I’ll never forget the drive down to Saundersfoot – we’d packed the car to the brim with cool bags, hoping to keep the kids’ snacks fresh, but halfway through Carmarthenshire, the air con decided to pack up. There we were, windows down, sweat beading, belting out terrible karaoke to Oasis to distract the little ones. By the time we trundled into that super seaside village, I was fizzing with anticipation, dreaming of fish and chips by the harbour and a cold pint after all that faff.

Pulling up to our detached pad overlooking the bay was pure magic – first impressions? Spot on. It had that cosy, welcoming vibe, perfect for a family getaway, just a short stroll from the sandy Glen beach and the heart of the village. We dumped the bags and headed straight out, stomachs rumbling.

First stop: the harbour pubs. We plonked down at one with outdoor tables right by the boats, and ordered platters of local cockles and mussels, steamed in garlic butter. Fresh off the boats, they tasted of the sea – briny, plump, and miles better than anything frozen from the supermarket. The kids demolished battered haddock and chips, while I nursed a pint of Pembrokeshire ale, crisp and malty. Laughter echoed as we watched fishing boats bob; it felt like we’d slipped into a proper Welsh summer postcard.

Next morning, I fancied playing chef. The cottage kitchen was a dream – well-stocked with pots and a cracking oven. We’d spotted a little market stall near the beach selling Welsh cheeses, smoked mackerel, and veg straight from local farms. I grabbed some laverbread (that salty seaweed mush – don’t knock it till you’ve tried it with bacon), bara brith for tea, and a punnet of plump strawberries. My big plan? A full Welsh breakfast. Rashers sizzling, eggs poaching... but I overdid the black pudding, turning it into a charred brick. The family politely munched around it, stifling giggles. “Dad’s gone full caveman,” my youngest quipped. Fair play – it was a right laugh, and taught me to stick to pub grub next time.

Evenings were for wandering the village’s eats. One night, we hit a cosy restaurant for crab linguine – sweet, fresh Pembrokeshire crab claws mixed with chilli and lemon, divine with a glass of Welsh white wine. Another, fish pie at a harbourside boozer, topped with cheesy mash and hiding chunks of cod and prawns. Pubs here are gold: proper wood-panelled ones with real ales on tap, like Brains Rev James, and bar snacks of Welsh rarebit that could convert a vegan.

We ventured a tad further along the beach to Wiseman’s Bridge for their legendary chippy – the batter so crisp, it shattered like glass. Back at the cottage, we’d picnic on the terrace, bay views stretching out, reflecting on how these simple feasts beat any fancy holiday abroad. Mealtimes became the heartbeat of our trip, full of mishaps (like my laverbread disaster) and pure joy. Saundersfoot’s food scene – markets buzzing, pubs heaving, seafood singing – left us stuffed and smiling. Can’t wait to go back for seconds.