Rum Alcohol Quotes

If you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be quit of a very dirty scoundrel!

I changed my mind. I don’t want to be an inveshtigative journalist anymore. I want to be a professional rum drinker.” “There are people who do that,” Duff said. He’d barely sipped his rum. “Really? What do you call them?” “Alcoholics.

There was a sound in their voices which suggested rum.

A very brief enthusiasm sprang up for bringing tiny bottles of rum into the dining room and adding the rum to the dinner coffee.

The staunch, old soakers, on the other hand men who, if put on tap, would have yielded a red alcoholic liquor, by way of blood usually confined themselves to plain brandy-and-water, gin, or West India rum; and,

p. 39 Rum, in fact, was the unspoken demon in most negotiations and failed treaties with the Delaware nation. That evil influence has been largely expunged from histories. Access to rum, or its prohibition, assured or canceled oaths and pacts no sooner than they were sworn.

The shortage of tobacco, of water and of wood was nothing nearly as important, however, as the imminent shortage of grog. He had not dared to cut that daily issue, and there was only rum for ten more days in the ship. Not the finest crew in the world could be relied on if deprived of their ration of rum.

A typical artificial strawberry flavor, like the kind found in a Burger King strawberry milk shake, contains the following ingredients: amyl acetate, amyl butyrate, amyl valerate, anethol, anisyl formate, benzyl acetate, benzyl isobutyrate, butyric acid, cinnamyl isobutyrate, cinnamyl valerate, cognac essential oil, diacetyl, dipropyl ketone, ethyl acetate, ethyl amylketone, ethyl butyrate, ethyl cinnamate, ethyl heptanoate, ethyl heptylate, ethyl lactate, ethyl methylphenylglyci-date, ethyl nitrate, ethyl propionate, ethyl valerate, heliotropin, hydroxyphrenyl-2-butanone (10 percent solution in alcohol), α-ionone, isobutyl anthranilate, isobutyl butyrate, lemon essential oil, maltol, 4-methylacetophenone, methyl anthranilate, methyl benzoate, methyl cinnamate, methyl heptine carbonate, methyl naphthyl ketone, methyl salicylate, mint essential oil, neroli essential oil, nerolin, neryl isobutyrate, orris butter, phenethyl alcohol, rose, rum ether, γ undecalactone, vanillin, and solvent.

Such was the demand for sugar, the price of a sweet tooth was a toothless smile. Such was the demand for coffee, the price of caffeine was addiction, heart palpitations, osteoporosis and general irritability. The price of rum was chronic liver disease, alcoholism and permanent memory loss. The cost of tobacco was cancer, stained teeth and emphysema.

when you arrive in Japan, you realize that sake means “alcoholic drink” in general. Thus, if you drink a beer, you are drinking sake; if you drink whiskey, you are drinking sake; and if you drink rum, you are drinking sake. So, when we order sake in a Japanese restaurant outside Japan, what is the specific name for the drink they serve us? It will probably be nihonshu, which is the Japanese word used to refer to the alcoholic beverage obtained from rice.

When rum goes into a barrel, the same wonderful interplay of alcohol and wood that makes whiskey so mellow and smooth also happens with rum. But in the tropics, it happens much, much faster. A barrel of rum (often a used bourbon barrel) loses a whopping 7 to 8 percent of its alcohol per year as the wood expands and softens in the steamy heat. What might take twelve years to accomplish in Scotland happens in just a few years in Cuba. For this reason, dark, well-aged Caribbean rums are astonishingly rich and complex after just a short repose in wood.

And so, he gently chided Apostle John A. Widtsoe, whose wife advocated such a rigid interpretation of the Word of Wisdom as to proscribe chocolate because of the stimulants it contained, saying, “John, do you want to take all the joy out of life?”85 But he didn’t stop there. At a reception McKay attended, the hostess served rum cake. “All the guests hesitated, watching to see what McKay would do. He smacked his lips and began to eat.” When one guest expostulated, “‘But President McKay, don’t you know that is rum cake?’ McKay smiled and reminded the guest that the Word of Wisdom forbade drinking alcohol, not eating

It’s easy to see how disgruntled sailors might start to wonder if their rum had been diluted a little too much. They demanded proof that they were getting the rum they were entitled to. There were no hydrometers in those days (a hydrometer is an instrument that measures the density of a liquid as compared to water, thereby measuring alcohol content), so a method was developed using a material ships always had on board: gunpowder. A quantity of gunpowder, mixed with rum, would not ignite if the rum was watered down. It would have to contain about 57 percent alcohol to catch on fire. In the presence of the crew, the ship’s purser would mix the rum and gunpowder and light it on fire, offering “proof” of its potency.

Are you sure you can’t just…maroon him on a remote island with a bottle of rum?” Etta asked, only half kidding. “Make him walk the plank straight into a shark’s mouth?” “Maroon him? Walk the plank?” To her surprise, he actually laughed. It felt like a reward to hear it. “Why, Miss Spencer, I believe there’s a pirate’s heart in you. I wish Captain Hall had stayed, if only so he could have told you some of his stories over dinner.” “Too bad,” she agreed, relieved that a small bit of the tension had finally eased. “Do you know any good ones?” “I’m not as good in the telling as he is,” Nicholas said. “Perhaps you’d be interested in hearing the charming tale of pirates who disemboweled and cut out the heart of a British officer, soaked it in spirits, and ate it?” Her jaw dropped. “Spirits? As in, alcohol? Was that supposed to make it taste better?” “I’d imagine few things could improve the experience,” he said. “But anything is possible with enough rum and courage, I suppose

It will be more than a decade before I meet the advocate and scholar Deborah Small, who will say that this is a nation founded on addiction - the production of rum and other alcohols, tobacco, sugar. And now, she will say, they put people in prison for it.

My chin kept dropping to my chest, my hair in my face, my veins an alcoholic vapor ready to burn. Nothing but tequila, wine, and rum feeding me into a lava river, a huge molten mother rolling over me, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,

It was November of 1987. I remember because it was nine years after the first one.” Dahmer hung his head as he continued. “It was the day before Thanksgiving. I met him at Club 219. I already told Pat about it. He was really nice looking and we both got drunk; I took him to the hotel and gave him the mixture of sleeping pills and rum, but I don’t remember anything after that. I swear. When I woke up, he was dead. There were bruises all over his face and chest. My arms were all sore, and black and blue. I must have beaten him to death in an alcoholic blackout or else I gave him too much of the sleeping potion, I don’t know. All I know is that he was dead. “The story about the suitcase is true. I put him in the fruit cellar in Grandma’s basement and waited for my family to leave after the holiday. It all came back to me quickly. Just like when I was a kid. I severed the flesh from the bones and inspected the inside viscera. It was sexually exciting and I masturbated several times while disposing of the body. I placed the severed flesh and bones into several double-wrapped plastic bags and dropped them into the trash barrels behind Grandma’s house. It was so easy. The garbage men came and took all the evidence away: nothing was ever said, no one ever knew. I had gotten away with murder for the second time.

I'm not even drinking Duat wine.” I lifted my glass. “Rum isn't going to do anything to me. I've become such a mom.” “What's wrong with being a mom?” Trevor asked. “Moms kick ass and they can hang harder than people who have never pushed babies out of their bodies. Mothers are survivors.” I chuckled and sat up. “Yeah, you're right.” I lifted my drink and looked at it. “And if I want to drink with more juice than alcohol in it, I will!” “There's my wife.” Trevor kissed my cheek.

jitterbug Few ingredients combine to create as much comfort as do coffee and chocolate. The Jitterbug includes this star duo while also tossing in some coconut, vanilla, and, of course, alcohol, in the form of rum. It’s essentially a vacation in a glass, but one so filled with activities that you need a little pick-me-up in order to make it through cocktail hour. Teetotalers can use rum extract mixed with water to simulate the liquor content in this drink. TIME: 5 MINUTES SERVES: 1 2 tablespoons coconut sugar 1½ teaspoons unsweetened cacao powder 1 ounce Vanilla Syrup 1½ ounces dark rum 2 ounces coconut cream 3 ounces cold-brew coffee 3 coffee beans, for garnish Mix the coconut sugar and cacao powder on a small round plate until fully combined. Fill a large coupe (10 to 12 ounces) with ice and water to chill the glass, then discard them when the glass is sufficiently cold. Using a sponge or paper towel, moisten the rim of the chilled glass with a bit of vanilla syrup. Turn the glass upside down and dip it into the chocolate coconut sugar, without twisting. Make sure the rim is thoroughly coated. Combine the rum, coconut cream, vanilla syrup, and coffee in a cocktail shaker with ice. Shake vigorously. Strain into the sugared-rim coupe. Garnish with the coffee beans to make a triangle shape. Serve and enjoy.

eggnog (BRITISH also egg flip) n. [mass noun] a drink consisting of rum, brandy, or other alcohol mixed with beaten egg, milk, and sugar.

From the Bridge” Celebrating “La Navidad Cubana” Before the fall of Batista, Cuba was considered to be a staunch Catholic Nation. As in other Christian countries, Christmas was considered a religious holiday. In 1962, a few years after the revolution, Cuba became an atheist country by government decree. Then In 1969, Fidel Castro thinking that Christmas was interfering with the production of sugar cane, totally removed the holiday from the official calendar. Of course Christmas was still celebrated by Cubans in exile, many of whom live in South Florida and Union City, NJ. However it was still was celebrated clandestinely in a subdued way on the island. It was said, if it is to believed, that part of the reason for this was due to the fact that Christmas trees do not grow in Cuba. Now that Christianity and Christmas have both been reestablished by the government, primarily due to the Pope’s visits to Cuba, Christmas as a holiday has been reinstated. Many Christmas traditions have been lost over the past five decades and are still not observed in Cuba, although the Cuban Christmas feast is highlighted by a festive “Pig Roast,” called the “Cena de Navidad” or Christmas dinner. Where possible, the dinner includes Roast Pork done on a spit, beans, plantains, rice and “mojo” which is a type of marinade with onions, garlic, and sour orange. Being a special event, some Cubans delight in serving the roasted pork, in fancier ways than others. Desserts like sweet potatos, “turrones” or nougats, “buñuelos” or fritters, as well as readily available tropical fruits and nuts hazelnuts, guava and coconuts, are very common at most Christmas dinners. Beverages such as the “Mojito” a drink made of rum, sugar cane juice, lime, carbonated water and mint, is the main alcoholic drink for the evening, although traditionally the Christmas dinner should be concluded by drinking wine. This grand Christmas dinner is considered a special annual occasion, for families and friends to join together. Following this glorious meal, many Cubans will attend Misa de Gallo or mass of the rooster, which is held in most Catholic churches at midnight. The real reason for Christmas in Cuba, as elsewhere, is to celebrate the birth of Christ. Churches and some Cuban families once again, display manger scenes. Traditionally, children receive presents from the Three Wise Men and not from Santa Claus or the parents. Epiphany or “Three King’s Day,” falls on January 6th. Christmas in Cuba has become more festive but is not yet the same as it used to be. Although Christmas day is again considered a legal holiday in Cuba, children still have to attend school on this holiday and stores, restaurants and markets stay open for regular business. Christmas trees and decorations are usually only displayed at upscale hotels and resorts.

John Wesley drank wine, was something of an ale expert, and often made sure that his Methodist preachers were paid in one of the vital currencies of the day—rum. His brother, Charles Wesley, was known for the fine port, Madeira, and sherry he often served in his home; the journals of George Whitefield are filled with references to his enjoyment of alcohol.

Hyacinth took out a bottle of rum, and Phaedra raised her eyebrows, a reflex she'd acquired upon seeing her father and mother under its influence, their eyes and mouths turned wilder, as if a cork at the edges of their personalities had come unscrewed.

Bourbon’s on the sweeter side, which by the way you massacre your coffee it’s clear you like. You’re careful about your appearance, meticulous, so no time for extravagant or ridiculous ingredients. Besides, the Old Fashioned is a classic with wide appeal.” Grif leaned back, placing his arms on either side of the booth. “Cheater,” Dan responded, the grin reaching his eyes. “Was your next choice a rum and Coke?” Grif snorted. “You’ve got way too much class to be a rum and Coke.

But it was better this way, she thought. Better to be grounded, to know your place, than to live the way these Americans lived, cruising from day to day with no values to anchor them down. It’s no wonder they ended up alone—alcoholics, addicts, divorced.

The Riviera Theatre was not my concern tonight. The Detroit River was. As a hotspot for Canada's legal alcohol coming across, rum-running was rampant. Hoodlums brought a load of hooch across and had shown up armed to the teeth. No doubt, they were wise to the fact that they were up against Detroit's underworld led by immigrants from the lower east side. None other than the Bornstein family.

Someone’s gotta do it. No one’s gonna do it. So I’ll do it. Your honor, I rise in defense of drunken astronauts. You’ve all heard the reports, delivered in scandalized tones on the evening news or as guaranteed punch lines for the late-night comics, that at least two astronauts had alcohol in their systems before flights. A stern and sober NASA has assured an anxious nation that this matter, uncovered by a NASA-commissioned study, will be thoroughly looked into and appropriately dealt with. To which I say: Come off it. I know NASA has to get grim and do the responsible thing, but as counsel for the defense—the only counsel for the defense, as far as I can tell—I place before the jury the following considerations: Have you ever been to the shuttle launchpad? Have you ever seen that beautiful and preposterous thing the astronauts ride? Imagine it’s you sitting on top of a 12-story winged tube bolted to a gigantic canister filled with 2 million liters of liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen. Then picture your own buddies—the “closeout crew”—who met you at the pad, fastened your emergency chute, strapped you into your launch seat, sealed the hatch and waved smiling to you through the window. Having left you lashed to what is the largest bomb on planet Earth, they then proceed 200 feet down the elevator and drive not one, not two, but three miles away to watch as the button is pressed that lights the candle that ignites the fuel that blows you into space. Three miles! That’s how far they calculate they must go to be beyond the radius of incineration should anything go awry on the launchpad on which, I remind you, these insanely brave people are sitting. Would you not want to be a bit soused? Would you be all aflutter if you discovered that a couple of astronauts—out of dozens—were mildly so? I dare say that if the standards of today’s fussy flight surgeons had been applied to pilots showing up for morning duty in the Battle of Britain, the signs in Piccadilly would today be in German. Cut these cowboys some slack. These are not wobbly Northwest Airlines pilots trying to get off the runway and steer through clouds and densely occupied airspace. An ascending space shuttle, I assure you, encounters very little traffic. And for much of liftoff, the astronaut is little more than spam in a can—not pilot but guinea pig. With opposable thumbs, to be sure, yet with only one specific task: to come out alive. And by the time the astronauts get to the part of the journey that requires delicate and skillful maneuvering—docking with the international space station, outdoor plumbing repairs in zero-G—they will long ago have peed the demon rum into their recycling units.

By the end of February, nearly one hundred residents of New York were dead, killed by redistilled industrial alcohols. Brooklyn district attorney John Ruston said that the poisoned alcohol came from steamers, from rum runners in smaller boats, and as always from Brooklyn, that well-known home of creative alcohol reengineering.

British sailors liked a drink. And then they liked another one. The Admiralty knew what to do with a drunken sailor, but was struggling to work out what to do with 60,000 of them. In 1740, it responded by diluting the daily rum ration with water, a mysterious liquid that the sailors viewed with great suspicion. The resulting mixture was known as grog. ... New South Wales was run by sailors, so the colony’s love affair with rum was inevitable. The colonists loved rum so much that they used the term to describe all liquor. Australians nurse an etymological hangover from the colony’s rum-obsessed early days, with “grog” still used as a generic Australian term for any alcoholic drink.

Bligh attempted to characterise the coup against him as revenge for his efforts to curb the spirit trade, while Johnston and the other rebels maintained it was because he was an insufferable twat. In 1855, William Howitt, a rabid teetotaller who blamed all of the evils of the world on alcohol, drank Bligh’s rum-spiked Kool-Aid and renamed the Great Rebellion of 1808 the Rum Rebellion. The name stuck.

A few other curious facts about the prepsychedelic Al Hubbard: He was an ardent Catholic, with a pronounced mystical bent. And he was unusually flexible in his professional loyalties, working at various times as a rum- and gunrunner as well as an agent for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. Was he a double agent of some kind? Possibly. At one time or another, he also worked for the Canadian Special Services, the U.S. Department of Justice, and the Food and Drug Administration. His FBI file suggests he had links to the CIA during the 1950s, but the redactions are too heavy for it to reveal much about his role, if any.

The Napoleon of Temperance” or “Father of Prohibition,” activist Neal S. Dow helped to construct the “Maine Law” of 1851, outlawing the use of alcohol for reasons other than mechanical or medicinal purposes. He was the mayor of the city when “The Portland Rum Riot” broke out, leading to the militia shooting into the crowds. One person was killed and seven wounded when the people demanded to know why there was rum stored in the City Hall. Early in the American Civil War, on November 23, 1861, former mayor Dow was commissioned as a Colonel in the 13th Maine Infantry. On April 28th of the following year, he received a commission as Brigadier General in the Union Army. His service included commanding two captured Confederate forts near New Orleans and fighting in the siege of Port Hudson, Louisiana. During this skirmish he was wounded and later captured. General Dow was traded and gained his freedom 8 months later from General William H. F. Lee, the son of Robert E. Lee. Neal S. Dow died on October 2, 1897, and was buried in the Evergreen Cemetery in Portland. His home, the Neal S. Dow house built in 1829, was used as a stop for slaves on the “Maine Underground Railway” and is located at 714 Congress Street in Portland. The historic building is now the home of the Maine Women's Christian Temperance Union.

Do not consume alcohol in any form. No wine, beer, champagne, vodka, rum, whiskey, tequila, etc., whether consumed on its own or used as an ingredient—not even for cooking.

What a funny question! i never met a bunch of guests so interested in what went into their food. Alcohol tarts things up, it does. Let's see now. I put kirsch in the fruit salad and rum in the Christmas pudding. And wine in the Chicken Marsala. Then there's . . .

The doctors have given me permission to consume alcoholic beverages in moderation. To celebrate the news, at sunset I entered the tavern, The Star of Sweden, to have a cup of hot rum. At the bar there were fishermen, customs agents, day laborers. Over all their voices rang out the voice of one elderly man in the uniform of a prison guard, who was boasting drunkenly through the sea of chatter. 'And every Wednesday the perfumed young lady slips me a hundred-crown note to leave her alone with the convict. And by Thursday the hundred crowns are already gone in so much beer. And when the visiting hour is over, the young lady comes out with the stink of jail in her elegant clothes; and the prisoner goes back to his cell with the lady's perfume in his jailbird's suit. And I'm left with the smell of beer. Life is nothing but trading smells.' 'Life and also death, you might say,' interjected another drunk, whose profession, as I learned at once, was gravedigger. 'With the smell of beer I try to get the smell of death off me. And only the smell of death will get the smell of beer off you, like all the drinkers whose graves I have to dig.' I took this dialogue as a warning to be on guard: the world is falling apart and tries to lure me into its disintegration.