Butter Tarts & Rebels June 2026
Taste of London 2026
17 June 2026
Before We Arrive: Taste of London, Chosen by Name
Before we arrive at Taste of London, we have already begun.
Not with menus. Not with rankings. Not with a cold plan. But with coffee, the Blue Door open, a notebook on the table, and a list of names chosen by instinct.
We decided not to look too deeply at the menus. Not yet. We wanted to leave room for surprise, for smell, for queues, for colour, for the kind of decision that happens when food is in front of you and the day starts speaking. So we looked at the restaurant names. One by one.
Some called us because they sounded warm. Some because they sounded elegant. Some because they promised hands-food, comfort, spice, theatre, or danger. Some because butter bean quietly placed them in the backup corner with no pressure, obviously.
This is part of the story too. The preparation before the event. The curiosity. The little research. The laughter. The handwritten list. The way an outing becomes ours before we even leave the flat.
Because we are not going only to eat. We are going to witness. To taste. To notice. To laugh. To be surprised. To honour the work behind the plate.
And this morning, before the workday began, Taste of London was already here with us — open on the screen, written in our notebook, waiting at the edge of the table like a promise.
20 June 2026
Taste of London 2026 — Not Perfect, But Ours
T for togetherness, gold dumplings, flying Parmesan, and the food festival we still love.
There are days you pencil-dream before you live them.
You imagine the train, the heat, the platform, the people already dressed for their Friday evening lives. You imagine arriving in London not for work, not for duty, not for one more tired routine, but for pleasure. You imagine the entrance, the famous yellow Taste of London letters, the first drink, the first plate, the first “mmm,” the first photo that probably won’t be perfect but will somehow tell the truth.
And then the ground corrects you. Not cruelly. Not always kindly either. But honestly.
Taste of London 2026 was not perfect. It was hot, busy, loud, colourful, over-marketed, generous with samples, frustrating in places, disappointing in others, and still — somehow, stubbornly — ours.
We arrived a little after the evening session had opened. The queue was not as dramatic as expected. First came the bag search, then the ticket scan, then the entrance into that familiar festival world: music everywhere, people already moving with drinks and shopping bags, promoters offering trays, and the big yellow letters standing there like a ritual.
From where we stood, the sign gave us T. T for Taste, of course.
But for us, T was also for togetherness. That mattered.
Because this was not just another event. It was another year of returning to a celebration of food after long days, tired feet, work, survival, and everything that makes ordinary life heavy. We came hungry, curious, hopeful, and ready to let the ground speak.
The first mission was simple: find something sparkling, something cold, something adult enough to say, “We are here.” This proved harder than expected.
There were free samples everywhere. Cheddar cheese here. Halloumi and a traditional sweet drink there. Cocktail samples. Ice cream. Sausage rolls. Promoters in front of stalls with trays. More samples, definitely more than in previous years, and much more aggressive marketing energy. DJ music seemed to come from every direction at once.
But a simple glass of bubbles? Not immediately.
Then we found the Italian Prosecco stand, with cheese to pair. Perfect, we thought. A small moment of elegance. A cin-cin to the evening.
Reality had other plans. The glass was plastic, cracked, and the Prosecco poured straight onto the dress. At the same time, the wind lifted the little plate and took the Parmesan away. One moment there was a drink and cheese; the next there was a cracked empty glass, a wet dress, and a tiny dairy tragedy flying into the festival air.
To their credit, the staff apologised and replaced the drink.
But as opening ceremonies go, this one was memorable for all the wrong reasons.
After that, the evening became a sequence of samples, side quests, and surprises. Ice cream. Iberico ham. A shopping bag won at a wheel. A Nescafé game not won. Free samples taken, not refused. And then, finally, the restaurants.
We had a list. Not a cage, but a lantern.
The first proper stop from our list was Pahli Hill Bandra Bhai, where we tried the signature dish: Papadi Chaat.
We wanted to love it. We did not.
It was too sweet, and there was not enough yoghurt to balance it. A dish like this needs contrast: crunch, tang, spice, freshness, creaminess. This one leaned too far into sweetness, and after a try, we could not continue.
The great expected Oka, with a dish we expected to be safe joy: Truffle Salmon Roll.
Because who doesn't love sushi, right? It looked better than it tasted.
The salmon roll was pretty enough, but the freshness was missing, and the truffle seemed to have been forgotten somewhere in the kitchen. The result felt closer to supermarket sushi than festival-level sushi. Beautiful photo, weak soul.
Then came gin o’clock.
At the Still Gin stand, two girls asked if we would appear in their promotional video while trying the drink and saying a few words. We said yes.
Because why not? Asked if we had tried the brand before, the answer was no. Asked if we wanted to try it, of course yes. Asked what we thought, the answer came naturally: it was delicious, fresh, tasted like summer — and it was still gin.
A good line, really. Clear. Honest. Useful. They gave a sample and 50% off the drink. Fair payment for spontaneous festival promotion.
And finally, the first true winner of the night: Dim Sum by Chai Wu.
We chose the Deluxe Dim Sum Platter: two wagyu and two lobster dumplings topped with caviar.
This sounded extremely posh. Almost too posh for the fact that we had to eat it sitting on the grass because there was no space at the tables. But the dish delivered.
The lobster dumpling was good, but the wagyu dumpling was better. Much better. It had that real food moment — not the polite “nice,” but the true culinary mmmm. The one that stops the disappointment cycle and reminds you why you came.
Gold medal of the evening: Dim Sum by Chai Wu, especially the wagyu dumpling.
While taking photos later, someone took a photo of us taking photos because she liked the scene and asked if she could use it for promotion. Again, we said yes. Another shopping bag appeared.
Taste of London 2026 had accidentally turned us into festival content. Twice.
Then came Ixchel.
There was a queue, which always tempts you to believe something good is waiting at the end. We chose the Duck Confit Sope: something like a corn pancake base, topped with duck.
It looked interesting. It did not work for us.
The base was hard, the bite was not inviting, and after one taste, that was enough. One bite and goodbye. Not everything needs a second chance when the first one already tells the truth.
Next was Sexy Fish, one of our backup choices. A dramatic side character that somehow made it onto the stage.
We chose the Ancho Chilli Wagyu Taco: ancho chilli-glazed braised wagyu on a crispy taco with baby gem lettuce, tahoon mayonnaise and crispy shallots.
The description promised more than the dish delivered.
It was memorable enough to earn bronze, but mainly because someone had to take third place. It was too salty for our taste, too messy, and the description was more pompous than the actual experience. The taco wanted to be glamorous; instead, it tried to feed not only the mouth, but the hand and even the leg. Still, at least it had personality.
Bronze medal: Sexy Fish — for effort, mess, and theatrical salt.
And straight after? Steak and Company.
The smell alone opened a big appetite door. The signature dish was sold out, and perhaps that made us even more ready for something direct and satisfying. We chose the Sirloin Steak with Chips and Peppercorn Sauce: Ocean Beef sirloin steak by Tom Hixson, Pierre Koffman chips, steak seasoning and peppercorn sauce.
The name “Ocean Beef” made us smile. For one second, we wondered if we were about to receive a mysterious fish pretending to be cow. No. It was proper steak. And it was good.
Very good. Tender, cooked well, with chips that were good rather than great, and a peppercorn sauce that could probably be beaten by our own version at home. But all together, it worked. It was honest, well cooked, and satisfying. After several dishes that sounded better than they tasted, this one tasted like someone knew what they were doing.
Silver medal: Steak and Company — for quality meat and proper cooking.
Then came Big Mamma, another backup that entered the evening.
We tried Burratina al Pistachio.
As a concept, it sounded lovely. The burratina itself was genuinely good: soft, creamy, refreshing after steak. But the pistachio was too small a presence. If a dish names pistachio, then pistachio should not be a shy little dollop whispering from the side. Good idea. Good cheese. Not enough courage in the key ingredient.
Finally, Roti King.
This one hurt the most. We remembered Roti King from last year as one of the favourites: flaky roti, delicious curry, fragrance, warmth, comfort. This year we watched the roti being made, full of expectation, and chose the chicken option.
The truth? Disappointing. The roti was not as flaky or fresh as we remembered. The curry did not have the fragrance or depth we expected. It did not feel like the authentic chicken curry promised. Because last year’s memory was so strong, this became the biggest disappointment of the evening.
One piece was enough. The rest was left behind.
And then, while he finished it, we had a small conversation with a very cute dog nearby. Sometimes food disappoints and the grass sends a little creature to soften the mood. By then, we were full, a bit disappointed with the food overall, and ready for something sweet.
Ice cream saved the ending for a while. Double chocolate and pistachio. We had some of both. Delicious, balanced, with a fresh cone. A simple pleasure, and one of the most successful things of the night. Honourable rescue: the ice cream.
We wanted to end the evening with coffee, or maybe an espresso martini. Something to close the night properly. A final Cin-Cin. And when we reached the front, at around 9:10pm, about twenty minutes before the festival closing time, they said they were closed and were not taking any more orders. Not only for us, but for everyone still in the queue.
This was the worst service moment of the evening.
Not because one coffee was missed. Because people were allowed to wait for something they were never going to receive. At a food festival, where hospitality should be central, this felt unprofessional and disrespectful. Communication matters. If a stand is closing early or stopping orders, the queue should be told before people spend their final festival minutes waiting in vain.
There was another practical frustration too: sparkling water. There were free water stations, which is good and necessary, especially on such a hot day. There were also free cans being offered, as in previous years, but not a brand we personally enjoy. What was difficult to find was a simple option to buy sparkling water. At a hot summer food festival, where not everyone wants alcohol or sweet drinks, that should be easier.
So where does that leave Taste of London 2026? Busy. Noisy. Colourful. Hot. Full of music, branding, samples, queues, grass, bags, bright signs, marketing, and moments of real pleasure hiding among the disappointments.
There was definitely more advertising energy than food magic this year. Some dishes sounded better than they tasted. Some big names disappointed. Some service decisions were poor. And yet, somehow, we still loved being there.
Because Taste of London is not only about the individual plates.
It is about the idea of food becoming public celebration. About chefs and teams repeating plate after plate under heat and pressure. About creativity presented in front of thousands of people. About people trusting a dish enough to queue, pay, photograph, taste, compare, remember. About tired hands, trained skills, hot stations, fast service, and the courage to put flavour in front of a crowd.
Food is not only ingredients. It is work. Heat. Repetition. Risk. Trust. This year was not our best Taste of London food year. But it was still ours.
Ours in the green dress. Ours in the cracked Prosecco glass. Ours in the Parmesan flying away. Ours in the gold wagyu dumpling, the silver steak, the messy bronze taco, the dog, the ice cream, the missing coffee, the missing sparkling water, the way back home.
And yes, even before our feet recovered, we started pencil-dreaming next year. Maybe next year we choose more restaurants. Maybe we spread the risk. Maybe we follow instinct more. Maybe we plan the coffee earlier. Maybe we bring our own sparkling water strategy.
But we will definitely go again. Same location, maybe. Same Elena and Atlas, but not same-same. More evolved, more observant, more honest, more us.
Taste of London 2026 was not perfect. But it was ours.
By Elena & Atlas - journalists without a name badge, still hungry.