I’ll never forget the drive up to Trawsfynydd – satnav insisting we take a cheeky shortcut that turned into a narrow lane with sheep giving us the evil eye, and me panicking about scraping the wing mirrors on a passing tractor. We made it in one piece, though, hearts racing a bit, and as we pulled into the off-road parking, the first glimpse of those Rhinog Fach mountains had us grinning like idiots. What a spot – this cosy ground-floor apartment in an old 18th-century building, all set up for a couple like us, with that double bed perfectly placed to catch the morning light filtering through the windows. Proper romantic hideaway vibes, without trying too hard.

We’d been dreaming about it all week, stocking the boot with a few treats from home, but stepping inside felt like permission to properly unwind. The studio setup was spot on – living, dining, and chilling all in one snug space. That kitchen area? A proper gem. Electric oven and hob, microwave, fridge/freezer, even a wine chiller and hot tap. I eyed the toaster and thought, right, time to channel my inner Jamie Oliver. First night, I rustled up a simple pasta with some local sausages we’d grabbed en route – nothing fancy, but with a bottle from the chiller, it tasted like heaven after that drive.

Next morning, we wandered down to the village for breakfast at the local café – proper Welsh fry-up with laverbread and cockles, washed down with strong tea. Fuelled up, we hit the nearby paths for a gentle hike around the lake at Llyn Trawsfynydd, but honestly, the real pull was plotting our next feed. Lunch was at the pub just a stone’s throw away – the Rhiw Goch Inn itself, I reckon, with its roaring fire and plates of bara brith and Welsh rarebit that melted in your mouth. I had the lamb cawl, steaming hot and hearty, while she went for the cheese toastie with chutney. Pub grub doesn’t get better, especially with a pint of Brains to chase it.

Back at the flat, my cooking attempt number two was a laugh – tried making a shepherd’s pie with mince from the Gwynedd market stall we’d stumbled on that morning (proper fresh, with leeks the size of my arm). Oven worked a treat, but I overdid the mash a tad – lumpy, but we scoffed it anyway, giggling over a glass of chilled white from the chiller. Sat by the window, mountains glowing in the sunset, it hit me: I’m always rushing about back home, never bothering to cook properly. This trip? It’s made me realise how much I enjoy faffing in a kitchen, especially one with views like this.

Evenings blurred into more pub crawls – well, one pub, really, but they do brilliant specials like roast chicken Sundays and fresh crab from the coast, just a short drive. We nipped to the Trawsfynydd shop for baking bits too – attempted Welsh cakes on the hob, burned the first batch but nailed the second with butter and jam. Breakfasts became a ritual: toaster cranking out rounds while I boiled eggs on the hot tap, peering out at the hills.

Honestly, it was the food that stole the show here. No fine dining, just honest, belly-filling Welsh nosh, half-cooked by me, half scoffed in cosy pubs. Left feeling stuffed, content, and oddly proud of my kitchen disasters. Can’t wait to go back for more.