is a gem – simple, fresh, and utterly addictive. Can’t wait to go back for seconds.