Word: rum
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Occasionally Mozart is replaced by Franz Schubert or Ludwig van Beethoven. (God help us if Richard Wagner ever creeps in at that hour.) Brzezinski rum mages through the CIA reports and the diplomatic dispatches. It is usually pretty serious stuff, but now and then there is some humor...
...accomodations were usually fairly good, and the bars usually had folk singers in the evenings where people could sit around drinking, eating cheese and crackers, or licking their wounds. My father was concerned that none of us ever drink of the demon rum, but he conveniently never mentioned anything else. I remember one particular night, as I lay in bed listening to my brothers talk to my mother on the telephone. They were telling her about how big barrelfuls of popcorn kept coming and that they were having a wonderful time. I slept through that evening's activities...
...declared Jimmy Carter in his election campaign, during which time he swore off demon rum and all other strong drink. Now, as President, he takes an occasional light Scotch, and he is about to serve up at least a miniprohibition on what he calls "the three-martini lunch." What Carter intends to recommend to Congress in mid-October, as part of his tax "reform" program, is bound to set up howls from even teetotaling business people, as well as restaurateurs and hoteliers...
...those who go for a different ethnic appeal, there's always the Hong Kong. one of the few places in town where you can get hold of Kirin beer, a Japanese treat. The rum drinks are also lots of fun; they're the only things you can order there with more of a kick than the food. And the culturally neuter might want to look into the undeservedly obscure Georgie's on Mass. Ave. near the Law School, which boasts terrific Bloody Marys and an even better bowling machine, not to mention a giant-screen color TV for Monday night...
...conditioned, mirrored tack room. As butlers proffered champagne from silver trays, Madden screened footage of his past turf champions. Tom Gentry, the showman of the bluegrass, hawked his yearlings like a carnival huckster, giving away Tom Gentry T shirts, Tom Gentry hats and Tom Gentry Slush, a rum and lime concoction. Seth Hancock, breeder for Claiborne Farm, conducted business more sedately. His yearlings were paraded six at a time before sharp-eyed trainers searching for tiny flaws: a foot that was slightly crooked, a back with too much sway, undersized hindquarters, oversized hocks. No frills, just fine horseflesh...