I finally made it to No. 3 The Vista in Woolacombe after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Exeter. Picture this: I'm trundling along the A361, windows down, radio blasting some proper Devon tunes, when I realise I've left my fancy olive oil back home. Daft, innit? There I was, dreaming of whipping up gourmet suppers in this swish beachside cottage, and I'm oil-less. No matter – Woolacombe's got enough local gems to sort me out.

Pulling up to No. 3 The Vista just after lunch on that first Friday, I was gobsmacked. Perched on Willingcott's hillside with those massive windows framing the sea, it felt like the ultimate spot for a foodie getaway. The place screams cosy luxury – think plush sofas begging for a post-pudding slump, and a kitchen that's a dream for any amateur chef. First impressions? Pure bliss. I dumped my bags and legged it straight to the Co-op down the road for essentials: fresh Devon cream, local cheeses, and a bottle of that posh rapeseed oil from a nearby farm shop. Crisis averted.

That first evening, I was straight into cooking mode. The kitchen's got all the mod cons – induction hob, cracking oven – so I rustled up a simple fish pie using smoked haddock from the village fishmonger. Woolacombe's seafood is legendary, isn't it? Caught that morning, they said. I paired it with Jersey Royals and a knob of butter, scoffing the lot while gazing at the waves crashing below. The view from the dining table made it taste even better – like eating in a postcard. But here's a chuckle: I overdid the mustard in the sauce, and my eyes were watering more than at a bad rom-com. Proper rookie error, but it taught me to taste as I go.

Saturday morning kicked off with brekkie on the sun-drenched terrace. I'd nipped to the Woolacombe Bay Farmers' Market the evening before – tiny but brilliant, just a five-minute wander away. Grabbed artisan sourdough, plump strawberries from a local grower, and some proper clotted cream that could make a nun reconsider her vows. Slathered it all together with a mug of builder's tea from the cottage's stocked cupboard. Sat there reflecting a bit – life's been a whirl lately, rushing about like a headless chicken, and this moment, munching on fresh Devon produce with the sea breeze, felt like a gentle reset. No emails, no deadlines, just me, my toast, and the horizon.

Lunch was a wander to The Woolacombe Bay Inn, a stone's throw from the cottage. Proper pub grub: a massive crab salad sandwich using crab from the bay itself, washed down with a pint of Otter Ale. The locals were dead friendly, chatting about the tide times over their pasties. I could've stayed all day, but I fancied experimenting back at the Vista. Afternoon snack turned into a comedy of errors – tried making Devon sconces (that's scones to you southerners) with the market flour. Burnt the first batch black as my soul after one too many late nights. Second lot? Golden perfection, split with jam and cream. Victory tasted sweet.

Come evening, I couldn't resist The Thatch, another cracking pub within easy strolling distance. Plumped for a Devonshire pork belly, slow-roasted and melt-in-the-mouth, with cider gravy that had me licking the plate (discreetly, mind). Back at the cottage, nursing a nightcap of local gin from the offy, I pondered how this place weaves food into every moment. The Vista's not just a holiday let; it's a launchpad for Devon's edible delights.

By Sunday morning, as I fried up eggs with market bacon on that epic hob, I knew three days weren't enough. First impressions sealed it: No. 3 The Vista is my new happy place for feasting with a view.