Crowley chooses to ignore the semantics argument, he doesn't have the energy for it. Doesn't have the energy for a lot of things lately, which is frankly not something that he's used to.

"Asked for whatever's drinkable. And alcoholic." he replies, leaning back in his seat. He has to control himself to not immediately pour himself a third shot. It doesn't go down easy, but being sober isn't a whole lot easier. He sighs, hearing of the wineries, "What I might give for some decent wine.."

Aziraphale is asking the right questions, he guesses, but if Crowley wants to relax for once at all he'd rather they not discuss stupid islands and their stupid magic. Not that there's a whole lot else to discuss. Maybe he could bring up Aziraphale's infernal pet wobbledog. Just thinking about that thing makes Crowley gag.