I’ll never forget the drive to Aberdyfi – we’d packed the car to bursting with cool bags, wellies, and the dog’s favourite squeaky toy, only for the sat-nav to chuck us down a narrow lane that turned into a muddy quagmire just outside Tywyn. Heart in mouth, I reversed us out while the kids cheered like it was a rally stage. Still, by the time we crested the hill into the village, the sparkle of Cardigan Bay had us grinning again. Spotting our second-floor apartment right by the golden sands, I felt that proper holiday buzz – anticipation bubbling as we hauled bags up the stairs, dreaming of lazy beach picnics and fresh crab rolls.

First impressions? Spot on. It’s a cracking spot for four, cosy and light-filled with two bedrooms that swallowed us and the dog without a fuss. Just over the road from the beach, and slap bang in the heart of the village – shops, cafes, and pubs all within a stroll. We dumped the bags and headed straight out, stomachs rumbling after the detour drama.

Day one kicked off with breakfast at a tiny cafe round the corner – proper Welsh rarebit on thick toast, melty cheese and a kick of mustard that woke us up better than coffee. I fancied playing chef that evening, so we mooched to the local shop for ingredients: plump tomatoes, local cheddar, and some smoked mackerel from the fish counter. Back at the flat, I attempted a seaside fish pie – mashed spuds on top, creamy sauce below. Turned out a bit lumpy (my knife skills need work), but slathered in butter and washed down with a crisp Welsh lager from the fridge, it hit the spot. The kids rated it eight out of ten, which is high praise from those fussy lot.

Next morning, we wandered to the beach with a packed lunch – ham and pickle sandwiches, apples from a market stall we’d spied, and flapjacks sticky with honey. Sat on the sands, binoculars out for dolphins (spotted a porpoise, result!), it felt idyllic. Pub lunch called after – the local by the harbour did a cracking ploughman’s: hunks of crusty bread, tangy chutney, and cheddar so sharp it made your toes curl. Evenings became our ritual: one night, fish and chips from the village chippy, eaten on the balcony watching the sun dip into the bay; another, a curry from the Indian takeaway two doors down, spicy enough to clear the sinuses but mild for the dog’s begging eyes.

Tywyn’s just four miles away, so we nipped over for variety – their beachside cafe does the best bacon butties, thick rashers crispy as you like, with a mug of builder’s tea. Tried my hand at a full Welsh breakfast one morning: cockles from a stall (salty heaven), laverbread (odd but addictive), and fried eggs. Nearly set off the smoke alarm, mind – self-reflection time: I’m enthusiastic in the kitchen, but timing’s not my strong suit. Still, nothing beats that smug glow of cooking with local bits.

Markets were a highlight – Aberdyfi’s little ones brim with artisan breads, cheeses, and homemade fudge. We stocked up on bara brith for tea, pairing it with clotted cream from a farm stall. Pubs too: one evening in the village local, lamb shank that fell off the bone, gravy rich as sin, with matesy banter from locals about the best spots for crab fishing.

Short break, massive foodie wins. If you love your grub and a gentle Wales welcome, this is the ticket – just double-check the sat-nav first!