Must be the oak. It's got a way of flavouring the barrel, or the body, I suppose.

[ John takes a heavy seat beside Spike, bone tired. Now that they're familiar, and adequately sauced, he feels comfortable resting his head and closing his eyes for a moment. ]

I can't complain. I was between a rock and a hard place, back home. Here, I've got some room to breathe. Don't know about easy, though. It's never been easy. I don't... settle easy.