Harry Palmer, Gastronomy and the International Men of Mystery
The macho men of the 60s and 70s were interested in decent food, wine and cars as much as gunplay.
I am a Len Deighton fan, so was delighted when internet serendipity led me to this article in the The Daily Telegraph (h/t to Tim Robey). In it, Tim describes the genesis of the classic spy movie The Ipcress File (1965), based on the novel by Len Deighton. And, luckily, I'm the owner of an original copy of Len Deighton's Action Cook Book.
In Tim's article, he describes how Michael Caine and director Sidney J Furie set about creating their onscreen version of Harry Palmer, a very unglamorous spy. Palmer's firmly of the NCO class; disreputable, chippy and surly. He lives in a pokey, unfashionable bedsit, a calculated Swinging Sixties riposte to Ian Fleming’s suave 007 and his Belgravia mews house. This is the era, after all, when working class kids were cool and could get jobs in acting... unlike now. Tim notes how;
He [Harry Palmer] was also a meticulous gourmand, not unlike Deighton himself, who had a weekly cookery column in the Observer, a clipping of which can even be glimpsed in Harry’s kitchen. Perhaps the idea of tinned French champignons isn’t exactly what we’d call haute cuisine these days, but it was quite advanced for 1965…
However…
The early rushes of this stuff alarmed Saltzman, who was worried that Palmer’s red-blooded heterosexual credentials were, shall we say, not sufficiently clear.
Yes, it’s the mid-sixties and Harry Saltzman, the movie's Producer, was worried audiences would find Palmer’s taste for grinding his own coffee and making champignon sauce too effeminate. And in a film where Palmer runs around underground car parks with a submachine gun? Luckily, Caine and Furie got their way, and the rest is history. And as a Deighton fan, I wonder if Palmer was an unwitting progenitor of the classier, campier action heroes of the 60s and 70s.
But first of all, let’s take a look at the Action Cook Book. The cover features an off-duty agent of some description, still wearing his shoulder holster, cooking spaghetti while a young lady adoringly tousles his hair. The agent’s looking straight at us, as if he’s about to raise an eyebrow and say, “how cool am I?” The message is clear: I am as macho AF and women love it when I cook for them.
Inside, Deighton doesn’t mess around, jumping straight into the subject matter like a technical manual or a briefing document (dare I say it? THIS IS VERY MANLY). He covers all of the foodie bases; nutrition, produce storage and preparation, how to stock a bar with essentials for cocktails, seasonal ingredients and so on. There’s even a page on cigars. Deighton displays his skill as a graphic designer and artist, with dozens of dishes illustrated in comic strip form. The recipes are skewed towards France, the techniques and ingredients delightfully of their time. Here’s my personal favourite, which I'm going to try soon (sans bananas):
I might be a Deighton fan, but I’m not having curry with bananas
Given the success of the Harry Palmer movies (there were three, my favourite being 'Funeral in Berlin') it seems no accident the classic 60s and 70s fictional agent-spy-detective became more of a renaissance man. This is truly ironic, given Palmer's avowedly deadbeat origins, but there you go. Anyhow, I approve heartily; one of my favourite things about the spy and thriller genres are nerdily detailed descriptions of faraway hotels and casinos and cocktails. Ian Fleming, of course, does this masterfully; we know all about Bond’s Bentley, his favourite cigarettes, his tailor, preferred cocktails, Walther PPK and Rolex wristwatch.
However, what Bond doesn’t do (and I suspect can’t either – he’s a posh boy with a daily lady) is cook. Much is made of Bond’s outrageous sexism, but less of his utter hopelessness as a single man. At least the Daniel Craig-era Bond movies are honest enough to show him existing in either beach huts or half-empty, soulless apartments. They're the polar opposite of Harry Palmer’s strangely cosy bedsit, filled with coffee cans, oils and herbs and spices. Who would you rather spend a convivial evening with?
Daniel Craig / 007’s tragic apartment in ‘No Time To Die’. More like ‘No Time For Interiors’.
More evidence? As a kid, Sunday lunchtimes were all about ‘The Protectors’ with Robert Vaughn as man of mystery Harry Rule and Nyree Dawn Porter as ‘The Contessa’ (of course!). This early 70s detective / spy yarn was a Gerry Anderson production and a favourite of mine. In the opening credits, how do they establish Harry’s credentials as a sophisticate and self-sufficient manly-man? They show him in his dressing gown making scrambled egg and sharing it with his Irish Wolfhound, of course.
Right, doggo, time to solve some mysteries!
Exhibit ‘b’? I give you ‘The Persuaders’ (1972), where Roger Moore’s character (the campy Lord Brett Sinclair, easily one of the inspirations for Austin Powers) knows more about wine lists and fine dining than he does gunplay. Jason King? The Saint? (Roger Moore, again). It’s left to Sinclair’s blue-collar Yank sidekick (Tony Curtis) to do the rough stuff.
‘The Persuaders’ - do we solve a mystery or order another bottle of Pol Roger?
True sophisticates, interested in fashion, style and good-living. Anyone who thinks the ‘New Man’ archetype was born in the 90s needs to sit down and binge a load of popular 70s TV.
Then we hit the 80s, when thuggish behaviour came back into vogue. For example, The Professionals’ Bodie and Doyle eat takeaway, drink pints and date giggly air hostesses (perfectly admirable behaviour, but still lacking a certain je ne sais quoi). And now, with series like Strikeback, the heroes are invariably sweary, tattooed ex-Special Forces operators. They could probably kill you with a folded-up wine list, but not navigate one.
Still, things change, but vestiges of spy-as-aesthete trope endures – and I maintain it's partly down to Len Deighton, Micheal Caine and Sidney J Furie.
Now, it's time to put on my shoulder holster and get back in the kitchen...