I’ll never forget the drive up to Penmaenmawr for our holiday in that cracking Tudor hall near Llandudno – we’d been buzzing with anticipation the whole way, dreaming of sea views and lazy evenings, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a massive traffic jam just past Colwyn Bay. Turned out some cheeky sheep had decided the A55 was their personal catwalk, and there we were, engine idling, munching emergency crisps while the kids moaned from the back. Half an hour later, though, we rolled up to this absolute gem of a house, all grand and welcoming with its off-road parking and those jaw-dropping coastal panoramas stretching out to the mountains. First impressions? Spot on – we piled out, bags flying, already plotting supper in that massive kitchen/diner.

The place was a dream for foodies like us, with nine bedrooms for the whole clan, sleek bathrooms, and living spaces begging for group feasts. We kicked off with a rummage through the local Co-op in Penmaenmawr for basics – fresh bread, Welsh cheeses, and a slab of bara brith that smelled like heaven. That first night, I fancied myself a proper chef in the sociable kitchen, breakfast bar stools pulled up as everyone watched me wrestle with a roast chicken and veg from the nearby butcher. It was a right laugh, though my timings were all over the shop; the spuds came out like bullets while the bird was perfection. We laughed it off over plates piled high, the sea twinkling outside, and a bottle of local Conway ale from the offie.

Next morning, we hit Llandudno’s market on the pier end – what a find! Stalls groaning under cockles and mussels straight from the bay, plump strawberries, and those massive bacon butties that make your arteries sing. We loaded up on smoked kippers and fresh crab, then wandered to the promenade for fish and chips from a proper beachside chippy, vinegar dripping everywhere as gulls eyed us greedily. Back at the hall, lunch was a messy affair of crab salads on the terrace, the mountain views making it feel like a posh picnic. Afternoon saw the competitive lot disappear to the games room – table football battles raging while I prepped a barbecue. Sausages from the Penmaenmawr farm shop, marinated in garlic and herbs, sizzled away as we chatted plans over coffee.

Evenings were pub heaven. The Druid’s Arms in town did a cracking lamb shank that fell off the bone, washed down with frothy pints and tales of our cooking disasters. One night, after a failed attempt at Welsh rarebit (too much cheese, melted everywhere), we stumbled to the Queen’s Head for their legendary steak pies – proper pastry, gravy like mum makes. The hot tub was the perfect nightcap, bubbling under the stars, full bellies and rosy cheeks from the chill sea air. Gazing out at the waves, I had a quiet moment thinking how these simple meals, shared with family amid the chaos, beat any fancy restaurant. No wonder we’re plotting a return – that hall’s kitchen and those local grub spots turned our holiday into a proper feast fest.