I’ll never forget the drive to Old Hunstanton for my three-day jaunt at Spindrift (4) – a cheeky little mishap set the tone right from the off. I’d packed my boot with enough provisions to feed a small army: fresh sourdough from the baker’s back home, a slab of Norfolk Drove pork from the butcher, and a punnet of strawberries that were already looking a bit sulky after a detour through roadworks near King’s Lynn. In my haste to beat the lunchtime rush, I’d sloshed half a bottle of Norfolk cider across the passenger seat. Sticky leather and the faint whiff of apples – classic me, turning a simple 90-minute drive from Norwich into a comedy of errors. By the time I pulled up outside Spindrift, I was parched and starving, dreaming of proper scran.

Spindrift (4) sits tucked away in a quiet row of beach huts just a stone’s throw from Old Hunstanton’s sandy stretch, all weathered clapboard and sea-spray charm. It’s one of those proper Norfolk cottages – compact but cosy, with a kitchenette that screamed “home-cooked feasts await” the moment I stepped inside. First impressions? Bloody brilliant. The place smelled of fresh linen and faint brine from the sea, just 200 yards away. I dumped my bags and cracked on with lunch, figuring I’d christen the hob properly. That pork? Sliced it thin, fried it up with some onions I’d nabbed from the boot, and slapped it between two chunks of sourdough with a dollop of mustard. Washed down with the remnants of that cider (salvaged from the car seat fiasco). Sat at the little pine table by the window, munching away with the sound of gulls squawking outside – pure bliss. It wasn’t gourmet, mind, but it felt like the ideal Norfolk welcome: hearty, no faff.

Bellies full, I wandered out for first impressions of the local grub scene, which is where Old Hunstanton really shines. Five minutes’ stroll and I hit The Ancient Mariner pub, a proper old boozer with beams low enough to bonk your head if you’re not paying attention (nearly did, the ale was flowing). They do a cracking crab sandwich – fresh from the Hunstanton boats that morning, slathered in mayo on granary bread. I paired it with a pint of Adnams Ghost Ship, light and citrusy, perfect for a sunny afternoon. The barman, a grizzled local with stories longer than my holiday, reckoned the crab was the best within miles. He wasn’t wrong; it was sweet, meaty, and gone in minutes. Sat outside under a brolly, watching families lugging windbreaks down to the beach, I felt that gentle pang of self-reflection – when did I last slow down for something as simple as seaside nosh without scrolling my phone? Proper mindfulness, innit?

Back at Spindrift by late afternoon, I fancied a proper cook-up for supper, inspired by the village vibe. Nipped to the Old Hunstanton beach café just round the corner – they’ve got a tiny deli counter stacked with local treats. Grabbed some samphire (that salty marsh grass Norfolk does so well), a chunk of smoked mackerel from Heacham’s smokery, and new potatoes. Cooking in that compact kitchen was a laugh – the oven’s a bit temperamental, and I nearly set off the smoke alarm faffing with the frying pan. But oh, the results: wilted samphire with butter, flaky mackerel on the side, spuds boiled till fluffy. Poured a glass of local Aspall cyder and ate on the front step, toes in the grass, as the sun dipped over the Wash. It was messy, improvised, and miles better than any takeaway.

Evening called for one last pub crawl – well, crawl’s generous; it’s all within spitting distance. Popped into The Wash and Ocean pub, where the fish pie lived up to its rep: creamy, packed with cod and prawns, topped with mash that crunched just right. A cheeky sticky toffee pudding followed, because why not? Shared a table with a couple of regulars who regaled me with tales of crab potting and the best chip shops (spoiler: it’s the one by the arcade). Back at Spindrift by nine, stuffed and sleepy, I pottered about tidying my cooking chaos, first day done. Those initial impressions? Spindrift’s not just a cottage; it’s a gateway to Norfolk’s food heart – markets, pubs, and beachside feasts that make you forget the world beyond the dunes. Can’t wait to return for seconds.