I’ll never forget the drive to our holiday spot near Barmouth – we’d piled into the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway there, just past Dolgellau, the sat nav decided to have a midlife crisis and sent us on a scenic detour through some narrow lanes that had me white-knuckling the wheel. “This better be worth it,” I muttered, as the kids in the back bickered over the last packet of crisps. But as we finally crested the hill and spotted the place, all that stress melted away. There it was, this cracking detached 5-star haven, perfect for our big family do – spacious enough for 16 of us without anyone needing to draw straws for the sofa.

First impressions? Spot on. The hot tub with its killer view over the hills had us grinning like idiots before we’d even unpacked, and stepping inside felt like coming home to a mate’s posh granny flat – two living rooms, two kitchens (a godsend for chefs like me who hate queues at the fridge), massive bedrooms all with tellies for lazy mornings, and woodburners ready to roar. It’s a stone’s throw from a brilliant village pub that does proper home-cooked grub, and only a couple of miles from Machynlleth’s market town buzz, which had me buzzing with foodie anticipation from the off.

Right, the food – that’s where this trip lived and breathed. First evening, we didn’t even bother cooking; a quick wander to the local pub sorted us out with plates of fish and chips so fresh you could almost taste the sea, golden batter crunching perfectly, mushy peas on the side, and a pint of local ale that slipped down a treat. “This is holidays,” I declared, as we staggered back stuffed and happy.

Next day, we piled into Machynlleth for the market – what a gem. Stalls heaving with Welsh cheeses that could make you weep (that caerphilly was creamy heaven), artisan breads still warm from the oven, and heaps of local lamb sausages begging to be barbecued. I grabbed a load, plus some fresh veg and a slab of bara brith for pudding. Back at the house, with those dual kitchens, we divvied up: me on sausage duty in one, sis rustling up a massive veg traybake in the other. It was chaos – I overdid the onions and set off the smoke alarm for a laugh – but the results? A feast that had everyone raving. We ate in one living room, fire crackling, hot tub steaming outside for afters.

Evenings blurred into more of the same: pub roasts midweek (Yorkshire puds the size of hubcaps), failed attempts at Welsh rarebit in the kitchen that turned into cheesy toast triumphs, and one heroic Sunday lunch where we slow-roasted a leg of lamb from the market, slathered in local honey. The hot tub became our post-meal ritual, bubbles and banter flowing as we watched the sun dip behind Snowdonia’s edges.

Looking back, amid all the scoffing and sloshing, I had a quiet moment by the woodburner one night, plate balanced on my knee, thinking how these gatherings – messy, loud, full of daft kitchen disasters – are what knit us tighter than any five-star luxury. If you’re after a spot to eat, drink, and make memories near Barmouth, this is your ticket. We’re already plotting the return.