I finally made it to 10 Stonerush Valley after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Looe. Picture this: I'm trundling along those narrow Cornish lanes, past the odd pasty shop and fishing boats bobbing in the harbour, when—splat!—a seagull decides my windscreen needs a fresh coat of paint. Proper Jackson Pollock job, it was. I pull over near Hannafore beach, just a stone's throw from the cottage, and give it a half-hearted wipe with a Costa cup sleeve. Laughable, really, but it set the tone for a cracking three-day escape focused entirely on eating, drinking, and fumbling my way through some home cooking.

Pulling up to the cottage that first afternoon, I was chuffed to bits. Tucked away in Stonerush Valley, it's one of those classic stone-built jobbies with a thatched roof and a garden that screams "kick back with a GandT." The host had left a welcome pack on the kitchen table—fresh milk, bread, and a cheeky bottle of local Rattler cider—which was a godsend after the drive. I dumped my bags and headed straight out to stock up, keeping it local as you like. A quick five-minute wander down to Hannafore Point, and I'm at the little Co-op there, grabbing essentials: smoked mackerel from the deli counter, clotted cream, some proper Cornish pasties (steak and stilton, my fave), and a punnet of strawberries that smelled like summer.

First impressions? The cottage kitchen is a dream for a food-obsessed daftie like me—rayburn cooker humming away, all those herbs on the windowsill begging to be chopped. I cracked on with dinner that evening, attempting a "simple" fish pie. Now, I'm no Jamie Oliver, but with mackerel flaked into a creamy mash (topped with that clotted cream for extra decadence), it wasn't half bad. Paired it with a chilled glass of Picpoul from the nearby offy—crisp, zingy, perfect for cutting through the richness. Sat out in the garden as the sun dipped over the valley, listening to the gulls squawking like they owned the place. Bliss.

Next morning, day two kicked off with a fry-up that'd make your nan proud. Bacon from the Co-op (thick rashers, none of that watery rubbish), eggs poached to wobbly perfection, and grilled tomatoes straight from a veg stall I'd spotted on the drive in. The cottage's sea views from the lounge window had me lingering over brekkie, pondering how I'd let work turn me into a microwave meal merchant back home. Time for a reset, I thought—proper food, proper paces. We (me and my other half, who was still in bed) ambled over to the Polperro Road end of Hannafore, where there's that brilliant farm shop just up the way. Loaded up on pasties galore—veggie ones with local cheese, crab-filled beauties—and some fudge that was dangerously moreish.

Lunch was pub central: The Hannafore Head Hotel, right on the cliffs, no more than a ten-minute stroll. Pint of St Austell Proper Job to start—hoppy, refreshing—followed by a massive seafood platter. Fresh Looe prawns, mussels steamed in cider, and battered cod that was crispier than my attempts at chips. We laughed about my windscreen disaster over sticky toffee pudding, the kind that's still warm and gooey. Back at the cottage, I had a bash at supper: attempted a Cornish saffron cake, using a recipe scribbled on a postcard from the farm shop. It came out a bit lopsided—more rustic blob than bakery stunner—but slathered in butter with a cuppa, it hit the spot. Gentle reflection there, staring at the wonky cake: life's too short for perfect bakes when you've got views like this and a belly full of local grub.

By day three's brunch, I'd nailed a ploughman's from the welcome bread, cheddar from the Co-op, and pickled onions that zinged. One last pub pitstop at the Blenheim in Looe—fish finger butty and chips, washed down with Tribute ale—before reluctantly packing up. 10 Stonerush Valley's first impressions? A foodie's haven wrapped in valley charm, where every meal felt like a mini adventure. Can't wait to seagull-bomb my way back.