I’ll never forget the drive up to Snowdonia that crisp autumn morning – sat-nav insisting we were nearly there, only for us to take a wrong turn down a single-track lane that had us reversing into a hedge. Typical me, always too busy eyeing the misty mountains to watch the road signs. But honestly, that little mishap just built the anticipation; by the time we wound into the Conway Valley, hearts racing with that proper holiday buzz, we were proper giddy.

Pulling up to this beautiful Edwardian country house in the peaceful grounds of Llanbedr y Cennin – that’s St Peter’s among the daffodils, apparently – we were bowled over. It’s got this timeless charm, the sort of place that drew artists flocking here in the late 19th century, and from the off, it felt like our own private slice of Welsh heaven. The valley views alone made us itch to unpack and crack on with some serious feasting.

First order of business: stocking the larder. There’s a cracking little farm shop just down the road in Dolgarrog, no more than a couple of miles away, where we loaded up on local cheeses, plump leeks the size of my forearm, and rashers of smoked bacon that smelled like it was smoked yesterday. I even nabbed a jar of homemade damson jam, thinking I’d channel my inner MasterChef. Ha, more on that later. Back at the house, with its cosy kitchen begging for action, we rustled up brekkie – proper fry-up with eggs from the shop’s own hens, fried bread, and lashings of tea. Sat at that big wooden table overlooking the grounds, it was pure bliss.

Evenings were for the pubs, and this area’s got gems on its doorstep. We wandered to the Groes Inn in Llanwrst – a quick hop, really – for pints of Brains and plates of Welsh rarebit that melted in your mouth, all gooey with mature cheddar and a kick of mustard. The landlady recommended their cawl, that hearty lamb stew, and we hoovered it up by the roaring fire. Next night, closer to home at the Tal-y-Cafn pub, it was slow-roasted lamb shoulder falling off the bone, with minted gravy and buttery mash. I’m a sucker for a proper pudding, mind, and their sticky toffee was spot-on – warm, gooey, with clotted cream that had me scraping the bowl.

Of course, I couldn’t resist playing house chef. One afternoon, inspired by the market haul (they do a farmers’ market in Llanwrst village hall some Saturdays, bursting with bara brith and fresh bread), I attempted bara brith myself. Soaked the fruit overnight, mixed in the tea, baked it proud as punch. Came out a bit wonky on top, denser than hoped, but slathered with the damson jam? Delectable. We devoured it with Builder’s Tea on the terrace, watching the sun dip behind the hills. Made me reflect a touch – back home, I’m always rushing meals on the go, but here, cooking felt like a treat, not a chore. Slowed me right down, that did.

Another highlight was a lazy lunch at a tearoom in Rowen, tucked in the valley – think cream teas with scones still warm from the oven, clotted cream piled high, and strawberry jam that tasted like summer. We paired it with Welsh cakes, those griddled beauties dusted with sugar. Pub crawls aside, it was the simple stuff that stuck: charcuterie boards from local pork, salmon from the Conway River smoked nearby, and endless cups of milky coffee while planning the next feed.

Honestly, that week was a love letter to good grub and good company. Left us fatter, happier, and already plotting a return for more valley feasts. If you’re after a holiday where the eating’s as epic as the scenery, this is your spot.