Tag: cocktails

Guest Post: 7 Reasons You Wouldn’t Want To Be James Bond

James Bond is a hero; an archetypal action icon. He’s got the licence to kill. He’s got the cool gadgets. He gets the girl. He saves the day. Every man would want to be Bond, right? Well, no actually. There are plenty of reasons why being 007 wouldn’t rock. Here are seven reasons why it would suck to be MI6’s infamous secret agent…

1. Your Personality. Despite 23 cinematic outings, you’re still a curiously undeveloped character. You possess the superficial charm of a cunning cad, but deep down there’s little rattling around except arrogance and bitter grudges. You have serious communication issues, and are only able to express yourself through cynicism, brute force and a penchant for one-liners. While that’s undeniably entertaining for two hours, you’d actually enjoy life more as a Bond villain. In fact, there are seven reasons why that would be better.

2. No Friends. You don’t have friends; you have assets – sprawling networks of intelligence gatherers, double agents and fellow spies. But you can’t even hang out with them like a normal person because, most of the time, you end up killing them. Could you make some genuine BBFs? Not likely. Friends don’t tolerate it when you visit Fort Knox without bringing back a souvenir, or cancel dinner plans at the last minute to go on a murderous rampage at an embassy in Madagascar. Or star in a film as bad as Quantum of Solace.

3. Social Media. You already tell everyone your real name. This makes you vulnerable. But now you have to worry about your latest conquest Instagramming your awesome new toy, or tweeting about your top secret location. And what about when you want to check in to your luxury hotel on Facebook, or oust Le Chiffre as the Mayor of Casino Royale on foursquare? All your enemies will know where you are. Which is a problem. Your only hope of anonymity is to use a network no one else does. You’ll need to join Google+.

4. Insurance Costs. It might look fun to smash up millions of pounds worth of high-tech kit, but when you write off a souped-up supercar constantly it gets expensive. Constructing vehicles with built-in rockets and ejector seats means you need very special modified car insurance. And as a reckless playboy your quotes will be eye-watering. Your excess will be excessive. Rumours are already circulating that the follow-up to Skyfall will be Skyhigh – a sequel in which Bond battles rising insurance premiums, with a sub-plot about protecting his No Claims Bonus. It’ll be box office gold.

5. Bond Girls. You’ve spent decades as both a literal and figurative lady killer. But after 50 years of shallow and meaningless romantic liaisons, you’ve got a problem: you’re running out of women. It might seem like a supermodel falls into your bed every time you stop by Monte Carlo, but those days are numbered; your prolific promiscuity is leaving the world bereft of fresh conquests. And not only are they growing scarce, but attractive female characters are also getting harder to seduce now that scriptwriters have decided to give them personalities and feelings and stuff.

6. Transferable Skills. You haven’t aged since 1962, but one day you’ll have to quit 007-ing and hang up your Walthar PPK. Being a jet-setting spy gets old after a while, and eventually the familiarity of normal life will seem more appealing than driving invisible cars. But finding a job will be tough. You’re essentially only good at three things: espionage, seduction and violence. And you don’t officially exist, so you have no CV. Oh, and you’re a sociopath. These factors make it difficult to find a job outside being James Bond. A career as a male escort looks promising, but who wants a psychopathic gigolo? Your future employment prospects look bleak.

7. Death Proof. Sorry to spoiler, but you don’t die in Skyfall. And you won’t die in your next outing as 007 either. Or the next one, probably. Daniel Craig has signed on for two more Bond adventures, meaning you are effectively immortal. Knowing you aren’t going to die is boring. It takes edge off the action. Shooting bad guys is less exciting when you know they can’t kill you back. Not convinced? Immunity to peril might sound cool, but if they let Madonna do another theme song then being impervious to death won’t seem so amazing.

Author Bio: Andrew Tipp is a film geek and pop culture noodler. He is a man of science, and of reason. He is also a man of action. And he likes coffee. And bacon. He has previously written for backpacking website gapyear.com and youth media magazine IP1.

October 20, 2012
7 Reasons That the Hot Toddy is THE Winter Drink

The hot toddy is the winter drink. Here are seven reasons why.

1. They’re Warming. Hot toddies are hot. The winter is cold. Therefore, when you arrive home after any time outdoors, you are probably cold. Given that the temperature differential between the toddy and your body* is going to be quite substantial, the taking of the toddy will be beneficial to your body temperature and innate sense of wellbeing.

2. They’re Medicinal. Given that it’s winter, you’re probably suffering from some sort of cold/flu/sniffle/sinus-block-green-stuff-induced-torpor. The hot toddy contains cloves, which help you breathe more easily (if you embed them in the lemon properly). If you don’t, you may accidentally get one caught in your throat and choke to death. Still, fear of imminent death makes drinking a hot toddy far more interesting than drinking a cup of tea.

3. They’re Convenient. Don’t have the necessary ingredients for a hot toddy to hand? Well, firstly, sack your housekeeper. Secondly, relax. The hot toddy recipe isn’t some hideously rigid formula that must be adhered to, it’s more a rough guide to creating your own drink: Hot toddy making is an art rather than a science. If you don’t have any whisky handy, you can use pretty much any other dark or oak-aged spirit; whiskey, brandy, grappa, rum are all acceptable (individually, don’t go mad) and bring a different flavour to proceedings. You can also – should you find that you’re out of honey – substitute dark sugar, syrup or treacle. My favourite alternative is maple syrup, which is from Canada, where they have weird canoes and they milk trees.

4. They’re Healthy. Most hot toddy recipes suggest that you use a slice of lemon. They are wrong. If you use a quarter of a lemon and squeeze it before putting it in the mug (squeezing the juice into the mug, obviously, don’t just dribble it over the worktop or onto a passing cat) the toddy is much better. Firstly it uses up a greater quantity of lemon – which is always desirable – and secondly, it puts more lemon juice into the drinker. Not only does this give you vitamin C, it probably counts as one of your recommended five portions of fruit and vegetables per day so, disregarding clove-choking incidents, you’ll be healthier too and may live for ever.***

5. They’re Even Healthier. One of the things you need to do to fight those wintry ailments is to make sure your blood sugar levels are high. This will give you the energy you need to carry on regardless/lie down and complain that you are dying (delete as appropriate, based on sex). This is why they give ill people Lucozade, and this is why you should drink a hot toddy, either preventative or medicinal. That and they don’t taste of Lucozade.

6. They’re Even More Convenient. You might be thinking that the last thing you want to be doing is messing about with spirits, cloves and lemons every time you want a hot drink, but the good news is that you don’t have to. Because you can pre-make your hot toddies. Just put all the ingredients, minus the hot water, into a mug and put it in the fridge (in our kitchen, we have a walk-in refrigerator that we call “the kitchen”). You can put as many as you want in there. You might also consider adding a note that says “in case of emergency, add boiling water, stir, bring upstairs to me” or some such. Your partner/housemates/parents/children/pets/imaginary friend will doubtless appreciate that.

7. They Taste Good. I seem to have forgotten to mention that they taste bloody marvellous. Plus, the flavour is so strong, that even with a cold, it is still apparent. And they smell so nice that other people will follow you around the house as you drink one and attempt to steal it, despite having declined your kind offer of one only ten minutes previously. That always happens.

*Don’t panic, I know it rhymes. I shan’t attempt to turn that line into the start of a song.**

**Well, I’ll try to resist it.

***If you fail to live for ever after switching to the hot toddy as your winter drink of choice, feel free to email your complaint to us.

As a special bonus, here’s the recipe:

Some whisky: Maybe a little bit more. A tiny bit more. Oh, fuck it, another splash won’t hurt me.

Two teaspoons of honey.

A quarter of a lemon (squeezed, if you are at all health-conscious)

Some cloves (4-8). Embed them in the lemon or you will die.

Hot water.

Combine all the ingredients in a mug, then fill with hot water and stir. Remove teaspoon. Drink.

(You can also add a cinnamon stick if you like cinnamon or sticks).

January 20, 2011
7 Reasons That I’m Sick Of The Lemons

On Monday, I started my bank holiday project: A batch of limoncello. It’s a simple enough liqueur to make, requiring a couple of litres of vodka, some sugar and lemon zest. A lot of lemon zest. The zest of twenty-four lemons. Here are seven reasons that I’m now sick of the lemons.

1. Peeling Them. Ever peeled a lemon? It’s the second dullest activity known to man (or woman). You have to be careful not to get any of the pith with the zest, so it takes a long time. I peeled twenty-four of the things. I have no idea exactly how long I was in the kitchen, but I do know that I had a ginger beard when I emerged from it. I had one when I went in too, but I was definitely in there for a very long time. Peeling lemons.

2. Poor Planning. “Errrr. Ummm. Errrr. Have a lemon, darling.” That’s what I said when my wife – not unreasonably – enquired what I was going to do with twenty-four peeled lemons. This is because, caught up in my enthusiasm for making the limoncello, I had forgotten that a by-product of lemon zest is lemons. Lots of lemons. I decided to put them in the fridge, certain that we would be able to use them.

3. Juice. Our fridge was already quite full. So full, in fact, that I had to remove several jars of jam, a bag of onions that pre-dated the internet, and all – except for two – bottles of beer, to fit the large, overflowing bowl of peeled lemons in. Eventually, two days later, desperate to free up fridge space for more beer, I had a brainwave. Lemon juice. I would juice half of the lemons. This would free up space in the fridge and enable me to put beer in there. Ever juiced twelve lemons? It’s the dullest activity known to man (or woman). After what seemed like a fortnight of squeezing lemons, I put the (surprisingly still quite full) bowl – now containing half the original number of lemons – back into the fridge. Then I had to remove the remaining bottles of beer in order to make room for the two bottles of lemon juice. Brilliant.

4. Drinks. As there was now no cold beer in the house, and many, many lemons, I decided to have a cocktail week. The things that I have drunk at home in cocktail week have included: lemon drop martinis, gin fizzes, whisky sours and tom collinseseseses. Hic. All of these cocktails contain lemon juice, of which there is still a lot. Probably enough to keep Amy Winehouse in lemon-based cocktails for several months. Still, one of the benefits of having had lemon-based cocktails all week is that they’re a perfect match for…

5. Our Food. The meals that we’ve eaten in the past four days have been (in no particular order): pancakes with sugar and lemon juice, linguine in lemon cream sauce with smoked salmon, fish finger sandwiches with tartar sauce and lemon, and home-made bread and lemon summer soup. I have no idea what we’re having for tea this evening, but I sense that it may involve a lemon. And I don’t want to eat any more lemons. I think I may be turning yellow. And then there’s…

6. The Smell. The fridge smells of lemons. The kitchen smells of lemons. I smell of lemons. My wife smells of lemons. The entire ground floor of the house smells of lemons. Our cat now lives in the garden because of the smell of lemons. Our neighbours have been looking at us strangely all week, presumably because of the smell of lemons emanating from our house. If you were to send a letter to:

The house that smells of lemons,

York.

We would probably receive it. Please do not send any circulars. Or lemons.

7. The Lemons Are Seemingly Infinite. Despite having consumed so many lemons that my blood is now 29% citric acid; despite having reduced half of their number to juice; despite having made my wife consume so many lemons that she could possibly use it as grounds for divorce – “Being married to him was horrible, m’lud. He filled the kitchen with bicycles and forced me to eat lemons.” – there are still many, many bloody lemons in the fridge. At the current rate of consumption, they will probably last for about three months…

…which is when the limoncello will be ready. Will this lemon-hell never end?

September 3, 2010