I finally made it to Saundersfoot after a bit of a faff on the drive down from Carmarthen. The sat-nav decided to play silly buggers, sending me on a detour through some narrow lanes where I nearly ended up in a hedge backing out of a dead end. Nothing serious, just the usual holiday gremlin – a scraped wing mirror that I'll blame on a rogue branch. But as I pulled up to Awel Y Mor Lodge late afternoon, all that melted away. Nestled right on the edge of the village, this cosy little timber lodge felt like a proper Welsh welcome, with its wooden cladding glowing in the sun and sea views peeking through the trees.

First impressions? Blimey, it was spot on for a foodie getaway. I'd booked it for its self-catering setup, dreaming of lazy mornings cooking up a storm with fresh local grub. Stepping inside, the open-plan kitchen-diner hit me like a warm hug – compact but kitted out with everything you need: a decent oven, a fridge that purred quietly, and a hob begging for some sizzling sausages. The smell of the sea wafting in from the patio doors made my stomach rumble. I dumped my bags and headed straight out to suss the lay of the land for supper.

Saundersfoot's village centre is a five-minute wander, and I beelined for the local market stall by the harbour. It was one of those classic Welsh setups – a few hardy traders under gazebos flogging the freshest catch. I nabbed some plump mackerel straight off the boat, still smelling of the brine, plus a punnet of cherry tomatoes that burst with that summer sweetness you can't get in a supermarket. Back at the lodge, I fancied myself a proper chef. Grilled the mackerel with a bit of butter, lemon, and black pepper – simple does it. But here's where the humour kicked in: I overdid the heat, and the kitchen filled with smoke faster than you can say "fire alarm." Fanned it out with a tea towel, windows flung open, and salvaged the fish just in time. Crispy edges, flaky inside – washed down with a cold Welsh cider from the offy. Sat on the patio as the sun dipped, watching fishing boats bob in the bay. Pure bliss, if a tad singed.

Next morning, breakfast was my redemption arc. Nipped to the village bakery – The Saundersfoot Bakery, I think it was – for their legendary pasties and bara brith. Grabbed eggs and bacon from a farm stall nearby, all local and proper. Firing up the Aga-style cooker in the lodge, I whipped up a full Welsh fry-up: laverbread (salty heaven), cockles for that authentic touch, and grilled tomatoes. It was messy, with yolk everywhere, but eating it at the wooden table overlooking the cliffs felt like winning at life. Self-reflection moment here: staring out at the waves crashing below, I realised how often I rush meals back home. This holiday was forcing me to slow down, savour every bite – no phones, just food and the sea.

Lunch called for pub grub, naturally. Strolled to The Mermaid on the waterfront, a proper Saundersfoot institution with picnic tables spilling onto the beach. Ordered the seafood platter – prawns, mussels, and crab claws in garlic butter, all sourced from Pembrokeshire pots that morning. Washed it down with a pint of local Reverend James. Cheeky humour from the barman when I asked for extra chips: "Mate, you're on holiday – portion sizes are criminal already!" Laugh out loud, and spot on.

Evening brought my boldest cooking attempt yet. Back to the market for lamb chops from a nearby farm, new potatoes, and samphire foraged from the sands. Seared them in the lodge's cast-iron pan with rosemary and sea salt. Nearly set off the smoke alarm again – comedy gold – but plated it up like a MasterChef reject. Ate on the deck as dusk fell, the harbour lights twinkling. First impressions of Awel Y Mor? It's a food lover's dream pad, turning Saundersfoot's bounty into memories that'll linger longer than the garlic breath. Can't wait to return for round two.