I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – or rather, the near-disaster just outside Carmarthen when the sat-nav decided to send us on a scenic detour through some tiny lanes barely wide enough for a pram. We were crammed into the car with kids bickering in the back and the boot stuffed with enough groceries to feed a small army, convinced we’d end up in a field. But as we finally crested the hill into Amroth, hearts lifting with that proper holiday buzz, there it was: our reverse-level cottage perched with jaw-dropping coastal views right in the village. First impressions? Spot on. We tumbled out, grinning like idiots, already plotting supper.

Stepping inside, it was love at first sight – five bright bedrooms with plush en-suites meant no queuing for the loo, and that open-plan living space upstairs was an absolute dream, light pouring in and begging for lazy evenings. But let’s be honest, the real star of the show was the kitchen, massive and begging for some culinary chaos. We’d stopped at the Tenby farmers’ market on the way (a quick hop down the road), loading up on local cheeses, fresh mackerel, and those fat Pembrokeshire spuds that taste like they’ve been kissed by the sea.

First night, I fancied myself a MasterChef, attempting a Welsh rarebit with cockles we’d snaffled from a stall – proper laverbread and all. It started promisingly, bubbling away under the grill, but I got distracted by the view and turned it into a charred crisp. The family politely nibbled the edges while we laughed it off with fish and chips from Sage Cafe takeaway in Saundersfoot, crispy batter and mushy peas that hit the spot. Washed down with a pint from the careful planning of the cooler bag – cheers to that mishap!

Next day, we wandered into Saundersfoot for brekkie at the Beachcomber, tucking into fluffy pancakes drowning in local honey and bacon from nearby Smokehouse. Fuelled up, it was beach time, but really, it was all about lunch plotting. We hit up the Coppet Hall market pop-up for bara brith and crab sandwiches – fresh as you like, straight from the boats. Back at the cottage, I redeemed myself with a seafood feast: grilled mackerel stuffed with herbs from our market haul, new potatoes roasted till golden, and a side of samphire foraged in spirit if not actuality. The kids demolished it, declaring me “almost not rubbish” in the kitchen.

Evenings were pub perfection. St Bride’s Inn in Saundersfoot became our local – their Sunday roast with Yorkshire puds the size of hubcaps, and pint of Brains bitter to match. One night, we tried the quieter Royal Oak in Amroth for pie and mash, proper homely grub with a cheeky side of chips. And don’t get me started on the chippy runs from Sunny’s in the village; battered sausage and curry sauce became a nightly ritual.

Looking back, amid all the scoffing and failed experiments, there was this quiet moment on the upstairs sofa, plate balanced on my knee, sea twinkling outside, thinking how these simple meals with loved ones make a holiday unforgettable. No fancy restaurants needed – just good food, good company, and a cracking Welsh welcome. We left fuller in every sense.