The Kangaroo Cocktail (aka "Vodka Martini")

"I'll have a Kangaroo. Shaken, not stirred."

"'I hope I've made it right,' she said. 'Six to one sounds terribly strong. I've never had vodka Martinis before.'"  The poor dear. We are, of course, referring to Solitaire in the novel Live and Let Die, trying to please her new man, James Bond, by making his drink correctly despite her anxiety about its (or his?) strength (power?).

The most well known tipple 007 is known to quaff, is of course, the "Vodka Martini". It is probably insufferably pretentious of me but I'm one of those irritating folks who believes there are only three drinks in the world that may be called a Martini and they all have gin and vermouth, dry, sweet or a combination of the two. Change the garnish from a lemon peel or olive to a cocktail onion and the drink becomes a Gibson despite the fact that it is really just a Martini with a different garnish. Swap out the gin for another principle spirit, such as bourbon, and you're just one dash of bitters (and a cocktail cherry) away from having yourself a Manhattan. By this logic, exchanging the gin for vodka should result in a drink with its own name; either a Vodka and Vermouth or something more exotic. In fact when vodka and vermouth were first mixed together in the 1920's, they did have an exotic name; they became: The Kangaroo Cocktail. Why that name didn't stand the test of time, one can only imagine.

I am the first to admit that making a Martini is infinitely easier than learning to appreciate one. The dry Martini is an acquired taste which is part of what gives it that enduring air of sophistication. Once you develop the taste, you feel almost as if you have earned your way into an exclusive club of men and women who know how to live and live well. Not everyone can or will develop a taste for the Martini and that only adds to the exclusivity of it all. It is snobbery, plain and simple but snobbery about the things we like is, perhaps, the only justifiable snobbery to embrace.

I suspect this is why people who love the Martini bristle at the Kangaroo (which is how I will refer to it from here on, so as to avoid confusion) being called a "Vodka Martini". Not only does it make it more complicated to order our beloved Martini, it seems like a cheat; a weak drink that does nothing to challenge the palette or earn the cache of sophistication but has, thanks in no small part to the popularity of James Bond, encouraged bartenders the world over to ruin our dry Martinis by shaking the life out of them.  It is bewildering to me how anyone, once appreciating a Martini would prefer a Kangaroo and from what my entirely unscientific research reveals, most people choose one or the other while it is a very rare breed drinks both. Those who favor the Kangaroo, generally do so because they do not like gin. Those who favor the Martini do so because we have learned to appreciate gin and vodka seems like weak tea in comparison.  James Bond is that rare specimen that drinks both. Which begs the question: When and why does one choose a Kangaroo over a Martini?

A friend of mine, who has nothing in common with 007 whatsoever beyond her appreciation of both drinks explained that, for her, the difference is analogous to choosing a lager over a stout; both may be delicious but sometimes something light and refreshing is more desirable than something challenging and complex. She also mentioned the importance in the garnish; preferring olives in her Kangaroo and a lemon twist in her Martini. In fact, the garnish (be it an olive, a lemon twist or black pepper) defines the kind of experience you can expect from a Kangaroo, simply because the vodka brings so little to the table in terms of flavor. This, I thought, might be a way for me to appreciate this drink more fully. After all, a Martini is either good or bad, depending on the execution. The garnish adds a dimension but it is the interplay between the botanical ingredients in the gin and the vermouth that really defines the experience. But a drink you can influence so strongly with just the garnish?  Now that's interesting!

James Bond prefers his Kangaroo to be called a "Vodka Martini" and for them to be made this way:

• 3 oz. (or six parts) vodka
• .5 oz. (or 1 part) dry vermouth

Shaken (not stirred) with ice, strained into a chilled cocktail glass with a large slice of lemon peel which is best twisted over the top to express the oils across the surface of the drink.

"I've never had a Kangaroo before."

It is in Moonraker that Ian Fleming specifies "real pre-war Wolfschmidt" vodka. The Wolfschmidt available to me was on the bottom shelf of my liquor store in a 1.75 liter plastic bottle for $12.00 U.S.  That seemed a bit dodgy to me so I chose Stolichnaya because it is Russian, made from grain (two of Bond's requirements in a vodka) and won a gold metal at an international trade show in Berne, Switzerland in 1953, just one year before Ian Fleming wrote Live and Let Die. In the first flush of the cold war, Russian vodka must have seemed a daring and very modern alternative to London dry gin.

With an olive as the garnish the vermouth and small amount of olive brine dominated the drink with a faint but pleasantly savory vegetal flavor with an almost creamy finish and smooth mouth feel. I enjoyed the drink but found myself wishing I was drinking a Martini instead. With a lemon twist, the drink becomes entirely lemon flavored (albeit dry) with the vermouth playing a supporting role by lending only a hint of sweetness and complexity to the finish. This certainly made for the more refreshing drink and made me yearn less for a Martini. Shaking the drink instead of stirring it made it quite a bit colder than is customary in a Martini (which is best stirred) but also watered the drink down quite a bit.  Since what flavor there is in vodka is not particularly to my liking, the cold and dilution came as a kindness. The lighter flavor profile as enhanced by the citrus was refreshing in the summer heat in a way a Martini would never be. And once I was able to appreciate the Kangaroo on it's own terms instead of as an ersatz Martini, I enjoyed it very much.

I do still find myself tilting at the windmill of the "Vodka Martini" moniker. Calling a Kangaroo a Martini diminishes it by forcing it to compete with a completely different cocktail when it should stand on its own; apples to oranges and all that. It occurs to me that what Ian Fleming did by popularizing vodka and vermouth as a "Vodka Martini" was set up a perpetual cold war between England and Russia, fought not with human lives but with the spirits most closely associated with each country. And with vodka rather winning the day, it makes one wonder whose side he was on...

Brandy and Ginger Ale

The problem with having a favorite or go-to drink is that, invariably, one will find oneself in a bar or restaurant that simply can't fulfill one's needs. For instance, my favorite spirits-based drink is a Sazerac but experience has taught me that a poorly made rendition is worse than none at all. The same is true of juice based drinks. The Last Word is a simply brilliant cocktail (equal parts gin, green chartreuse, Maraschino and lime juice) but most bars lack either one of the ingredients or the skill not to destroy it. A dear friend of mine solved this problem by making his go-to drink a Bourbon and Coke. In fact, while he will drink and review other drinks, a Bourbon and Coke is his favorite. And it's a fine thing but when I drink, I usually want something that plays just a little harder to get in terms of flavor.

When James Bond waits in the airport for the SwissAir Caravelle airplane (model number unknown)  to take him to his fateful rendezvous with Blofeld in the Swiss Alps in Chapter 9 of On Her Majesty's Secret Service he does the sensible thing: Instead of ordering a Vesper or even a Vodka Martini, he drinks something any airport bar could make; a brandy and ginger ale.

To be honest, I was rather dreading this particular entry. I couldn't imagine the brandy would do anything more than give a solid kick to the ginger ale so I wracked my brains trying to think of a way to make the drink more interesting. Perhaps, I thought, an older recipe might shed some light on this. I searched my recipe books and even looked online. I found a Brandy Cooler and Brandy Highball, both of which fit the description but also included a bit of lemon peel for garnish. Unfortunately, Ian Fleming gives no clue to the recipe; only that Bond (being 007) orders a double. Two doubles, actually. One can't help but wonder if all the doubles he orders are simply to compliment his license to kill.

Since I could find no real consensus in traditional cocktail books, I did what (out of respect) I never do. I turned to David Leigh's beautifully researched book The Complete Guide to the Drinks of James Bond and adapted his recipe for my own purposes.

The Brandy & Ginger Ale as I made it means filling a rocks glass with ice and adding:

• 2 oz. Courvoisier V.S.O.P. - The use of cognac is not merely snobbery; cognacs typically have more flavor than a standard brandy. Also, I like to imagine both Ian Fleming and James Bond would approve.
• Ginger ale. I filled the rest of the glass with the stuff. Probably 8 ounces. In the spirit of going with what an airport bar might have, I used Canada Dry for my first attempt which, in my part of the world, is more soda pop than mixer. The bottle I used was made of green plastic and had a picture of Captain America on the front. I'm not sure but I believe I just heard Ian Fleming tossing in his grave as I typed that.

Leave it at that and you have a surprisingly sophisticated and delightful drink not entirely unlike a somewhat simpler Brandy and Benedictine in terms of flavor but with a refreshing and effervescent quality that does not diminish over much as the ice melts and dilutes the mixture. The brandy (cognac) which often gets a little lost in cocktails for its more restrained qualities, plays a starring role in the glass with the ginger ale serving to open it up and compliment it. While this could easily be my new airport bar go-to drink I (being myself) still felt it could do with just a touch of interest. I added:

• 4 goodly dashes of The Bitter Truth Celery Bitters.
• Twist of lemon

Unlike a spice or citrus driven bitter, the subtler vegetal quality of the celery bitters doesn't come across at first but it lends the finish just a hint of savory funk and the very slight bitter flavor helps dial back the sweetness of the soda and ground the drink which helps as the ice melts. If you've been reading my blog, you know I enjoy a little funk; I believe it's the key to appreciating old world flavors and is all too rare in modern cuisine. If you find the celery bitters in a Brandy & Ginger Ale are not to your taste, you can always use them to enhance a Bloody Mary. The lemon twist is more for the nose of the drink. Lemon and ginger are brilliant bedfellows and if you replace the soda-pop ginger ale with something elegant like the ginger ale from Fever Tree and add the celery bitters, you will have yourself a real cocktail.

The lesson, if there is one, is to field test every drink, no matter how simplistic the recipe may seem on the surface. The Brandy and Ginger Ale is a very strong entry to the cannon of mixed drinks blessed (or at least imbibed) by James Bond. And, because it is a long drink, it's less likely to leave you incapacitated in potentially dangerous situations. Unless you order two doubles to compliment your secret service code number. That's pure silliness, of course, but it might just steady your nerves enough to get off a clean shot.