Taste of London

On Friday evening, armed with an umbrella and a steely resolve, I made the muddy pilgrimage to Taste of London. On arrival at Regent's Park, I was surprised to find an army of umbrella-wielding foodies blocking the entrance. The fact that so many people had ventured out in the torrential rain is a testament to the British resolve. Were we all brave or just bonkers?

This was to be my first taste of Taste. Two years ago I'd luxuriated in the Scottish sunshine at Taste of Edinburgh, where I ate enough pork belly to have me oinking all the way home. Taste is an experience that lends itself to sunshine. Eating in the rain is odd and unpleasant. But with the near biblical torrent showing no sign of stopping, I was determined to squeeze some enjoyment out of the experience, if only fleeting. Soggy map in hand, I hoofed it to the Bocca di Lupo stand, where I paid six crowns (Taste currency) for their shaved radish and celeariac salad with pomegranate, pecorino and truffle oil (below), which, mercifully, was sensational, and worth braving the rain for alone.

From the crunchy radish and tangy pecornio to the juicy pomegrante pips that glinted, ruby-like on the plate and the final flourish of truffle oil that I could taste in my mouth the next morning, the salad was a symphony of flavour and texture. I was off to a good start. While waiting for the dish, I got talking to the guy on the neighbouring Gelupo stand - Bocca di Lupo's sister ice cream parlour. Unsurprisingly, sales were slow, but the Hendrick's granitas were proving popular due to generous gin pours. Desperate times call for disparate measures.

Still hungry, I moved swiftly on to Opera Tavern across the park. Having circled the icon dish in my programme earlier that day, by the time I arrived at the stand I was dribbling in anticipation, having read Marina O'Loughlin's paean to the pork burger a month before in the Metro. It sounded sublime, and I was about to get a slice of the action.

I eagerly handed over my 14 crowns (£7) and waited, whetting my appetite further by watching the bad boys being made in the open plan kitchen, their tops white from a dusting of Manchego. Finally it arrived. I ate it in three bites. It was every inch as good as the review – mixed in with the pork, the foie gras gave it exquisite richness, juiciness and depth of flavour, while the Manchego made it unmistakably Spanish.

On a food high, my next stop was due to be at Gauthier Soho to try their Top Dog Deluxe – a smoked Strasbourg sausage served in a pain au lait filled with honey bacon and mustard mayo, but my mind kept wondering back to the Bocca di Lupo balls. The trio looked so tasty, I got plate envy from those around me enjoying the spherical treats.

Unstoppable in my quest, I squelched through the mud – Taste by this point had become something of a gastro Glastonbury, back to the Bocca stand, where 12 crowns got me three deep fried delights: olive stuffed with veal and pork, tomato risotto and mozzarella; by far the best of the three. Biting into it, the warm white goo quickly cascaded down my throat, serving as central heating on this shiver-inducing night.

Having enjoyed so many savoury snacks, I was craving something sweet to end the evening on a sugar high. The Asia de Cuba Mexican doughnuts had earlier caught my eye. I thought they would be long, Churros-like tubes filled with butterscotch sauce, so was slightly disappointed to find them perfectly round. And while they were fluffy and light, the centre wasn't nearly sticky enough. The accompanying Motijo sorbet however was on the money. Sharp, smooth and with an alcoholic kick, it proved the ideal palate cleanser, though my lack of crowns forced an early exit.

Trudging out of the park, the rain still pouring, my thoughts turned to the Top Dog Deluxe. Should I buy some more crowns and have one last taste? I decided against it. Sometimes the idea of a dish is just as sweet, if not sweeter than the reality...

Bompas & Parr Chewing Gum Factory

Culinary wizards Bompas & Parr have found a new plaything. Moving on from the jelly moulds that made them famous, the pair have turned their hands, Wonka-style, to chewing gum.

Last week, the boys set up shop in Whiteleys, with a pop-up artisanal chewing gum factory. On arrival I'm swiftly lead to the dimly-lit Flavour Library, complete with haunting music on a loop, and scientific diagrams linking the 200 flavours on offer, from the play-it-safe strawberry and cotton candy, through the more adventurous white truffle and green pea, to the downright ludicrous curry, anchovy and hot dog.

I whiz around the aroma room, frantically opening flavour-scented jam jars in a bid to whittle down 40,000 possible combinations to my final two. Watermelon is divine, as is caramel, but they're both too predictable. Peanut jumps out of the jar, along with banana and almond, but I'm looking for something a little more playful. A mix of sweet and savoury perhaps? I strike upon what I believe to be an ingenious duo: foie gras and crème brûlée, having tasted something similar at a basque gastronomy evening the week before. It'll either be delicious or disgusting.

I write my flavour combo on a raffle ticket and hand it to the lady in a lab coat across the counter. She glances at it disapprovingly. The factory is proving so popular, punters have to wait for their numbers to be called, Bingo-style, by a bespectacled man on a megaphone. To ease my wait, I indulge in a Hendricks and tonic from a jam jar.

Finally my number's up, and I'm lead into the gum factory, a pink room lined with long wooden work benches. I'm given a gum-making tutorial by Sam Bompas himself, who dashes out the back to retrieve my flavours. He returns with a vial full of caramel coloured liquid, which I'm told to squirt on my clear gum base and then stir furiously. Icing sugar and citric acid is then added, and more stirring ensues.

'Would you like to add a colour?' Bompas enthuses. 'Why not make it bright green?', he suggests, squirting a few drops of green food colouring into the mixture. I stir it furiously, until it's the texture of Play Doh, then pick it up, douse it with icing sugar and roll it into small gum balls. Impatient, I pop one in my mouth, fearful of what I'm about to chew. Luckily, the crème brûlée dominates and it's surprisingly tasty.

The foie gras is definitely in there, but it's the custard-like, vanilla backbone that lingers. I finish rolling my pea green gum balls and pop them into a tiny white Bompas & Parr box. For their next trick the boys want to go one further and create a gum that changes flavour mid-chew, from savoury to sweet, recreating the Three-Course Dinner Chewing Gum Violet Beauregarde has the misfortune of eating when still in the testing phase in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, turning her into a giant blueberry. Wonka would be proud.