Start Where The Boats Come In

Most seaside towns have two faces: the promenade with its ice-cream kiosks and gift shops, and the working harbour, usually a short walk away and considerably more interesting. That walk is almost always worth it. Follow the smell of diesel, salt and rope — if you can hear a winch turning and see plastic crates of ice stacked against a wall, you are within reach of the best fish supper in town.

Working harbours in Cornwall, Northumberland, Pembrokeshire, the Scottish west coast and the East Anglian ports all share the same rhythm. Boats land in the morning, the auction or the ice house does its business, and by late morning the stalls and cafés that buy directly are laying out the day's catch. Arrive before noon if you can. By mid-afternoon the star lots are gone and the menu has quietly shifted to whatever is left.

Learn To Read The Catch Board

The single most reliable sign of a good coastal kitchen is a handwritten board that changes. Chalk, marker pen, a laminated sheet with the date scrawled at the top — it does not matter. What matters is the language. "Today's landings" and "caught this morning" mean something. A menu with a photograph of a prawn cocktail that has not changed since 2009 does not.

• Named boats and ports — even simply "landed in the bay" — suggest the kitchen knows its supplier.
• Fewer dishes, done well — six mains on a chalkboard usually beats forty on a laminated card.
• Whole fish priced by weight — a sign that someone in the kitchen can fillet, and that you are not paying for frozen portions.
• An honest note when something has run out — far better than a kitchen that always seems to have everything.

Ask what came in that morning. Ask what the boats have been finding. Anyone behind a good counter will enjoy answering, and you will end up with a better plate for asking.

Harbour-Side Stalls: Simple, Fast, Freshest

The stall is the least glamorous and often the best option. A cabin at the end of a stone pier, a van by the slipway, a table outside a fishmonger's with a gas ring and a pan. Expect paper wraps, wooden forks, a bottle of malt vinegar with a crusty cap, and a short queue of people in waterproofs. That queue is the review you need.

What to look for: shellfish cooked to order, crab picked that morning, scallops seared in butter in front of you, mackerel going straight off a line boat and onto a grill. What to be wary of: anything sitting under a heat lamp, and stalls offering exactly the same menu in every town along the coast. Freshness at a stall is everything, because there is nowhere to hide.

The Family-Run Café Test

Family-run cafés — the sort with mismatched chairs, a kettle that has seen twenty years of service, and a wall of local photographs — tend to keep their menus short for a reason. They buy small volumes from people they know, and they cook what they have. That usually means a fish pie, a crab sandwich on brown bread, smoked haddock with a poached egg, mussels in cider or cream, and chips made from potatoes that arrived that morning.

A few quiet signals are worth trusting. A specials board that names the fishing family or the boat. Homemade tartare sauce rather than a sachet. Bread from a bakery a few streets away. Staff who can tell you which day the langoustines arrived. None of this is about luxury — it is about proximity, and proximity is what makes coastal cooking taste of the place.

Eating With The Seasons

Coastal menus move through the year, and eating with them is both cheaper and better. Ask what is at its best rather than choosing from habit.

• Spring — crab, cockles, the first mackerel, samphire picked from the marshes.
• Summer — mackerel, bass, scallops, langoustines, and crab sandwiches eaten outdoors.
• Autumn — mussels, oysters, plaice, and the start of the great shellfish months.
• Winter — mussels at their sweetest, smoked fish, shellfish stews, and haddock in batter on a cold evening.

The old rule about months without an R and shellfish is worth knowing, though modern handling means it is more guidance than gospel.

A Few Things Worth Knowing

Cash still helps at small stalls, and opening hours follow the tide and the weather rather than any website. Go early, be willing to change your plan if the boats have not been out, and talk to the people behind the counter. Ask what they would eat themselves. The answer is usually the best thing on the board, and often the cheapest.

That is the real pleasure of a coastal break: a paper plate, a low harbour wall, a view of grey water and wheeling gulls, and fish that was swimming a few hours ago. No fuss, no theatre — just the shortest possible distance between the sea and your supper.