I’ll never forget the drive over to Anglesey – we’d loaded up the car with enough snacks to feed an army, but about halfway across the Menai Bridge, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. A classic family holiday mishap: the kids in the back chanting “are we there yet?” while I’m muttering about unreliable tech. But as we finally crested the hill towards Moelfre, the sea sparkling in the distance, all that stress melted away. I could already taste the salty air and picture lazy beach picnics ahead.

Pulling up to our luxury detached barn conversion on the outskirts, we were gobsmacked by the first impressions. Ample off-road parking meant no scrabbling for spaces, and that garden – oh my word, the views stretching out to Red Wharf Bay and the Great Orme were straight out of a postcard. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz in the hot tub straight away, toasting the promise of a proper feast-filled week. Inside, the fully-equipped kitchen screamed “get cooking,” with space for all eight of us to muck in around the big dining table.

Food was the absolute star of our stay, and we dove in headfirst. First morning, I fancied playing chef and whipped up a full Welsh breakfast – local sausages from the Moelfre shop, plump mushrooms, and eggs fresher than anything from the supermarket. It was a bit of a faff getting the timing right (I slightly charred the bacon, typical me), but sat out in the garden with those epic views, it tasted like heaven. The kids rated it a solid 10/10, which is high praise from picky eaters.

We couldn’t resist the local pubs either. A short stroll to the village, and we hit the Ship Inn for lunch – their fish and chips were legendary, beer-battered cod so crisp it crunched, with mushy peas that hit the spot. Washed down with a pint of something local, it was the perfect post-beach refuel. Evenings often meant firing up the kitchen again: one night I attempted a seafood linguine using crabs we’d watched being landed at the bay, tossing in garlic, chilli, and a splash of cream. It wasn’t quite MasterChef standard – a tad overcooked the pasta in the heat of the moment – but paired with crusty bread from the bakery down the road, we devoured it amid laughter and seconds all round.

Midweek, we timed it for the little market in nearby Benllech, just a quick drive away. Stall after stall of artisan cheeses, fresh bread, and Welsh cakes still warm from the griddle – I loaded up on smoked mackerel and honeycomb for breakfasts. Back home, those became the base for epic brunches in the hot tub, bubbles fizzing alongside the prosecco. Pub crawls turned into gentle walks too; the other local, right on our doorstep, did the best Sunday roast we’ve had in ages – tender lamb, Yorkshire puds like clouds, and gravy that could make you weep.

Looking back, it was those shared meals that made it special. Amid the chaos of cooking disasters and over-ordered chips, there was this quiet moment one evening, plates cleared, just sitting with the family, sea breeze wafting in, realising how these simple feasts knit us closer. No fancy restaurants needed – just good grub, great company, and a cracking spot to enjoy it all. Can’t wait to go back for more.