I’ll never forget the drive up to our holiday cottage near Llandudno – or rather, the near-disaster that kicked it off. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, me navigating with a dodgy sat-nav that decided to send us on a scenic detour through some winding lanes in Snowdonia. Halfway there, we hit a sheep traffic jam – honestly, a flock blocking the road like they owned the place. I hopped out to shoo them along, only to slip in a puddle of mud and end up looking like I’d lost a wrestling match with a lamb. My other half couldn’t stop laughing, but by the time we arrived at this cosy elevated cottage surrounded by fields and that stunning natural beauty above Tal-y-Bont, we were buzzing with anticipation. First impressions? Magic. The views over the hills and rivers were straight out of a postcard, and we couldn’t wait to settle in and raid the kitchen.

From the off, it was all about the food – proper holiday indulgence, you know? The cottage was kitted out with everything you’d need for a self-catering stint: a well-stocked pantry cupboard with basics, and we’d brought a cool bag bursting with local treats from Conway market, just five miles down the road. That first evening, I fancied myself as a master chef, whipping up a Welsh rarebit with crumbly Caerphilly cheese we’d nabbed there. It started promisingly – melted cheese bubbling under the grill – but I got carried away and turned it into a charred crisp. Laughable, really. We scraped off the burnt bits, slathered it on toast with some chutney, and washed it down with a bottle of Brains ale. Not gourmet, but cosy and satisfying with the windows open to the sound of rustling fields.

Next day, we wandered the footpaths right from the door – perfect for building an appetite – then headed to Conway for proper scran. That 13th-century castle town is a gem, with its fishing harbour and indie shops, but we zeroed in on the foodie spots. Popped into a little family-run café for bara brith and fresh crab sandwiches; the crab was so sweet and local, straight off the boats. Lunch turned into an all-afternoon affair at the market stalls – cheeses, smoked meats, and those fat, juicy cockles that are a Welsh staple. I stuffed my bag with enough for a week, including some homemade faggots and gravy to experiment with back at the cottage.

Evenings were pub central. There’s a cracking little local just a short drive away in Tal-y-Bont, where we sank pints of Conway Brewery golden ale and demolished plates of lamb cawl – hearty, warming stew that hits the spot after a day’s gentle stroll by the river. One night, I tried my hand at pan-fried mackerel we’d bought fresh from Conway harbour; seasoned it simply with herbs from the cottage garden, served with new potatoes. Turned out half-decent this time, though I did burn the edges again – clearly a theme with me and heat. Sat outside under the stars, tucking in with a cheeky glass of Welsh wine, reflecting on how daft it is rushing about back home when bliss like this is on your doorstep.

We kept it local, grazing at Bodnant Gardens’ tearoom for elevenses – their scones with clotted cream are legendary – and even tried fishing in the nearby rivers for our supper (caught nowt, but the pie from the pub made up for it). By the end of the week, my cooking attempts had improved from comedy to competent, and we’d eaten our way through every market stall and hostelry within five miles. If you’re after a food-focused escape with cracking views and zero pretension, this neck of North Wales is pure heaven. Can’t wait to go back – minus the sheep fiasco next time.