Matchbox-sized with a rhubarb-red facade, Jolene Redchurch is the kind of spot that looks like it was dipped in jam and dusted with flour. Inside, it’s all stripped-back wood, golden pastries, and a gentle hum of weekend chatter. Croissants are crisp, bread is chewy, and morning buns seem to vanish as soon as they’re shelved. Claim one of the tiny benches outside if you can – a front-row perch for Shoreditch people-watching with a coffee and something sugar-slicked in hand.