I’ll never forget the drive over to Anglesey – we took the A55 from Bangor, me at the wheel with the sat-nav bossing us about, only for it to conk out just as we hit the bridge. Cue mild panic and a hasty phone search while my other half laughed and called me “Captain Chaos”. Twenty minutes of wrong turns later, we rolled into that quiet spot near Pentraeth, hearts racing a bit from the anticipation. Would it live up to the pics? Blimey, it exceeded them straight away. This lavish studio annexe, tucked beside the owners’ cracking black-and-white place, felt like our own private bolthole – all stylish open-plan vibes with that gorgeous woodburning stove begging for a fire, comfy grey leather sofa, and a slick black-and-white kitchen that screamed “get cooking”.

First impressions? Pure bliss. Secluded but not isolated, with countryside views that made you breathe easier. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of local Menai Bridge ale we’d grabbed en route – smooth as, with that hoppy kick. Hunger hit hard after the faff, so I rummaged in the classy kitchen for a whip-up. Found some fresh eggs from a nearby farm shop (pro tip: Pentraeth’s got a couple of those gems within a mile), Anglesey bacon rashers thicker than my thumb, and cockles we’d spied at a roadside stall. Scrambled them up with a bit of butter from the fridge, served on that delightful dining set. Simple, but tasting like heaven – salty sea vibes straight from the island.

Next morning, we wandered into Pentraeth village, all pretty stone cottages and zero crowds. Popped into the local shop for supplies: artisan bread from Llangefni market (just a quick hop, but we kept it local), crumbly Welsh cheddar, and plump tomatoes. Back at the annexe, my cooking attempt went hilariously pear-shaped – tried posh fish pie with mackerel from the deli, but overdid the mash into a gluey mess. We howled laughing over it, scraping it onto plates anyway. “Romantic retreat, my foot,” I chuckled, “more like MasterChef disaster”. Still, washed down with a pint from the Ship Inn later, it was gold.

Pub crawls became our thing – that Ship in Pentraeth is a belter, proper village local with bar meals that punch above. Their lamb shank was melt-in-mouth, sourced from nearby farms, paired with creamy mash and gravy you could swim in. We went back twice, once for Sunday roast (Yorkies the size of saucers), chatting with locals about the best spots for crab from Red Wharf Bay beach, just down the road. Another evening, we fancied posh-er grub at the Olde Boathouse in Beaumaris – wait, no, kept it tight to Pentraeth’s hidden eatery, a cosy café doing bara brith and fresh crab sandwiches that had us moaning in delight.

One night, staring into the woodburner’s glow with a glass of Welsh wine, I had a proper reflective moment. Work stress? Vanished. Here, faffing over failed soufflés (another flop – who knew?) and savouring pub scran felt like the real luxury. No fancy restaurants needed; this rural idyll, with its markets bursting with island produce and pubs dishing comfort food, fed our souls as much as our bellies. If you’re after a couples’ escape built around epic eats, this is it – mishaps and all. We’re already plotting a return for more cockle feasts.