Rye Whiskey Quotes

for eight minutes, rufus and i sing about a thorny crown, whiskey and rye, a generation lost in space, satan's spell, a girl who sang the blues, the day the music died and so much more.

And as he watched, the first powerful four-legged lion stepped into the clearing. The male animal shook the snow from its dark, flowing mane, tilted its head and roared into the night. Another call followed, and yet another. And as Dane watched, Lawe and Rule moved warily from their positions, edging back to the limo as he threw the doors open and allowed the two Breeds to slide inside the warmth of the car. Rye didn't bother to get out and enter the back through a door. He slid over the seat positioned behind the driver's area and stared back at Dane in surprise. "There's a lot of fucking lions out there," he commented uncomfortably. They were screaming into the night now, spurred by the animal Dane could swear he could feel heading this way. Another animal stepped in. A lioness, her scream echoing through the night as the lions surrounded the cabin. A dozen fully grown, enraged creatures, following one simple command. To protect Mercury's mate. Dane let a smile tip his lips as he opened the small bar set in the center of the seat and pulled free the whiskey and glasses. "Looks like the night just got interesting, my friends," he drawled, pouring the alcohol. "I say we enjoy the show while we can." Ria's mate was coming for her.

The Perfect Old-Fashioned Mix together –– but not too slowly… It’s best when there’s instant chemistry! 1 sugar cube –– an innocent virgin works best 2 to 3 dashes bitters –– an untamed mountain man if you can find one 2 ounces rye whiskey –– the stronger the better, just like our alphas 1 cherry to garnish –– an unpopped one will taste the sweetest

In fact, tequila and mezcal both work beautifully in any cocktail that calls for whiskey, rye, or bourbon.

Table Whiskey: The House Bottle I have some whiskeys that I always keep in the house. Blended Scotch: Johnnie Walker Black or Compass Box Great King Street, sometimes Dewar’s. Bourbon: Jim Beam Black, Evan Williams, or some Very Old Barton if I’ve been to Kentucky recently. Irish: usually Powers. Canadian: Canadian Club or VO. And in the summer I’ll pick up a handle — a 1.75-liter big-boy bottle — of Pikesville rye for highballs.

But soon the characters underwent a strange metamorphosis, a process that always happens as props become flesh and blood. Chester became more humorous, Dillon more understanding, Doc less bloodthirsty, and Kitty emerged as the quietly understood love interest. She and Dillon had their understanding: “There was no forgiveness to be given,” said Ellis, “because I don’t think Kitty was available to anybody but Matt.” The relationship between Chester and Dillon moved from tolerance to open affection. Chester drove him crazy: Dillon cringed when Chester put sugar in his rye whiskey, and he always wondered what Chester was looking for, rummaging through the desk drawers. But as the show matured, a special bond grew between them. Once,

One quart milk, one quart cream, one dozen eggs, 12 tablespoons sugar, one pint brandy, half-pint rye whiskey, quarter-pint rum, quarter-pint sherry. Mix. Store by cool window or in cellar.

All American whiskeys are made in a similar fashion. Cereal grains, predominantly corn, rye, wheat, and barley, are malted—a process wherein grains are germinated, converting their starch into sugars—and then fermented and distilled in either pot stills or continuous column stills. Most are aged in oak barrels.

There better be some god-damned whiskey in this place or I’m tearing it apart!

[He] was old enough to remember his own grandfather's stories of raids not on bear or deer but on men, and who, for that reason was closely watched and quarantined from the supply of rye and whiskey while on any expedition, in case the spirits should spark some atavistic fury.

Well, well,” he said, and slowly lowered the sunglasses. “Frankie McGrath.” Rye Walsh. Frankie was momentarily plunged back in time, to the Fourth of July party when Finley had brought home his new best friend. “Rye, like the whiskey,” she said, feeling a tightness in her throat. He made her think of Finley, of home, of innocent schoolgirl crushes.

Muddled orange and rosemary, pine syrup, pine bitters, rye whiskey, and soda.

Older gentlemen sat at tables in dim corners sipping rye whiskey, talking with other men about matters only other men would understand; some kept their hands high on the thighs of women who were not their wives—girls, really—who did not yet keep house and so still had inexact ideas about how the world worked and all of the ways in which they could be disappointed. The girls possessed a malleability, a willingness to be impressed, their cheeks, soft and new, flushing at even the most trivial compliments. These were sweet, bygone qualities the men wished to bottle and harbor for themselves.

Back at his beloved Mount Vernon in 1797, Washington threw himself into farming and even became a whiskey distiller. No product ever netted him a larger return on his investment than this potent, rye-based intoxicant that he sold straight from the still. His distillery became the largest in the United States by 1799.

One of St. Augustine’s most famous rumrunners was William McCoy, who was also the purported inventor of the ham sack. McCoy operated a boat taxi service for the Jacksonville–St. Augustine area and a boatyard where he built yachts for Andrew Carnegie, the Vanderbilts and others. When Prohibition hit, he recognized the opportunity for a new, more lucrative business enterprise. He sold the taxi service and the boatyard and bought a schooner, which he named Tomoka. McCoy would sail Tomoka (and later six additional vessels added to his fleet) to the Bahamas, fill it with the best rye, Irish, and Canadian whiskey he could purchase and then sail back to St. Augustine and anchor just outside the three-mile limit. The locals would then sail their own vessels out to the Tomoka and purchase what they needed, a perfectly legal transaction on McCoy’s part. Bill McCoy became famous for the quality of his product and the fact that he never “cut,” or diluted his liquor. When you bought from Bill, you were getting the “Real McCoy,” and that is how we remember him today.

Speakeasy bartenders used fruit juices, sometimes from canned fruit, as well as ginger ale, cream, honey, corn syrup, maple syrup, and even ice cream to make palatable the harsh flavors of spirits that Mencken described as “rye whiskey in which rats have drowned, Bourbon contaminated with arsenic and ptomaines, corn fresh from the still, gin that is three fourths turpentine, and rum rejected as too corrosive by the West Indian embalmers

Rye whiskey. Bitters. Absinthe. A sugar cube. She’s having a Sazerac,

I’d give a hundred bucks for a shot of rye whiskey, he thinks, and swallows hard. I’d give a million to blow her fucking brains out.

Whiskey Revolver This cocktail makes use of any rye-heavy bourbon and coffee liqueur to produce something that is completely out of this world. Take a tall mixing glass half-filled with ice cubes. Pour in 2 ounces of bourbon, half an ounce of coffee liqueur (be careful with this because it can be quite strong), and dash of orange bitters. Stir well. Strain the contents into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with a twist of orange (alternatively, you can flame the orange twist to release more of its flavors).

I was where I needed to be. I wasn’t going to regret staying in Pittsburgh or taking the full-time job with Rye Publishing. I loved what I did, who I worked with, and how my future looked. I worked damn hard to make it to where I was. I knew going into my internship that the likelihood of me getting a full-time position was slim to none, and yet I’d impressed the shit out of them and landed a permanent spot. There were no regrets there. And, though I missed the surf, I really did love the city. I loved who I was becoming. Sure, I was lonely, but I had offers to go out — to make friends — I just had to start taking them. I could do that.