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.

Extra Credit

M, at the James Bond Dossier, was gracious enough to give me the opportunity to sound off a little bit (well, actually more than a little bit) about the first Skyfall teaser trailer.

You can read my words here: http://www.tjbd.co.uk/content/skyfall/skyfall-teaser-trailer-1-why-its-bond.htm

Cheers,
L.T.

Mint Julep

I'd say his Julep is tart enough for him.

Once upon a time in the 1700's, there was, in the United States of America, a vibrant mixed drink culture with a truly staggering array of different classifications of beverages designed to make the best use of the limited spirits and ingredients available at the time. There were punches, collinses, fizzes, flips, noggs, daisies, sours, coolers, cobblers, sangarees, toddies and slings. Bartenders and customers alike were expected to know, more or less, the difference between these drinks, which were served hot, which were served cold and which were served at room temperature (as ice was difficult and expensive to both obtain and maintain and dental technology not all that advanced, super cold drinks were not necessarily a given). Failure on the part of the bartender to get it right could result in termination- literally, by way of lead poisoning, blunt object or a blade across the throat. Tough times.

What you don't see in the list above are juleps. That's because juleps were medicinal in nature. Think "serum". You wouldn't order something called a Mint Serum would you (you might, I don't know you but I would certainly think twice)?  It sounds like something meant to cure what ails you. Again, literally.

But at some point in the 1790's, a drink quite correctly called a Mint Smash became known as a Mint Julep. Perhaps because drinking one made you feel as though it was curing what ailed you (figuratively, of course).  Or maybe there was a piece of glassware lost to history called the "julep glass"?

For whatever reason, the Julep became a category on it's own (something like a super-sized Smash) and the addition of mint helped popularize icy drinks in the 1800's.

Something about watching James Bond and Goldfinger sipping Mint Juleps in the shade captured my imagination many years before I could order one for myself. The only indication of what it might taste like, besides the presence of mint, are when Bond specifies "Sour mash and not too sweet"and Goldfinger politely asks "Is your Julep tart enough?" Imagine my surprise and momentary disappointment that the Mint Julep isn't even a little bit tart. 

The Mint Julep is a pretty simple drink in terms of flavor. The tobacco, spice and vanilla notes in the bourbon compliment the freshness of the mint and the small amount sugar helps integrate the flavors and soften the harshness of the spirits.  Creamy?  Perhaps. Minty? Definitely. Sweet? Certainly. Tart? Absolutely not.  But it is absolutely delicious and on a long, hot day there is nothing like it.If the Mint Julep has a failing it is also its strength in that it isn't complex. In cooler weather, a busier flavor profile might be a better choice but in the heat, simpler drinks are more refreshing.

But why does Bond specify "Sour mash, and not too sweet"?  By the 1960's, the Mint Julep had been a bourbon (or at least sour mash whiskey) drink for at least a hundred years but in the early days, the Julep could be ordered with gin (Dutch genever, not London dry), brandy or sour mash whiskey (either bourbon or Tennessee whiskey), all with mint but some featuring fruits and additional liqueurs. One recipe features a mix of rye and cognac instead of the bourbon, which is a delightful enhancement.  In any case, James Bond is either a little out of step or showing off how incredibly picky he can be by specifying the spirit the bartender would almost certainly use anyway.

The Mint Julep 

• 2. oz. spirit (I like mine with 1.5 oz. Bulleit bourbon which is high in rye content with .5 oz. Courvoisier V.S. cognac),
• 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
• 5 to 8 spearmint leaves
• 1 oz. water
• crushed ice
• 1 mint sprig for garnish

 Put mint, water and superfine sugar in the bottom of the glass, muddle and set aside for a few minutes. By using superfine sugar, the granules will help abrade the mint leaves before the water turns them into syrup. Simple syrup will work for flavor but won't help express the flavor from the leaves as efficiently. The longer you leave the mint in the syrup, the more mint flavor you will extract.

If you do not have a device to crush the ice, another (and possibly better option) is to put the ice in a canvas bag known as a Lewis Bag and pound away on it with a rubber or wood mallet (I'm not kidding. It's very cathartic) until powdery. The bag will absorb any water so the ice stays dry and won't turn to slush before its time.

Fill your glass with the crushed ice, pour in the bourbon, stir until the glass starts to frost and top with more ice.  Top with a sprig of mint and enjoy on the veranda with a narrow straw, a dangerous blonde and a plans of world domination to warm your heart of gold.

Rum Collins

 In 1934, only one year after the repeal of prohibition in the United States, former bootlegger Don Beach went straight, opened a successful chain of restaurant bars and invented the faux tropical style of cocktail known now as the tiki drink.

Usually based on citrus juices, spices and rum (which was far cheaper than whiskey due to an over-stock on the part of rum runners no longer profiting from the nation's "great experiment"), the tiki drink owed more to the punches, flips and sangarees of the pre-prohibition hey day than the simpler and certainly more spartan Martini and Manhattan cocktails people had been imbibing during the so-called "dry years".  With sweeter, more complex flavors and a new faux island exoticism to market it, the tiki drink ushered in a new class of cocktail drinkers.

To the martini crowd, this new class of drinker must have seemed trendy, inelegant and, frankly, lacking in good taste or sense. I imagine they felt about the tiki drinking crowd then much as I do now about the good folks who, I will assume because they don't know any better (or are 12), swill cotton candy "martinis" and "mud slides" in places like TGIFriday's. "Snobbery," as M says in On Her Majesty's Secret Service, "is a curious thing."

By the time Emilio Largo offers James Bond a Rum Collins in the film version of Thunderball, these two group definitions were well established and, in a world where James Bond can tell a moral weakness in a man's soul just by what he drinks (as he does when Kristatos orders a Brandy Alexander in the short story Risico), a Rum Collins goes a long way to telling 007, as well as the more sophisticated members of the audience, that Largo, while dangerous, is by no means made of the stern, steely eyed stuff that is James Bond.

The Tom or John Collins is a fine tall gin based drink dating well back into the 1800's but I believe the the tiki fad (which was in full swing in the early 1960's, lasted more than 40 years and, after finally going dark in the 1980's, is enjoying a well deserved come back) popularized the substitution of rum over gin. Of course, there is another, perhaps more immediate connotation; the Rum Collins is a drink popular in Cuba, then as now, a predominantly communist nation and Thunderball takes place in the heart of cold war. By offering Bond a Rum Collins, Largo is revealing himself, if not as the enemy, then certainly as "the other".

The recipes for the Rum Collins are many, some dictating as much as 1.5 ounces of lime juice (which is great if you want to turn your mouth into a kind of ceviche but not for this drink) while others recommend 3 ounces of rum which is more than any other ingredient could hope to bring into balance.

Here is the most palatable of the recipes I tried. Shake with ice:

• 2 oz. white rum (I used Cruzan)
• .5 oz. freshly squeezed lime juice
• 1.5 oz. simple syrup (or super fine sugar)

Strain into an ice filled tall (10 oz.) Collins glass, top with soda water, stir lightly and garnish with a cherry and a lime wheel.

This makes a drink that is probably as refreshing and forgettable in the Nasau heat as one might crave. It is slightly sweet, slightly tart with a very faint rum flavor that is all but obscured by the lime and the sugar. It isn't bad; it's just unremarkable.

A delightful twist on the Rum Collins that takes a slice out of the tiki culture and one which James Bond and Ian Fleming almost certainly would have disapproved of is to shake with ice:

• 1 oz. dark, aged rum (I used Lemon Hart 80 proof)
• 1 oz. light rum (Cruzan as before)
• .5 oz. fresh lime juice
• (Replace the sugar with) 1.5 tsp. Fee Brothers' Falernum
• a dash of Angostura aromatic bitters

Strain, top with club soda and serve as above. The dark rum adds flavor and body while the falernum adds sweetness, spice and the kind of interesting tropical funk one might imagine at the bottom of a chest full of lost treasure. The bitters help bring it all home into one deliciously balanced, albeit tiki influenced, cocktail. The rum and lime finally frolic the way they were always meant to while the spices add a kind of interest that keeps your palette just puzzled enough that you keep coming back for more.

This drink makes a pleasant afternoon in the back yard with friends into an evening of hilarious entertainment if, like Emilio Largo and myself, you keep sharks in your swimming pool.

Cheers!

---

For more information on Don Beach and the tiki culture he started and helped create as well as many amazing cocktail recipes thought lost to the winds of time, buy yourself a copy of Sippin' Safari by Jeff "Beach Bum" Berry.

Sazerac

Technically, the Sazerac isn't so much a Bond cocktail as it is a Leiter cocktail since it's Felix Leiter who orders them while the pair investigate a lead at the Fillet of Soul bar in Harlem in the film version of Live and Let Die. And, sadly, Bond never actually gets to try one because his table sinks into the floor and he is captured by the film's super groovy villain, Mr. Big.

Which is a shame because James Bond would have loved the Sazerac and it might have given a little spice and flavor to this otherwise rather drab entry in the series. It is straight forward, butch and incredibly sensual which is remarkable given how few ingredients are in it.

Sazerac cocktail with absurdly long lemon twist.

This is probably the point where I should come clean and admit that the Sazerac is one of my all-time favorite cocktails. I won't even pretend to be a little objective about this cocktail. It is magnificent. If I were sent to a desert isle with only the makings of one cocktail, I'd likely choose the Sazerac (although I would dearly miss my martini).  I am not a huge fan of anise-flavored spirits but the rinse of absinthe interacts with the rye that brings out the oak, vanilla, tobacco and other notes not usually as present in the whiskey. And it does it in a way that isn't cloying or harsh. Whoever it was coined the phrase "more than a sum of it's parts" was talking about the Sazerac cocktail (not really) or should have been. The flavor of the rye and the flavor of the absinthe almost cancel each other out and become something new entirely with only the best qualities of each remaining.

Initially made with cognac until the phylloxera epidemic of the 1880's and has since been made with rye whiskey, probably because it was easily obtainable and popular in the region. And because it is so old, there is a correct way to make a Sazerac and many incorrect ways; most of which will yield the same drink*. Yes, making a Sazerac is as much respecting mythology as it is mixology.

Strip all the lore away and this is really just a brilliant riff on the Old Fashioned cocktail. It's spirits, sugar, bitters and one extra ingredient, in this case, absinthe. Add a twist of lemon instead of the controversial and entirely unnecessary maraschino cherry and you have an amazing cocktail that only superficially resembles its predecessor.

The "correct" way to make a Sazerac (more or less):

1. Fill a rocks glass with ice (and perhaps cold water) and put to the side to cool.
2. Put a single sugar cube (or more, if you don't like your pride too much) in a second rocks glass
3. Add .5 oz. water to disolve the sugar, and drench the sugar cube in Peychaud's bitters until it's completely red.
4. Muddle the sugar cube until it's mostly dissolved in the water and bitters mixture.
5. Add 2 oz. rye whiskey and stir.
6. Pour ice water out of glass #1 but keep the ice in. Add the whiskey, bitters and sugar from glass #2 and stir for 20 seconds or so.
7. In glass #2, pour in roughly a teaspoon of absinthe, swirl it around to coat the inside of the glass and discard it.
8. Strain the cocktail from glass #1 to glass #2 and then twist a bit of lemon peel (having removed the pith) over the top, run the zest across the top of the glass and either discard or drop the garnish in according to taste (I'd like mine in, please).
9. Kneel in the direction of New Orleans and pay your respects to Tom Handy, ex-manager of the Sazerac Bar

Okay, I made up that last step. But still, if 8 steps sounds like a lot of work for a cocktail with only 4 ingredients, that's because it is.

Here's how I make mine:

1. Put the following into a cocktail shaker or, failing that, pint glass:

• 2 oz. rye whiskey
• 2 dashes Peychaud's bitters (I use 1 goodly dash for each ounce of whiskey. Making a 3 oz. Sazerac? Use 3 dashes)
• 1 to 2 tsp. simple syrup (Or, better yet, gum syrup. For people new to the Sazerac or spirits-forward drinks, I often start with 2 tsp. to ease them into it)

2. Stir with ice for at least 20 seconds. More if your rye is overproof (higher than 80 proof)

3. Rinse a pre-chilled rocks glass with absinthe (if you make a lot of these, it's worth it to use a spray mister to minimize waste of the absinthe)

4. Strain cocktail into the absinthe coated glass

5. Twist lemon peel over the top so the oils from the zest coat the surface of the drink and drop in. Unlike the Old Fashioned, the garnish in this case is not optional. The lemon twist is a key part of the flavor profile.

Dilution is powerful magic. Over dilute and you have weak drink. Don't dilute enough and you have fire water burning a hole in your mouth before you can even get to the flavor. This is cool if you want to show how tough you are but not so cool if you want to make drinks both you and your guests will love.

Another point: Sugar, like salt, is a flavor carrier. It doesn't just make drinks sweeter, it does a lot to open up the complex flavors in spirits.  And, in rye and absithe, there are a lot of flavors just waiting for you to unlock them. If you're used to sweeter drinks, go ahead and use more sugar than the recipe calls for; chances are, you'll end up dialing it back over time to the single teaspoon (aka sugar cube) specified in the recipe.

About the ingredients: Use something decent. The rye has nothing to hide behind so if you go with a cheap brand, you're going to get a cheap tasting result. I like Bulleit and Sazerac as good standard rye whiskeys for this drink. There are others but don't skimp if you can help it.  I like St. George Spirits' absinthe but Kubler or Lucid will do. Stay away from anything died green (Le Torment, aptly named) or, oddly, red.

Also, since this cocktail was originally made with brandy, try a cognac in place of the rye. Or, since they compliment each other so well (cognac adding body to the spicey, sometimes strident rye), try a half rye/half cognac Sazerac for a wonderfully rich alternative.

Cheers!



*I say "most" because once I was served what the bartender insisted was a Sazerac with lemon juice in it. We went back and forth and she instisted that, because she was standing behind the bar slinging drinks, I must have been mistaken. I have only found one book that listed this variation and listed it as a variation, not the original. Still, if your Sazerac has juice of any kind in it, send it back. And tell that bartender that vermouth doesn't belong in an Old Fashioned either and she should really take up another line of work.

 •••

Black Velvet (beer cocktail)

At the time of this writing, the 23rd James Bond film by EON Productions is being filmed and, along with the 50th anniversary, is hotly anticipated. Everything from Tom Ford's suits for Daniel Craig (one size too small and too trendy, in this writer's opinion) to the product placement of beer manufacturer Heineken is being scrutinized and argued over. I'm sure, once Skyfall is released, we'll likely have other shallow subjects to get in a twist about but for the time being, this is it.

The argument regarding beer, in case you've been distracted by real life or you are somehow reading this from the far off future, is two-fold: One, the concern seems to be about product placement somehow compromising the artistic integrity of the film and other other is one of perception. The quote regarding the latter seems best summed up as: "Bond trades in his sophisticated vodka martini for a lowly beer." This unacceptable, right?  After all, Bond, as far as most film goers know, is a working class man with only the most elegant taste, who almost exclusively consumes vodka martinis. 

This is, of course, only true enough to make people believe it. 

First, let's get the pesky issue of product placement out of the way. Ian Fleming wasn't even a little bit shy about infusing his novels with brand names to give authenticity, richness and style to his own literary product. From the first, Bond is calling his favorite gin (Gordon's.... not that this writer agrees with him) and his champagne of the moment is almost always specified (Veuve Cliquot and Taittinger in Casino Royale, if memory serves). The 007 novels were intended as escapism and Bond's travels to exotic locales were almost overshadowed by the detail Fleming gave his epicurean adventures and personal preferences. His wrist watch, according to Fleming, was a Rolex Oyster Perpetual of some unspecified variety and, in Casino Royale, Bond sets the tone for ordering an avocado- something most subjects of post-war England would die for and could never have. His suits were tailored and his cigarettes handmade with a special blend of Balkan and Turkish tobacco with three gold bands on them and the list goes one. Bond knows what he likes from how his scrambled eggs are prepared to how his drinks are served. So when the films started introducing brands (Lore has it that Sean Connery wears an ersatz Rolex Oyster Perpetual modeled on Cubby Broccoli's own watch in Dr. No), it was not only not a violation of the character, it was almost a required element.  This is not to say that the films are always graceful about how they place their affiliates' products but the presence of recognized brand names goes all the way back, not only to the first film but the first novel.  The question is not about whether or not it's a sell-out. Of course it's a sell out!  It always has been. In the case of James Bond, it's arguably part not only of his character but the world he inhabits. The question then is about how it's handled and we won't know that until Skyfall is released. One hopes the presence of Heineken will only add to a sense of realism in the landscape Bond traverses and will not interfere with our suspension of disbelief.

The question then, is one of what Bond chooses to imbibe. James Bond drinks vodka martinis. And gin martinis. And Ouzo. And bourbon. And scotch. And glüh vein. And sake. And brandy. And, yes, beer. When James Bond drinks beer in the novel Goldfinger (popping off for a quick one as Sean Connery's Bond suggests in the film whilst Q introduces him to his enhanced Aston Martin DB5), it is Löwenbräu and used to chase down a double schnapps. He does the same in The Living Daylights. When he and Felix Leiter are driving from New York to Saratoga in Diamonds are Forever, he orders a Miller's High Life.  The novels are all about the high life and the literary Bond, like his celluloid counterpart, is very much a man who appreciates specificity.

In a way, this is the function James Bond serves in our culture. It's why we queue up to see each new film, whether our favorite actor is playing the role or not, whether the tone of the film is light, gritty or something in between. The writing, the music, the actors and the styles all change.  Even the brands change. Many of the brands Ian Fleming enjoyed have either been eclipsed by finer products, changed in quality or disappeared completely. What has not changed,  possibly, the only thing that has not changed in the nearly 60 years since Casino Royale was first published is that James Bond always lives the high life. He is a working man who somehow drives the best cars, travels to the most beautiful locales, wears the best clothes, makes love to the most beautiful women, eats the finest food and drinks the most sophisticated beverages. For most of us, the 007 films are our only glimpse into the way of the monied and James Bond is our proxy, showing us what sophistication looks like. We either want to be him or we want to bed him and his exotic lifestyle is the key. James Bond is a kind of blank canvas on to which we can superimpose ourselves** and the fact that there will always be another actor playing the role helps reinforce our own ability to imagine ourselves in 007's custom made shoes. There's something almost sacred in this pact.

The audience can forgive almost any transgression; from painful double entendres to logic holes so big you could hide a giant orbiting space station inside them but when the 007 franchise fails us in the high living department, we rebel. Timothy Dalton learned this the hard way with License to Kill in 1989.  His attempt at demythologizing James Bond was met with lukewarm box office returns despite his very credible acting and clear reverence for the original source material. Timothy Dalton was Fleming's Bond more than any other except for one thing: No one wanted to be his interpretation of James Bond*.

Which brings us back to beer. Regular folk drink beer. It is inexpensive and considered common. We look to James Bond to show us something special, something we cannot easily experience ourselves not something we could pick up at the local convenience store. This isn't just an affectation of the films, it's woven into the DNA from the very first words on the page.

But let's get one thing clear.  James Bond is a drinker. He has a high stress job and lives, at least in the novels, in a world where Xanax, Ativan and other at-will sedatives do not exist and even the admission of an emotional problem comes with a devastating stigma. Bond self medicates with booze. He also enjoys pleasant sensory experiences for all they offer in light of the fact that, as Daniel Craig's Bond states quite clearly, "00's have a short life expectancy."  James Bond is picky but not overly so. In a pinch, he will drink Martinis from a can (in the novel Live and Let Die) or whatever the local beer might be. In fact, the only thing James Bond does not drink, is water.

Not only will James Bond drink beer in a pinch but he enjoys it, particularly paired with food and usually during the day when he still needs his wits about him for the work ahead. In the novel Diamonds are Forever, Bill Tanner, the Chief of Staff and Bond's best friend in the service, takes Bond out to "black velvets and dressed crab" for lunch after their briefing about Bond's mission with M. Nothing tells you either you're a favorite in the firm or that you're about to go on a mission you're not expected to return from like a free lunch of dressed crab and black velvets!

Dressed crab is, of course, crab meat, scooped out of, and served up inside, the shell; traditionally served up with brown bread and high quality mayonnaise. Make mayonnaise yourself and you know what they mean by "high quality". It's a completely different product from what stores sell in vacuum sealed jars. Dressed crab is a luxurious and high-maintenance meal enhanced, no doubt by the Black Velvet which is, ostensibly, just equal parts Guinness draught beer and a brut champagne, served in either a champagne flute or a pint glass. Some float the beer over the champagne (which looks great but is something I was unable to accomplish), some float the champagne on top (at which I was marginally more successful) and some just mix the two (which I ended up doing for the mixed flavor of the two, which was delightful). 

As histories about mixed drinks go, most are more legend and myth than fact but the story of the Black Velvet is that, according to the legendary historian of mixed drinks David Wondrich (who endorses the mixing method), the drink was created by a bartender at the Brooks's Club of London in 1861 as an alternative to wearing a black arm band to morn the death of Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's Prince Consort who was very popular at the time. 

Here's how I made mine:

• Fill half a pint or highball glass with Guinness draught beer (Guinness extra stout works too but the flavors mix less seamlessly)
• Place a large spoon with the convex side facing skyward inside the top of the glass and gently top with champagne or another sparkling wine. I used a non-vintage (N.V.) Piper-Heidseick Brut but I suspect any sparkling wine will do.

If you like the notion of having a glass of sparkling wine followed by a glass of beer, enjoy.  If not, stir gently and drink the alchemical magic the two make together. Where the Guinness ends, the champagne takes over and just at the finish, both blend and become one; simultaneously light-hearted and sophisticated. For a simple drink, the Black Velvet is either incredibly brilliant or an incredibly lucky combination.

I tried both a stout and a draught from Guinness in two separate instances. While the draught flavors seamlessly integrated with the Piper-Heidseick (which is a very nice low-to-mid-end champagne), the stout did less well, maintaining a gaminess not present in the draught. In any case, this is a very forgiving drink and worthy of any warm day or occasion where your immediate superior offers you what might be your last free lunch.

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*Full disclosure: I totally wanted to be Timothy Dalton's incarnation of James Bond. Are you kidding me? Dalton was Bond as far as I was concerned. He was tough, dapper and took Bond seriously (this last trait is less important to me as I get older). The Living Daylights more than made up for the worst offenses of Roger Moore's tenure. That said, mine was certainly the minority opinion and License to Kill... ah, the lost opportunities.

 ** There is a good interview with David Leigh from James Bond Dossier on the subject that elaborates on this point.