I’ll never forget the drive up to Criccieth – rain lashing the windscreen like it had a personal grudge, and then, just past Bangor, the sat-nav decided to throw a wobbly and sent us on a scenic detour through some narrow lanes that had me gripping the wheel like a learner. We arrived a bit later than planned, hearts sinking a tad, but oh my word, pulling up to that stylish semi-detached beach house overlooking Cardigan Bay made it all worthwhile. First impressions? Stunning. Perched in a superb spot on the Llyn Peninsula, just two minutes from the beach and prom, with panoramic views from the bay window that had us grinning like kids at Christmas.

We dumped the bags and cracked open a bottle of fizz on the south-facing terrace, gazing out at Criccieth Castle silhouetted against the bay, with Harlech Castle winking in the distance. But let’s be honest, the real magic of this holiday was the food – or should I say, our glorious feast of feasts. That spacious kitchen was a dream for pottering about; I fancied myself a proper chef, though my first attempt at Welsh rarebit ended up more like a cheesy landslide. Still, with fresh bread from the local bakery just down the road, it tasted alright slathered in butter.

Mornings kicked off with brekkie in the dining area, watching fishing boats bob on the bay while frying up bacon from Criccieth’s market – proper thick rashers from the butcher’s stall, smoky and irresistible. We’d wander into town centre, no more than a five-minute stroll, and stock up on local treats: plump cockles straight from the shell, tangy cheeses from the Gwynedd farms, and those fat, juicy strawberries that somehow taste better by the sea. One day I tried my hand at cawl, that hearty lamb stew, using veg from the market – onions so sweet they didn’t need caramelising. It bubbled away on the hob while we lounged in the bright sitting room, TV on low, woodburner flickering even in summer. Turned out decent, if a bit salty; my other half polished it off anyway, bless her.

Evenings were pub heaven. The Prince of Wales down by the prom does the best fish and chips – golden batter, chips crisp as can be, and mushy peas that hit the spot after a bracing beach walk. We holed up there one drizzly night, supping local ales from Conway Brewery, chatting with locals about the best crab spots. Another evening, we ambled to the Ship or Castle for crab claws and chips, washed down with a crisp white. I even managed a half-decent seafood linguine back at the house, raiding the market’s fresh catch – prawns so sweet they needed no sauce.

Reflecting on it now, sat back home with a cuppa, I realise I ate my way round Criccieth more than I walked it, and there’s no shame in that. Those meals, from botched kitchen experiments to pub perfection, wrapped us in that cosy Welsh welcome. If you’re after a holiday where the views inspire and the grub satisfies, this North Wales gem’s got it in spades. Can’t wait to go back for seconds.