I enjoy cooking with wine, sometimes I even put it in the food I'm cooking.
I know if I stopped hosting 'Wine Library TV,' we'd probably lose 75 percent of our audience, but the remaining 25 percent is still a big number.
My feeling is that drugs and alcohol take away from the pure experience of meditation. That does not mean that occasionally, a person couldn't have a glass of wine or a drink.
I try to get seven to eight hours of sleep. Wash my hands a lot, take a few supplements, like omega-3 and vitamin D. When I feel a cold coming on, I pop some zinc. I do my best to eat a low-sodium, high-fiber diet. I drink mostly water or coconut water. I don't smoke, no drugs, and drink red wine occasionally.
Journeys end in lovers meeting; I have spent an all but sleepless night, I have told lies and made a fool of myself, and the very air tastes like wine. I have been frightened half out of my foolish wits, but I have somehow earned this joy; I have been waiting for it for so long.
Perhaps we should never procure a new suit, however ragged or dirty the old, until we have so conducted or enterprised or sailed in some way, that we feel like new men in the old, and that to retain it would be like keeping new wine in old bottles.
The reality is that beer still outsells wine and spirits combined, and makes up 60 of all alcoholic beverage occasions. It's important to keep beer fun, relevant and in step with the changing preferences of adults who enjoy beer.
My daddy was a carpenter that worked with the Jones boys, who are the most notorious in America. The black gangsters, you know, they were no joke. And he was their master carpenter. He used to build their homes, and all I saw when I was 11 years old were dead bodies and tommy guns and stogies, and backrooms, you know, Drexel Wine and Liquor, with the big piles of money underneath.
Mystery is the wine of this universe. It makes us dizzy and makes us feel happy! Man needs enigma so that he can get rid of the dullness of the reality!
Woke up this morning with a wine glass in my hand. Who's wine, what wine, where the hell did I dine?
This is the dream of all the world. The dream is to live in Granada. You know, work in the morning, have a one-hour nap in the afternoon, and at night go out and have that life. Go out and see your friends and eat tapas and drink red wine and be in a beautiful place.
Just like becoming an expert in wine–you learn by drinking it, the best you can afford–you learn about great food by finding the best there is, whether simply or luxurious. The you savor it, analyze it, and discuss it with your companions, and you compare it with other experiences.
Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end.
I made a mental note to watch which bottle became empty soonest, sometimes a more telling evaluation system than any other.
This bread I break was once the oat, This wine upon a foreign tree Plunged in its fruit; Man in the day or wind at night Laid the crops low, broke the grape's joy.
We ought to be opening a bottle of wine!
Kevin refilled my plastic cup with more box wine. I smiled thanks. Kevin smiled welcome. Jake kicked my ankle.
If wine is fruit, then vodka must be a vegetable.
Wine is a successful effort to translate the perishable into the permanent.
I like best the wine drunk at the cost of others.
