3. Gelupo, Soho - Blood Orange Granita £3-ish

I LIKE ice cream. In fact at any given point, I don't like to be more than a few hundred yards from an ice cream shop. You'd think it'd make travelling inconvenient but London seems to be filling up with gelatorias and, when they're interspersed with their poorer cousin, the frozen yoghurt shop, you can pretty much get across the city. Ice cream crawl anyone?

So I picked one of those rare sunny British Summer days (not that the weather plays any factor in my ice cream consumption - see graph) and headed for Piccadilly to give Gelupo a try. I took along my good friend and only person I know that likes ice cream more than me (I go nuts for dessert in any form; he is a purist - warm puddings actually offend him).

Because he wanted his own greedy animal name he'll be known as the Very Hungry Caterpillock.

Pillock for short.

The weather:ice cream phenomenom, nom, nom

I tend to avoid sorbet and the like; somehow getting less calories for the same price just doesn't feel like value for money. However, The List cares not for verging-on-fetishist desires and, while overlooking all that ice creamy goodness for the granita was tough, I stuck to it (while making a mental list of the flavours I will one day marry).

Handily comes with a spoon and a straw

It was pretty flippin' good. While it didn't satisfy the same sugary-fat craving as ice cream, the orange flavour was intense and fresh. Unsurprising considering that all they put in it is orange juice, sugar and ice. For it's simplicity and quality, it deserves it's top ten position and it's a refreshing treat for a hot day.

On a side note, and shamefully on my part (I blame my few remaining baby tastebuds), it did taste a little bit like a Calippo for grown-ups (remember those?!). But it was the best Calippo I've ever had - much less neon and none of the E-number kick of my youth.

In terms of the shop itself, Time Out was right; this place isn't a tourist trap. Having fought our way through the piles of tourists stuck in traps (aka rickshaws), it was a relief to get into the cool (in both senses of the word), stylishly decked-out shop.

Safe to say, it will remain an important outpost on my strategic ice cream map of London. However, the Pillock later said that the envious glint in my eye as I perved over his Bonet ice cream (chocolate, rum, amaretto, espresso and caramel) made him fear for his life so I'll admit; on my return, it'll be the gelato that gets my attention.