Keats put cayenne on his tongue before he drank:

- now I like Claret whenever I can have Claret I must drink it. - 't is the only palate affair I am at all sensual in - Would it not be a good Speck to send you some vine roots - could [it] be done? I'll enquire - If you could make some wine like Claret to d[r]ink on summer evenings in an arbour! For really 't is so fine - it fills the mouth with gushing freshness - then goes down cool and feverless - then you do not feel like quarrelling with your liver - no it is rather a Peace maker and lies as quiet as it did in the grape - then it is as fragrant as the Queen Bee; and the more ethereal part of it mounts into the brain, not assaulting the cerebral apartments like a bully in a bad house looking for his trul[l] and hurrying from door to door bouncing against the wainscoat; but rather walks like Aladin about his own enchanted palace so gently that you do not feel his step - Other wines of a heavy and spiritous nature transform a Man to a Silenus; this makes him a Hermes - and gives a Woman a soul and immortality of Ariadne for whom Bacchus always kept a good cellar of claret - and even of that he could never persuade her to take above two cups -

written to his bro. George in America, Feb. 1819.