What is it that’s missing from your life? When you wake up in the morning, what could fill the depths of that vast, inescapable void? Fortunately, only one thing: the warm, buttery goodness of a Cronut.

A cro-what? Exactly. How can you expect to live a long and fulfilling life when you don’t even know the meaning of the word? Allow me to enlighten you. The Cronut is the lovechild of the croissant and the donut. Two poor buttery individuals sitting on the bakery shelf who sought solace in each other’s company. The product of this happy union was the Cronut: a round, deep-fried fluffy croissant dusted in sugar and drenched in glaze.

The Cronut was originally conceived (and trademarked) by chef Dominique Ansel in New York, but has since spawned siblings in Pittsburgh, Saint Louis, Los Angeles and even Sydney, Australia. All bear slightly different names and ingredients, but the mania for them has been identical worldwide. Foodies in New York queued for hours to try the delicious morsel, some forking out as much as $40 for an expedited tasting on the black market. An Australian bakery in Melbourne launched the Chantilly cream-filled “dossant”, each chimney-shaped pasty oozing filling like an early Christmas present.

For the few of you who see Cronuts as an insufficient reward for flying across the Atlantic, the fad has also hit London. In just one hour, you too could be filling the emptiness in your life with ‘cronuts’ from Ayres the Bakers, Wild & Wood, Cocomaya (where the cronuts are dressed in beautiful edible flowers) or Kooky Bakes. It might be time to book that train ticket you’ve been talking about since you arrived.

The absence of Cronuts in Cambridge raises a broader, more terrifying question – what other edible delights are we deprived of in this city? What unknown treasures lie just beyond our reach? Unfortunately, it seems, quite a lot. Biskies, for example, are the befuddled offspring of three parents: biscuits, cakes and cookies. Their soft, pudgy form is attributable to their fluffy buttercream interior, and can be sampled at Partridges Market, Chelsea, every Saturday. Only a few pounds for a cloud of happiness. Gourmet macarons are also conspicuously absent. Parisian macaron house Laduree sells macarons in heavenly flavours such as Madagascan vanilla, salted caramel and gingerbread. Pierre Hermé and Yauatcha also craft beautiful and exotic macaron flavours, but cannot compete with the creative might of Australian pastry chef Adriano Zumbo, whose weird and wonderful macarons include pancake and maple syrup, salted butter popcorn, and apple pie.

Unfortunately for us Cantabridgians, these delights cannot be sampled in our rooms, but provide an excellent excuse to leave the bubble. After all, how can we study without such essential tools? As the days shorten, the nights lengthen and shivering becomes a local pastime, how can we survive with only the sadness of leftovers to comfort us? I think we all know the answer to that question. Which brings this article to an end.

See you at the train station.