I’m a hyper local lass. It could be a habit left over from lockdowns, but truth is everything I need is in Belsize Park or Hampstead or on the Finchley Road. In the spring and summertime, I might not even bother to go to a nearby park to get my nature nourishment, when I can walk around NW3 and gush over people’s front gardens and admire the magnificent trees on our streets. Hence when I occasionally go into town, it’s a big deal. I’ll pre-plan my route to visit a few neighbouring shops and for sure I’ll achieve thousands of steps.

A few months ago, I found myself motivated to go to central London just for a single purpose. Although no fan of being underground, I bothered to make the journey just to…drum roll…buy a cream bun. Of course this was a special desert – a Maritozzi from Italian chef Matteo Manzotti at Dolce VytA in Convent Garden’s piazza. It’s a large light and fluffy brioche-style bun packed with so much Chantilly cream that, as with an ice cream in a cone, you’re forced to be totally present as you lick at it and take careful mouthfuls, all the while considering with each bite your preferred ratio of dough to cream.

It was Thursday mid-afternoon as I and about forty others from all over the world – I had a nice chat with a Texan – queued for half an hour to get a Maritozzi. There was a little camaraderie as we pitied the woman who was tirelessly stuffing the soft sweet buns with the cream, whilst her colleague dealt with payments. Some customers were leaving the shop with a bag in each hand and if I had known how good that cake was going to make me feel, I would have done likewise.

The bun was so comforting that the embarrassment I had felt earlier – for journeying so far for so little – faded. And as I devoured it crouched on a pavement step like a party person having food after an all-nighter, the mix of anticipation and satisfaction meant I forgot to take a photo. That’s how come the cover photo for this New Letter is of cake and coffee at Time Art Café in Steele’s Village. (Their signature chocolate banana cake is also heavenly.)

Back to the Maritozzi. Online there are a few theories about its origins. At one site I’m told that before the popularity of the French croissant, this pastry was commonly eaten for breakfast in Rome and on another webpage, it’s written that this celebratory desert is eaten after an Italian makes a marriage proposal (it would certainly cheer someone up if the proposal didn’t end with a resounding Si!) In the tiny Dolce VyTa kiosk-like shop, which is a minute away from the main restaurant, there’s a board on the wall which says that historically Maritozzi are only made during Lent. How lucky for us that these cream buns are now an everyday thing.

I was in a different head space on my tube ride home from town. Honestly on the way there I’d been second-guessing myself. “What have I become,” my inner stream of thoughts had said, “that I’m taking the afternoon off and making this trip for something that I’ll eat in a matter of minutes?” On my return, I was purring to myself for having sabotaged my routine multi-tasking style. Had I just done what’s known as slow living? Is the art of slow living to spend an afternoon traversing London to hunt out a cream bun? I didn’t even have a cup of coffee with it. Later retelling my adventure to a friend, he commented that for slow living I should really have walked to and from Convent Garden.

Usually it’s only when urbanites like myself visit the countryside or go holiday that we remember how healthy it is to de-accelerate and give over to the spontaneous. Blame it on the sugar, but there I was on the tube fantasizing about how with more pauses indelibly scripted into our daily timtables we could optimally live at a slower pace. In this utopia where there’s enough time to spend on our hobbies that they become our businesses, everyone enjoys cooking from scratch (maybe leave the baking to the likes of chef Manzotti) and often does things just for the sake of doing said things, we will find that what is most convenient is the being well that comes with slowing down.