This article comes from the Global Desk, a collaboration between The Gazelle, WSN and On Century Avenue. Read more by searching ‘global.’

FLORENCE, Italy — I’m convinced that Florence has been set up purely to impress. Every time I pass by the Duomo, I feel its grandeur, presence and domination in the city. Creamy gelato gives me a sweet, melting sensation of sugar on the tongue. Then there’s the collection of gloriously naked statues proudly assembled in the city centre. Such a sight would be incongruous in a city like New York, but in Florence, marbled nudity seems only natural, integrating easily with the surrounding atmosphere. What furthers Florence’s allure, however, is often not found in its dazzling glamour but rather in the shadows, a discovery of the unseen.

I heard a rumour about students going out at night, not to a club or a bar, but to a secret bakery. All I heard was that it was close to Piazza della Signoria, one of the major squares in the city, and that to find it I must “follow the smell.” That was it. The bakery is only open from midnight until very early in the morning, and the secrecy arose from the fact that their earnings during these limited hours are not counted as part of the bakery’s regular profits. Even better, they sell freshly baked Nutella croissants for only a euro. I had to find it.

After some research on Google and with an iPhone map in our hands, my friends and I were sniffing through Piazza della Signoria like a bunch of hyenas looking for leftovers. After some struggle, we finally found it.

It was as though we were witnessing a crime scene. A man with a white apron stealthily popped his head out from a door to hear a customer’s whisper about illegal Nutella croissants. There was even some shushing to silence any noise that might rouse nearby police. After several minutes, a white paper bag was exchanged for cash, and the deal was done. As I bit into the still warm croissant, the sound of pastry crisping against my teeth was in harmony with the flood of smooth, melted chocolate sliding past my tongue. At this point, I wasn’t concerned about how many calories I had just consumed at 2 a.m., but I felt I was able to appreciate the taste of guilty pleasure for the first time.

The secret bakery may not have the same allure as Michelangelo’s David, but I still remember the electric thrill of finding the secret bakery. It was at that moment that I became an addict to “dark Italy” — the kind of Italy that not everyone knows. I’m now even more determined to make more unexpected discoveries among the labyrinthine streets of Florence.

Email Natsuko Saegusa at [email protected].