I’ll never forget the drive to Barmouth – or rather, the bit just before we arrived. We’d piled into the car from Manchester, kids buzzing with excitement about the beach, me dreaming of proper downtime. But halfway through Snowdonia, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly, directing us down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy track. Cue 20 minutes of gentle reversing with hedges scraping the sides, me muttering about trusting technology less. Still, we laughed it off, and as we finally emerged onto the coast road near Talybont, the sea sparkling under the sun, all that stress melted away. Barmouth was just ahead, and our holiday home was calling.

Pulling up to this impressive stone-built country farmhouse in Talybont, bang between Barmouth and Harlech, I was chuffed to bits. It’s got these cracking sea and mountain views that hit you straight away, and after the refurb, it’s all spacious and comfy – perfect for our lot. Six bedrooms, some with en-suites, a corner spa bath, massive showers, a cosy sitting room with wood-burners, and a brilliant modern kitchen. Oh, and that hot tub? Game-changer. We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the terrace, toasting our good fortune. First impressions? Spot on.

But let’s be honest, the real star of the week was the food – or our valiant attempts at it. That kitchen was a dream for messing about, so day one, I fancied playing masterchef with local crab from Barmouth’s harbour. Nipped down there (ten-minute stroll to the beach, which is award-winning for a reason), grabbed some fresh-off-the-boat beauties, plus cockles and mussels that were still wriggling. Back home, I tried steaming them with garlic and Welsh cider from the offie – sounded posh, right? Disaster. Overcooked the lot into rubbery mush. The kids politely nibbled and declared it “an adventure”, while I reflected on my kitchen limitations. Humbling, but we salvaged it with buttered bread and laughs.

Next morning, we hit the local market in Barmouth – proper Welsh gems like bara brith, cheeses from nearby farms, and plump leeks that screamed for cawl. Armed with that haul, lunch was a winner: slow-cooked lamb shoulder (picked up from a butcher shouting specials on the high street), roasted with those leeks and spuds from the veg stall. Slathered in mint sauce, it was heaven, eaten al fresco with views that made it taste even better. Evenings, we ambled to the pubs – the lastmiles walk to the Brys y Mor in Barmouth for fish and chips wrapped in paper, salty and perfect after a beach day. Their local ale, foamy and malty, went down a treat. One night, we pushed the boat out at the Pale Restaurant, just up the road – mussels in creamy leeks, then bara lawr (lamb) that fell off the bone. I overdid the pud, mind – sticky toffee with clotted cream. Regret? None.

Cooking highlights included a hot tub barbecue (genius idea) with sausages from the market and homemade flatbreads – surprisingly edible, if a tad charred. Pub crawls kept us merry: the Ty Gwyn in Talybont for hearty pies and gossip with locals about the best crab spots. Amid the feasting, I had a quiet moment soaking in the tub, plate of cheese balanced on the edge, thinking how these simple meals, shared with family, beat any fancy holiday. We ate like kings, laughed like loons, and left fatter and happier. Barmouth, you’ve got my heart – and my appetite.