Amuse Bouche

In this solitude he sipped his wine, liking the solidity of the house, the smell of books and carpets, the whiff of wood smoke from the fire, the aromas from the kitchen, always lamb or fish stews and chowders, and bags of fresh salads sent up every morning from a restaurant in Vineyard Haven…

The pale yellow Chablis in his glass was so rich that when he tipped his glass to sip, and righted it, he saw that it was viscous, showing its legs on the side of the glass. He tasted the sunshine on his tongue, in his throat, and its warmth relaxed him.

from Blinding Light by Paul Theroux (2005)