Wrapper: USA/Kentucky Broadleaf – Maduro

Binder: Dominican Olor

Filler: Dominican Criollo ‘98, Dominican Piloto Cubano, Dominican Havana Penuela

Country of Origin: Dominican

Size: 5.5 x 52 “Caldwell”

Body: Medium/Full

Price: $6.00

As anyone would, I was leery of a cigar whose roots lay in the tobacco fields of Kentucky. But I read the sparse reviews and other descriptions that led me to buy a 5 pack of the Black Patch Reserve.

The types of leaves are mind boggling. I’ve had these cigars in my humidor a mere two weeks and I thought this would be a good time to smoke one and review it.

The Reserve blend is the only one in the line that features a Kentucky wrapper. There is plenty of oily sheen to it and a lot of toothiness.

Construction is a bit on the ragged side. A few veins but some of the seams are not tight. Some caps are excellent and others are not. The wrapper is a mottled dark brown; almost shy of an actual maduro color.

I sniff and detect Kentucky bourbon. Really. It is intensified at the foot. Almost as if they were stored in bourbon barrels. There is also a pleasant sweetness.

I clip and light up.

I get an earthiness right up front. There is an oak component. And that sweetness.

A few moments later, bourbon. Oh so faint.

There are four blends to the line: Kenbano, Select, Reserve, and Classic.

The char line is dead nuts perfect. And the ash is close to being snow white…with just a few flecks of gray ash.

The body is shy of medium at the 1” mark. And now coffee is added to the flavor profile. A creamy, foamy coffee. The deep earthiness is at the forefront while a bit of spiciness begins to show itself.

Taking my photos is driving me nuts. The white band reflects the smallest of light making the band almost invisible. Fingers crossed.

This stick, at this point is not about a myriad of flavors. Rather, it is about the richness of tobacco. And that sense of being stored in bourbon casks. It gives out a sweet, tangy experience. Mind you, I haven’t reached the end of the first third yet.

The body is not at classic medium. The flavors are being enriched by the cigar as it burns down.

I begin the second third and the flavor spectrum widens. The coffee element is stronger now. The spiciness is much stronger. And the deep richness digs deeper.

This cigar is a really nice change from what I normally review. The blend is completely different and unique….giving the experience some mystique and surprises.

At the halfway point, the cigar really opens up. The cigar pops with flavor. The strength is increasing now.

The red pepper is running on 8 cylinders.

This stick is not about the standard Nic flavors of cocoa, coffee, creaminess, fruitiness, and cedar. This is a whole different animal. It has its own unique profile. And it is totally enjoyable.

The last third finds the cigar pushing full bodied.

The bourbon flavor really shows off now. And the oak is way out front.

The price point on all of the blends is more than reasonable, if not downright cheap. $6 for a stick of this quality should shame some of the other blenders out there….charging $9-$10 a stick. Black Patch has shown that one doesn’t have to make the cigar unreachable my most during this financial mess. Everyone can enjoy this stick when a 5 pack is only $30.

This blend has endeared me to the Black Patch company. They strayed from the norm and came up with a great cigar. I’m anxious to try the other three blends now.

The last couple of inches brings out some creaminess which enhances the light coffee flavor. It also brings out sweetness to a new level. And that oakiness makes the cigar deliciously unique.

Go get these cigars at http://www.blackpatchcigar.com/index.php

And now for something completely different:

It was my 25^th birthday. February 10, 1975.

My band, Curved Air, decided to celebrate by taking me to England’s most famous club, The Marquee. It is the English equivalent to the Whisky A Go Go. I have no recollection of who was playing that night.

All my flat friends and the band… plus the band, Renaissance, showed up. I remember hanging out in the lobby with Stewart Copeland (The Police) and our chick singer, Sonja. Stewart pulled out an 8-1/2 x 11 piece of paper that turned out to be blotter paper. A friend of Stew’s sent him a blotter fully engorged in LSD. A piece the size of a dime was a trip.

I told Sonja I didn’t want to do it. She smiled her Cheshire Cat grin and shoved it into my mouth. She told me to down the giant vat sized glasses of ale….it would get the acid off to a good start.

30 minutes later, I was inside where the band was playing. No seats. Everyone stood. The acid hit me like a freight train. I looked over to Sonja and told her I had never gotten this high, this fast, in my life. She smiled again without saying a thing.

After a short while, I begged her to take me out of there and she led me to the lobby where I plotzed on a soft bench in the lobby. She sat with me while the acid did its thing.

3 hours later, I was still sitting there and had no sense of time passing. All my friends and the other band members approached us as the bar was closing and Stew handed out dime sized blotter paper to all.

I was vividly hallucinating and very uncomfortable. I told them I was really high and not to fuck with me….wrong thing to say as they fucked with me relentlessly.

PICADILLY CIRCUS

We went outside to the bitter cold of a February English night. Everyone was trying to hail a cab but it seemed useless. I saw a cab on the other side of Piccadilly Circus and screamed, “Taxi!” The driver actually heard me and came for us. My friends all patted me on the back.

We climbed into two cabs and headed back to the communal flat I lived in. Inside the cab, the fuck with Philly’s head, continued. I begged for mercy but got none.

By the time we got to the flat, they were in the same acid land as I was.

I remember sitting by myself in the living room staring at a poster on the wall, watching it gyrate and melt. I laughed.

One of the girls popped in and asked if this is what acid is really like? I said no. “Usually, it’s not this good.” With that, she ran screaming out of the living room. She decided she needed air and went outside and walked over to the park across the street where she place her head between the wrought iron pickets….completely flying to the outer reaches of the universe.

When she returned, the door was locked and no one could hear her knock. She spent an hour outside, blasted on acid, before someone heard her and let her in. She was crying and then began to vomit from panic. So a small coterie of friends held her head in the toilet. I had none of that as she bragged before taking the acid that she had done this many times before. Apparently not.

My buddy Skip was in the kitchen following Sonja around while she walked her lemon that she found on the kitchen table.

Skip, being artistic, had kept all the glass milk bottles that the milk man had placed at our door step. He filled them with colored water at different levels of height. He then placed them on to the stairway to nowhere. We lived in a basement flat that had once been part of a very large house. The door at the top of the stairs had been boarded off.

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

There was at least 100 glass bottles full of water on those steps.

In front of me and half a dozen people, Stew ran up the stairs without knocking a bottle over. He ran down the same way. Everyone applauded.

Skip was still in the kitchen with Sonja. I yelled for both of them to come see something and I asked Stew to do it again.

In his acid stupor, he had no idea what he was doing…and instead of flying up the stairs, he took a giant leap into midair. He hung there for a Looney Tunes instant, and then gave us a horrified stare, and collapsed on to the bottles breaking all of them.

He emerged without a scratch and received more applause.

Night turned into morning and we were still stoned. Curved Air had a gig that night. Their first of a 6 week tour. So did Renaissance.

Being a bunch of stoneys, we did the gig along with a few encores. The boys in Renaissance called the gig off. They were pussies. Annie Haslam, the chick singer in the band, did not do drugs. She was furious that they had to cancel an important gig because of LSD.

Each time I saw her after that night, she refused to talk to me because it was my birthday and therefore my fault her band were limp noodles.

It had been a wonderful night of mind expansion but that was it for me. I had taken very clean acid not mixed with other drugs and therefore got a clean trip….except for the stomachache I got sometime in the middle of the night. Being that high, I wasn’t sure if the stomachache was in head. So I went into the very cold bathroom and sat on the toilet. Cold air emitted from my mouth and nose.

My advice is never take a dump while on acid. All of my senses fixated on my asshole. Not pleasant. But I did have to go and my stomach felt better afterwards.

I never took LSD again. It was a perfect trip not to be followed by imperfect ones. The missive of the hip….get there late and leave early.

Now I take Lipitor, blood pressure meds, and pain meds for the horrific skydiving accident I had in 2001.

Fond memories.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS