When it comes to everyday eating, I lump people into two categories: those who eat for practical purposes, like, well, staying alive, and those who eat not for nutrition but for pleasure. Get at me with #firstworldproblems, call me a culinary snob or an overprivileged public-school hedonist (which, for the record, I am not; but with John’s buttery regularly dishing out mouthfuls like ‘baked sliced red onion confit tarte tatin with braised chicory half and assorted herb purée olive oil’ as a standard lunch option, I can see where you’re coming from), but I truly, madly, deeply, proudly self-define as a member of the latter category.

Why wouldn’t you make every meal something special? Why be content with a standard factory-packed egg-cress-mayo-tuna-sweetcorn-cornedbeef line of sandwiches with that flimsy slice of bread when you can go for freshly prepped for the same price? Why have a digestive when you could use the calories for a raspberry and white chocolate cookie straight out of the oven? Why not declare your love for good food, for better, for worse, at every meal, until the end of my lunch break do us part?

I know, I know, it’s not always practical to study the snack selections of multiple cafés when you should be boarding your flight (in my defense, at least there was no ‘passenger Hollingsworth, please hurry up’ announcement). Wanting your bread to be freshly baked sourdough at minimum can attract some judgement from your less culinarily awakened peers, and don’t even get me started on my scrutiny of sandwich ingredients at the Sidgwick buttery (‘Ahem, can I help?’ ‘Err no thanks, just looking – really carefully’).

So, to save your from doing your own research, I have taken on a self-appointed culinary guru status (‘oh look how much I know about food’) and ranked my fab five central lunch locations for student budgets and schedules (many of them can be eaten on your bike).

This double gem of cafés by the Corn Exchange corner needs no introduction; a few weeks back, I praised Aromi for its heavenly gelato, but it also excels on the savoury side of things, with Sicilian bliss packed into freshly baked pizza slices and sourdough sandwiches. Try parmigiana focaccia with aubergines and eggs, schiacciatella cipriani with mushrooms and caramelized onions, or spianata nero with tomato, rocket, and olive paté, all with generous lashings of provola del casale cheese; the arancini, or rice balls, are not to be missed out on either. Believe me, when Aromi had a stand at Corpus May Ball last year, I got through several weeks worth of arancini within ten minutes of arriving at the ball; and, judging by the often excessively long queues into the cafés, the masses seem to agree.

Despair not, though, if you are put off by the queues reaching down Bene’t Street: you can always fly from Sicily to Germany by going up Pembroke Street and into Trockel, Ulmann and Freunde. With delightful plastic décor, and no sauerkraut nor bratwurst in sight, this café is German mainly in name and cake selection. The ridiculously low £2.90 buys you a soup and a baguette; or you can go for scrumptious salads for not much more. When I say ‘salad’ in this context, I actually mean ‘salad’ with plenty of greens rather than cold pasta or strips of bacon with coleslaw disguised as something healthy. The goat’s cheese version is a personal favourite, with plenty to keep you going until dinner time.

Another joint for the salad lovers among us is Sticky Beaks, at the corner of Hobson Street and Sussex Street. The daily changing menus of somewhat mealier salads feature ingredients from pancetta to broccoli to melon to mozzarella. As yummy and exciting as they are, the salads can be a bit pricy with £6 for a mix of two or £8 for all three salads to make up a proper meal. That said, though, the desserts are much more reasonable in price, without compromising on originality. The range consists of slightly more experimental takes on classic bakes; be sure to try out the oeuvre of bread and butter puddings, incorporating everything from classic chocolate to apricots and different marmalades.

Just up the street from Sticky Beaks hides Urban Shed. Like Trockel, Ulmann and Freunde, this café is one for décor: vinyls, a juke box, and abandoned aeroplane seats make Urban Shed into a quirky little hideaway. And just like the furniture, the sandwich fillings are also a deliciously quirky mix. The combination of marinated artichoke, harissa hummus, carrot, and beetroot did not fail to satisfy my tastebuds, and any culinary adventurer will find satisfaction in the likes of candied walnuts, truffle mayonnaise, and black olive tapenade.

Last but not least, there is perhaps the most undervalued foodie central in town: the market. With Hungarian chimney cakes and Brazilian custard tarts, the world is the market square’s oyster. My affections, however, lie with the more humble Brown Bread, appearing opposite M&S on Sundays only. Somewhat misleadingly, the stall has brown bread only in its name; the actual selection of foodstuffs consists of focaccias, samosas, and ever-so-scrumptious cakes. The veggie samosa hits perfect levels of spicyness for people with normal spice tolerance, and depending on hunger levels, it leaves enough room for a treat from the stall as well. Top tip: the Bramley apple slice.

And with that, I guarantee that Cambridge can give you your daily sourdough and offer lunch in enough style to satisfy snobbish needs. It’s all about having your cake (or sourdough or salad) and eating it, too.

@vickanschmickan