I finally made it to Draig Premier after a bit of a faff on the drive up from Cheshire – nothing major, just a rogue sheep blocking the A55 near Mold, turning what should’ve been a breezy hour into a comedy of honks and bleats. Typical North Wales, innit? But as I pulled up to this cracking stone cottage tucked away in the Flintshire countryside, all that stress melted away. Draig Premier looked proper inviting, with its cosy porch and those flower boxes bursting with colour, like it was giving me a big Welsh welcome hug.

First impressions? Blimey, it was love at first sight. The place is a proper home-from-home, all beams and character, but kitted out with everything you’d need for a self-catering jaunt. I dumped my bags and headed straight for the kitchen – my stomach was rumbling after that sheep-induced delay. The owners had left a cheeky welcome pack: fresh milk, bread, butter, and a bottle of local cider. I cracked that open pronto, toasting my arrival with a view of the rolling hills from the window. North Wales does that landscape thing so well, doesn’t it? But let’s be honest, I was here for the food first and foremost.

Day one kicked off with a rummage through the well-stocked cupboards. No chance I was faffing about cooking a full roast on arrival, so I improvised a classic: cheese on toast, but poshed up with some mature cheddar I’d nicked from the local Co-op en route (grabbed it during a quick stop in Mold). Melted under the grill to bubbly perfection, washed down with that cider. Simple, satisfying, and just what the doctor ordered. Sat there at the wooden table, munching away, I had a proper moment of reflection – when was the last time I properly slowed down for a meal like this? Life back home’s all grab-and-go, but here, with no distractions, it felt like a mini rebellion.

Next morning, I was up early, buzzing to explore the local grub scene within spitting distance. A short hop to Mold’s weekly market – it’s only a couple of miles, dead easy – and I was in heaven. Stalls groaning under fresh veg, artisan breads, and those massive Welsh cakes that smell like temptation itself. I loaded up on leeks (gotta do the cliché), plump tomatoes, and a slab of bara brith from a granny who swore it was the best in Flintshire. Back at Draig Premier, I attempted my first proper cook-up: leek and potato soup, using the cottage’s smashing Aga-style cooker. Now, I’m no Jamie Oliver – ended up with a bit of a lumpy disaster at first, splashing half the stock on the floor like a amateur – but after some swearing and stirring, it turned out cracking. Thick, hearty, and miles better than anything from a tin. Paired it with crusty bread from the market, and lunched on the patio, steam rising in the crisp Welsh air. Light humour in the mishap, but honestly, that’s half the fun of self-catering, right?

Afternoon called for a pub crawl – well, more of a pub amble, keeping it local. The nearby boozer in the village, just down the lane, was a gem: low ceilings, roaring fire, and a menu of proper pub grub. I went for the gammon steak with bubble and squeak, chips fat as fingers, and a pint of Brains bitter. The locals were dead chatty, sharing tips on the best chippy (pro tip: get the haddock). Back at the cottage that evening, I tried my hand at a Welsh rarebit – cheese on toast’s posh cousin. Used up that market cheddar, grilled till gooey, with a dash of mustard for kick. Washed it down with another cider, feet up by the wood burner. Bloody marvellous.

By the end of that first full day, Draig Premier had well and truly won me over – not just the digs, but how it made every meal feel like an event. Those initial impressions of warmth, ease, and epic eats set the tone for the whole trip. If you’re after a spot where the food adventures start the second you arrive, this is it. Can’t wait to go back.