In the interest of Culinary Vicariousness, we are exploring and presenting to you the Strictly Gustatory Adventures of world-renowned super-spy James Bond, as recorded in the novels of Commander Ian Fleming.
Bond ordered a double gin and tonic and one whole green lime. When the drink came, he cut the lime in half, dropped the two squeezed halves into the long glass, almost filled the glass with ice cubes and then poured in the tonic.
Bond ordered his gin and tonic with a lime, and Quarrel a Red Stripe beer. They scanned the menu and both decided on broiled lobster followed by a rare steak with native vegetables.
Bond lit his first cigarette of the day – the first Royal Blend he had smoked for five years – and let the smoke come out between his teeth in a luxurious hiss.
By the time coffee came, Plydell-Smith was delving well below the surface of the prosperous, peaceful island the world knows.
Soon there was the delicious smell of coffee and frying bacon.
Bond went to the icebox and took a pint of Canadian Club Blended Rye and some ice and soda-water and went and sat in the garden and watched the last light flame and die.
And he was not looking forward to his dinner of soaking bread and cheese and salt pork.
They searched in the debris and Quarrel unearthed a couple of unopened tins of Heinz pork and beans.
There was a delicious smell of bacon and coffee.
Scrambled eggs on toast, four rashers of bacon, a grilled kidney and what looked like an English pork sausage. There were also two kinds of hot toast, rolls inside a napkin, marmalade, honey and strawberry jam. The coffee was boiling hot in a large Thermos decanter. The cream smelled fresh.
He had been drugged. In the coffee or in the pineapple juice?
Then he went into the bathroom and had a couple of Aspirins and a cold shower.
Bond ordered caviar, grilled lamb cutlets and salad, and angels on horseback for himself.
Bond said, “And I would like a medium Vodka dry Martini – with a slice of lemon peel. Shaken and not stirred, please. I would prefer Russian or Polish vodka.”
An expansive gesture of his right hand knocked over his glass of champagne and in the split second of the crash his left hand flicked the knife into the deep sleeve of his kimono.
Coffee came and the meal was ended.
There was a plate of sandwiches and a Thermos full of coffee beside the turned-down bed.
“I’m afraid it’s cold dinner – just lobsters and fruit.”
She said, “Here’s mayonnaise. It’s not out of a bottle. I made it myself. And take some bread and butter.”
Previous installments of this series may be found here.