I’ll never forget the drive up to Morfa Bychan last month – we’d packed the car with enough snacks to feed a small army, but halfway through Snowdonia, the sat-nav decided to have a midlife crisis and sent us down a narrow lane that was more sheep superhighway than road. One particularly stubborn ewe stared us down like we’d gatecrashed her picnic, and we ended up doing a 20-point turn in the drizzle. Still, by the time we rolled into this gorgeous coastal village in Gwynedd, hearts racing and sides splitting with laughter, the anticipation was buzzing. As we pulled up to our four-bedroom holiday home – this absolute cracker right by the beach with off-road parking and even an EV charger for my electric hatchback – I just knew we were in for a treat. First impressions? Spot on. The place screamed luxury home-from-home, and that private balcony overlooking the sea had us grinning like kids at Christmas.

We’d planned a proper food-focused getaway, you see – no hiking marathons for us lot, just feasting on North Wales’ coastal bounty. Unpacked, we cracked open the plush sitting room with its squishy sofas and Smart TV, then raided the well-stocked kitchen for round one: a massive Welsh breakfast. Local sausages from the village shop, plump black pudding, and eggs we’d grabbed fresh that morning. I fancied myself a chef, sizzling it all up while the others lounged, but let’s just say my attempt at perfect laverbread came out more like a savoury glue. Cue gentle ribbing from the family – “Dad, is this breakfast or a science experiment?” – and a moment of self-reflection over my burnt toast: maybe I’m better at eating than cooking after all.

Afternoons were for beachside ambles to the amenities, where we hit the local market stalls near Porthmadog for crab fresh off the boats, cockles in vinegar, and bara brith that was still warm from the oven. Heaven. Evenings? Pub crawls on foot – first stop, a cosy local just paces from the house, where we demolished plates of moules frites with creamy garlic sauce and pints of Brains. The next night, we tried our hand at a seafood feast back home: mussels steamed in cider (proper Welsh stuff), samphire foraged from the shore, and chips that somehow didn’t stick to the pan this time. The hot tub became our post-meal ritual, bubbling away under the stars as we debated the best chippy in Morfa Bychan – verdict: the one with the batter that crunches like autumn leaves.

One highlight was a lazy Sunday at the village café, wolfing down rarebits oozing with Caerphilly cheese, followed by a cheeky cream tea that had us all in a carb coma. We even braved the pub quiz at the nearest boozer, our bellies full of lamb cawl, nailing questions on local lore but bombing on pop music. Honestly, it was the simplest joy – no fancy restaurants, just real, hearty grub that tasted of the sea and the hills. By the end of the week, we’d polished off enough fish suppers, pasties, and homemade attempts to last us till next summer. If you’re after a holiday where the highlights are the meals and the mishaps (mine included), this spot’s pure gold. We’re already plotting a return for more.