I finally made it to Saundersfoot after a bit of a faff on the drive down from the Midlands – nothing major, just a rogue seagull dive-bombing my windscreen near Tenby, leaving a splatter that had me pulling over for a quick wipe-down with a service station napkin. Laughable now, but in the moment, I was cursing my luck, thinking, 'Great start to the holiday.' Still, by early afternoon, I was trundling up the lane to the 3 Bed Lodge in Burton, just a stone's throw from Saundersfoot's sandy shores. The place looked proper inviting from the off – a cosy wooden lodge nestled in a quiet spot, with that fresh sea air hitting you as you step out of the car.

First impressions? Spot on. The key was tucked under a plant pot as promised, and inside, it was all homely vibes: a well-stocked kitchen that screamed 'get cooking', a lounge with a telly bigger than my flat's, and those big windows framing the Pembrokeshire countryside. But let's be honest, the real star was the kitchen setup – I could already picture muddling through some Welsh-inspired grub. Unpacked in ten minutes flat, then it was straight to the fridge. The hosts had left a welcome pack: local butter, milk, and a cheeky bottle of Pembrokeshire ale. Cracked that open while surveying the larder – perfect for my half-arsed chef ambitions over the next three days.

Hunger hit hard after the drive, so I nipped out for first impressions of Saundersfoot's food scene. The village is tiny, walkable from the lodge in under ten minutes, and buzzing with that proper coastal charm. Strolled down to the harbour, where the fishing boats were unloading the day's catch – glistening mackerel and bass that had my mouth watering. Popped into the local market stall by the quay, run by a cheery bloke called Dai who knows his seafood. Snagged some fresh crab claws, a couple of plump kippers, and a bag of new potatoes for pennies. 'Best in Wales, this,' he winked. Back at the lodge, I attempted my first meal: buttery kippers grilled with a squeeze of lemon from the garden patch outside. Smoked up the kitchen something rotten – set off the smoke alarm for a solid two minutes. I was flapping about like a headless chicken, fanning it with a tea towel, laughing at myself in the mirror. 'Proper Gordon Ramsay, me,' I muttered. Tasted ace though, flaky and smoky, washed down with that ale while the sun dipped over the bay.

Evening called for a pub crawl – well, more of a gentle amble to the two cracking spots within spitting distance. First up, the Mariners Arms, right by the beach. Packed with locals nursing pints of Brains or Felinfoel, and the specials board had me hooked: rarebit on sourdough toast, all gooey with Welsh cheddar. I went for that with a side of pickled cockles from the bar – tangy, briny perfection. Chatted with a couple at the next table about the best chip shops (turns out, Saundersfoot's has won awards for its batter). Fuelled up, I wandered to the other local, the Harbour Inn, for a nightcap. Proper traditional boozer with beams and a roaring fire, even in summer. Their fish pie was calling, but I held off for tomorrow – settled for a pint and some garlic mussels instead, plump and steaming in white wine sauce. Landlord recommended a local cider to go with it; crisp, not too sweet. Sat there people-watching, feeling that holiday glow settle in.

Next morning, still buzzing from those first tastes, I hit the village again. Saundersfoot's got this brilliant little grocer-cum-market on the high street – shelves groaning with bara brith, Welsh cakes fresh off the griddle, and jars of cockle sauce. Grabbed ingredients for a full Welsh breakfast: laverbread (that salty seaweed mush – love it or hate it), cockles, bacon from a nearby farm, and eggs. Back at the lodge, my cooking attempt number two was ambitious: sizzling it all up in the cast-iron pan. Nearly botched the laverbread by overcooking it into a brick, but salvaged it with a dollop of mustard. Ate on the patio overlooking the fields, tea steaming, thinking how this simple setup beat any posh hotel buffet. Made me reflect a bit – back home, I'm always grabbing takeaways, rushing through meals. Here, faffing about in the kitchen, even with the mishaps, felt grounding. Like, why don't I do this more?

That first full day wrapped with lunch at a beachside café – crab sandwiches on fresh bloomers, views of kids paddling in the shallows. By evening, I'd nailed a lodge supper: pan-fried bass from Dai's stall, new pots, and samphire foraged vibes (okay, bought from the market). Pub for pud – sticky toffee at the Mariners, paired with a dram. Three days in Saundersfoot, and from arrival onwards, it's been a feast. This lodge? Ideal base for eating your way through Pembrokeshire's gems. Can't wait for day two's grub quests.