I finally made it to Silver Moon in Holbeton after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Exeter. The sat-nav decided to have a hissy fit just past Ivybridge, sending me on a wild goose chase down a single-track lane that looked more like a sheep's personal runway. I ended up with a branch scratching the side of the car and a face full of cowpat fumes—nothing says "holiday welcome" like that, eh? But as I pulled up to the cottage, all that melted away. Silver Moon is this gorgeous little stone bolthole tucked into the South Hams countryside, with roses scrambling up the walls and a garden that practically begs for a GandT at sunset. First impressions? Pure Devon magic.

We'd only booked three days, but from the moment I unlocked the door—key under the mat, classic cottage style—I knew food was going to be the star. The owners had left a welcome basket that was an absolute treat: fresh scones still warm from some local bakery, clotted cream thicker than my nan's gravy, and a jar of strawberry jam that screamed South Devon. I couldn't resist a cheeky cream tea right there in the kitchen, crumbs everywhere, laughing at myself for devouring it solo before the others arrived. Proper job, that did.

First order of business was stocking up, so I nipped over to the farm shop not five minutes away in Holbeton village. It's one of those proper Devon gems—think wonky shelves groaning under pasties the size of my fist, local cheeses that pong like they've got stories to tell, and veg so fresh you'd swear it was picked that morning. I grabbed some Yeo Valley yoghurt, a slab of Sharpham brie, and the biggest bag of new potatoes you've ever seen. Back at Silver Moon, the kitchen's a dream for faffing about: Aga humming away, herbs on the windowsill, and every gadget you need for a half-decent stab at cooking. My attempt at a Devon-style fish pie that first evening? Let's just say the smoked haddock from the shop was divine, but I overdid the mustard sauce and turned it into a fiery sludge. Still scoffed the lot, washing it down with a crisp bottle of Cornish Rattler cider from the same spot. Laughing through watering eyes—classic me, biting off more than I can chew, literally.

Pub grub called next, and Holbeton doesn't disappoint. The Journey's End is a stomp across the green—proper thatched-roof job, with beams you have to duck under. We piled in for lunch on arrival day, and blimey, the ploughman's was legendary: hunks of crusty bread, pickled onions that pack a punch, and ham so tender it fell apart. I went for the specials board—mussels in garlic and cider, shipped fresh from Salcombe that morning. Steamy, briny bowls that had us slurping like kids with soup. The landlady recommended a pint of South Hams Devon Pride; smooth as, with that hoppy kick that makes you settle right in. Sat by the fire, swapping stories with locals about the best crab spots nearby, I felt that gentle tug of reflection—how often do we rush through life without these simple pleasures? A pub, good mates, and a plate of proper food. It's the stuff that sticks.

Evening rolled around, and back at the cottage, we cracked into more local loot. A quick pootle to the Holbeton village shop yielded cream for an Eton mess attempt—meringues from the farm shop, berries plump as anything. Mine wobbled more than it should, but paired with a cheeky Totnes gin from the welcome basket, it was heaven. Breakfast the next morning? Smoked kippers from the farm shop, pan-fried on the Aga with butter melting everywhere. Messy, glorious, and far better than any hotel buffet.

Silver Moon's first impressions have me hooked—it's all about that foodie rhythm of markets, pubs, and cottage cooking. Can't wait to return for seconds.