I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – we’d packed the car to the brim with cool bags stuffed with ingredients for what I imagined would be gourmet holiday feasts, only for the sat-nav to chuck us into a cheeky detour through some narrow lanes near Laugharne. There I was, white-knuckling the wheel as a tractor lumbered past, splattering mud on the windscreen. “This better be worth it,” I muttered to my other half, who was already eyeing up the picnic hamper like it was his last meal. But as we finally pulled up, hearts racing a bit from the anticipation, the first glimpse of our holiday cottage melted away any grumbles. Nestled in a lovely group of three, it was this bright, spacious gem, fully kitted out for easy living – perfect for us lot who aren’t as nimble as we used to be. And that hot tub? Blimey, it whispered promises of evening bliss.

From the off, it felt like the ideal base for a proper foodie getaway. We’d barely unpacked when we nipped to the local shops in Saundersfoot for essentials – crusty bread from the bakery, fresh mackerel from the fishmonger, and a punnet of strawberries that smelled like summer. That first night, I fancied myself a telly chef, firing up the well-equipped kitchen for a seafood linguine. Picture it: garlic sizzling, pasta twirling, wine glass in hand. It turned out alright, actually – though I did overdo the chilli and spent the next hour guzzling milk. Laughing about it in the hot tub later, bubbles fizzing around us, we toasted to more culinary triumphs (or hilarious disasters).

Next day, we wandered down to the harbour for the morning market buzz. Stall after stall heaving with Pembrokeshire cheeses, plump sausages from nearby butchers, and jars of local chutney that I couldn’t resist. We grabbed a wheel of creamy caerphilly and some smoked salmon for lunch, scoffing it on the cottage patio with views over the bay. Evenings were for the pubs – the marvellous little spot by the beach served up the best fish and chips I’ve had in ages, batter crisp as a fresh £20 note, with mushy peas on the side. We went back twice, once for crab claws that were sweet as sin, washed down with a pint of something local and frothy.

One rainy afternoon, I had a proper go at cooking up a storm: roast lamb from the farm shop, new potatoes boiled just so, and a crumble with foraged blackberries (well, bought from the market, but who’s counting?). It wasn’t MasterChef material, but sharing it round the table with family, steam rising and chatter flowing, it hit the spot. Made me reflect a bit, you know – amid all the scoffing and sipping, these simple meals knit us closer than any fancy restaurant could. No airs, just good grub and better company.

By week’s end, we’d devoured pub roasts, cottage breakfasts of bacon butties and fresh eggs, and one gloriously messy beach picnic of pasties from the Saundersfoot bakery. That hot tub saw us unwind after every feast, sore bellies and all. If you’re after a holiday where the eating’s as good as the relaxing, this corner of Wales has it spot on. We’re already plotting a return for more.