I finally made it to 2 Miller's Island after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Plymouth – nothing major, just a cheeky diversion because I trusted the satnav a tad too much and ended up looping round some narrow lanes near Looe, swearing under my breath at a flock of indifferent sheep blocking the way. But honestly, arriving at this tucked-away cottage on the edge of Looe felt like stumbling into a proper Cornish gem. It's right by the water, with that salty sea air hitting you as you lug your bags up the path, and the first thing I thought was, "Right, this is where I'm basing myself for three days of proper nosh and not much else."

Stepping inside, the place had that cosy, lived-in vibe – a proper holiday let with a kitchen that screamed "cook up a storm" (or at least attempt one). I'd stocked up on the way at the little Co-op in Looe, grabbing fresh pasties from the bakery counter because, let's face it, you can't rock up to Cornwall without one. Mine was a classic steak number, still warm, with that flaky pastry that flakes everywhere. I plonked myself at the wooden table overlooking the harbour, munched it down with a cuppa, and just watched the boats bobbing about. First impressions? Blissful. No rush, no agenda, just me, my pasty crumbs, and the sound of gulls squawking for scraps.

That evening, I fancied something pubby, so I wandered the short stroll into Looe – it's literally minutes away, all cobbled streets and fishy smells that get your stomach rumbling. The Jolly Sailor was calling my name, one of those timeless boozers right on the quay with outdoor benches perfect for people-watching. I went for the fish and chips, naturally – plump, beer-battered cod that was golden and crispy outside, flaky perfection within, with mushy peas that were spot-on. Paired it with a pint of sharp Cornish ale, something local like Skinner's Betty Stogs, which went down a treat as the sun dipped low over the water. The locals were chatty, sharing tales of the day's catch, and I couldn't help but chuckle when the barman warned me off the "tourist trap" chips – as if I needed telling!

Next morning, I was up for a proper Cornish brekkie in the cottage kitchen. I'd nabbed some proper clotted cream from the nearby Hannafore Stores – that little spot just down the road with its shelves groaning under local jars and pasty options. Sliced up some fresh bread from their bakery section, slathered it with cream and strawberry jam (Cornwall's own, natch), and felt like a king. Attempted a fry-up too, with local sausages I'd picked up – they were meaty and herby, but I slightly overdid the black pudding, turning it into a comedy crisp. Laughed at myself in the mirror, spatula in hand, thinking, "Blimey, I'm no MasterChef, but who cares when you've got this view?"

Lunch was another market wander – Looe has that brilliant fish market vibe, even if you're not buying direct, the stalls nearby spill over with crab sandwiches and fresh mackerel rolls. I grabbed a crab pasty hybrid thing from a vendor, loaded with white crab meat and a hint of chilli mayo – messy but magnificent, eaten on a bench by the beach with sand threatening my trainers. Back at the cottage, I tried my hand at a simple supper: mussels from the fishmonger in town (super fresh, steamed in cider with garlic), served with crusty bread I'd warmed in the oven. It was a right triumph, if I say so myself, though I did spill half the cider down my shirt – classic me.

By the end of that first full day, nursing a pint from the Ship Inn just up the path (their ploughman's was a cheesy, pickle-laden delight), I had a proper moment of reflection. Here I was, miles from the daily grind, surrounded by the best grub Cornwall throws at you, and realising how daft it is not to make time for this more often. 2 Miller's Island isn't just a stay; it's a three-day love letter to eating well, pub-hopping lightly, and letting the food lead the way. Can't wait to go back.