The Krispy Kreme coffee is reliably rubbish and I recommend staying well clear of one dougnut in particular, says TOM PARKER BOWLES as he visits Britain's first drive-thru

The announcement last month that an industrial building in the Suffolk town of Lowestoft will be getting its first Krispy Kreme drive-thru is good news for those people who enjoy both doughnuts and doing very little indeed.

The plans – which have been submitted to East Suffolk Council in November last year – centre around ‘demolition of existing industrial building and erection of drive-thru kiosk unit, plus installation of EVCPs’ in Lowestoft have now been permitted.

Soon the doughtnut devotees of this coastal town can order their Chocolate Custard, Pretty Little Unicorn or Original Glazed, from the comfort of their own car.

And they are not alone, for like fast-food chains before them, the doughnut concession is becoming another American addition to the British culinary landscape.

Since opening its first UK shop in Harrods in 2003, Krispy Kreme has become a household name in deep-fried sugar rushes and, from Bristol to Braehead, now boasts eight drive-thrus (yes, I will use the American spelling, as cloying as an Oreo Kreme Shake). Homer Simpson would approve.

But has it really come to this? A person so exercise-averse that they can’t be bothered to walk the 20 or so metres between Tesco car park and Krispy Kreme cabinet within, sating their urge without even undoing their seatbelt. OK, I agree the supermarket totter is hardly the Marathon des Sables, but at least you burn a couple of the 195 calories contained in an Original Glazed.

In America, of course, the drive-thru is as much a part of culture as big car, big skies and big bellies. There are drive-thru banks, burgers, bars, and even strip clubs.

Not that every American seems to agree. ‘I don’t like the Krispy Kreme drive-thru menu with its tiny, faded donut photos,’ fumes one aficionado on a site dedicated to the subject. ‘People like to browse the full array of donuts to see what looks good in person. You smell the different flavors and it is a total sensory experience.’

So, on a crisp, early spring day, at an unremarkable industrial park off the A10, I see for myself. At noon, the Enfield Krispy Kreme drive-thru is deserted - unlike the MacDonalds across the car park. Still, the store itself is doing good business, as folks wander out, clutching those instantly recognisable boxes. I drive up to the microphone, sits to one side of the bright new menu (no ‘faded’ photos here), and order a dozen of the sugar glazed beauties. By the time I’ve driven the five or so metres to the next window, my order is ready. Full marks for speed of service.

‘Is it always this empty?’ I ask Louisa, who is behind the counter. ‘Oh no. It’s extremely popular at night,’ she says with a smile. ‘There are always queues of people wanting to get their doughnuts hot out of the oven.’ Hot Krispy Kreme? Now you’re talking.

‘It’s called the Hotlight experience. You can get them between 7pm and 10pm. But we stay open until one every night.’

And so I retire to the car park, with my box and a large black Americano. The coffee is reliably rubbish, with all the charm of burning hot ditch water. And I recommend staying well clear from the pink-hued Pretty Little Unicorn, a variety so violently sugary that it provokes an outer-body experience not seen in these parts since the Enfield poltergeist.

Once the rush has subsided, it’s time for an Original Glazed. Voluptuously soft, winsomely light, and heart-poundingly sweet.

Definitely one of the best doughnuts on earth and, if you live in Enfield, certainly worth the drive. For the rest of us, though, the good old-fashioned shop, complete with short walk, will do just fine.