Wrapper: Nicaraguan Sun Grown Broadleaf

Filler: Nicaraguan

Binder: Nicaraguan

Size: 5.5 x 50  “Robusto”

Body: Full

Price: $10.00

It’s Chanukkah in April. I managed to squeeze some of the last Tatuaje Limited Release Regios Reservas from Atlantic Cigar. They still have some Noellas left, but I guess, not for long. http://www.atlanticcigar.com/All-Cigars/Tatuaje-Limited-Release-Noellas-Reserva.asp. And they are $8.00 instead of $10.00.

The Regio Reserva first showed its head in 2009 with only 200 boxes for sale.

The cigars are made at My Father Cigars S.A. in Esteli, Nicaragua.

Pete Johnson has been in the cigar industry for 10 years now. And this re-release of the 2009 limited cigar is part of the celebration. I don’t know how many were produced but they have only been on the market for a few weeks and they are almost impossible to find. So, I’m guessing…not many.

The construction is good. It’s a little raggedy looking, or maybe rustic. Seams are fairly tight and there are a lot of veins. The dark Connecticut Broadleaf wrapper makes the stick close to black in color but is better described as Colorado Red. It has the same reddish hue as the Ecuadorians tend to have. It must be a triple cap but I cannot tell for sure. The stick glistens oils. And has a sandy feel and toothy look.

I sniff and detect the lovely fruit of Nicaragua: Cocoa. And leather, earthiness, cedar, and wood.

I perform a near perfect V cut with my behemoth 4 hole stainless cutter.

And I light ‘er up.

The first few puffs are the Garcia blast of pepper. And that earthiness is brilliant. Smoke spews from the foot like Mount Vesuvius. The char line is razor sharp.

I have one reason for reviewing this cigar, and one big one against it….the first being that it gives me an opportunity to document what this cigar tasted like. I doubt this cigar and I will cross paths anytime soon. The other reason for not reviewing it is that it is work and I sometimes I feel like I’ve wasted a cigar by analyzing the shit out of it. But at the same time; I do my reviews first thing in the morning when my palate is fresh and I really can glean the flavors from the cigar. And I only have two of these so it appears I am sacrificing one to the great Cosmic Muffin.

OK…continue Kohn, concentrate…The spice is in the main ring while the earthiness is right behind in the second ring. I’m using circus analogies in order to seem like I’m clever. Which, I’m not.

The cigar is jammed with tobacco. But it has stopped spewing smoke and it only appears when I puff on it; and then just briefly. The ash commits suicide at the half inch mark. The earthiness is the driving force. There is no cocoa or any expected Nicaraguan flavors. The Broadleaf wrapper is supposed to make the difference in this cigar. So far, it is sort of ho hum. The spice has tamped down a bit.

But so far, no flavor bomb. But this is Pete Johnson and Pepin Garcia we’re talking about so my beating heart shall not waver from its conviction that this shall be an outstanding cigar.

The cigar burns slowly. It’s been 15 minutes and I’ve only hit the 1” point. But the char line has remained dead nuts. Just before ending the first third, I am pummeled by cocoa and creaminess. The envelop my palate. Diet Coke time. And now the stick is really belting out the smoke. The char line has gotten a bit irregular and I’m not sure if I will have to correct it.

I’ll be honest. Cocoa and creaminess is all I need in a cigar.

Now some lovely sweetness appears. Not sure from what.

The earthiness increases ten-fold. The body is at classic medium as I finish the first third. The spiciness is still there, and fairly strong, but not obtrusive.

The second third shows an increase of the aforementioned flavors. The body remains at medium.

I move into the second half. The flavors are just exploding. The stick doesn’t have a big flavor profile but what it does have is very intense components. The cigar balances out well at this point. And the finish becomes very long indeed.

As the cigar progresses to burn, I am beginning to feel a bit light headed; a warning that the body is readying itself to go into after burner.

I have to note now that while I am really enjoying this cigar, I have reviewed several less expensive cigars lately that are just as good as this stick. It seems that everyone is on the same track as far as making their cigars flavor bombs. And they are doing it in the $7-$9 price range; or less.

The lower band comes off easily. And I enter the last third. The flavors are all over the place. A complexity arrives in the form of unification of flavors. The char line is still a little cockeyed but I am fine with it.

I am approaching the upper band and the cigar is just swimming in flavor. The body is just shy of full.

The cigar burns down to its finale and the cigar continues to be brimming with flavor. The body is now full. It finishes smooth and flavorful. What more can you ask?

And now for something completely different:

I write a lot of anecdotes about music. Music had such a massive impact on my life. I still play bass. 48 years now. And for some reason, I’ve always been a very good bassist. I’ve pissed off many a band member who thought their shit didn’t stink and they watched as, during breaks, I would get the most people coming up to me and praising me for my playing. Musicians are a weird breed.

My favorite band of all time; that I played in, was Homegrown. A cover band back in the early 1970’s made up of 5 friends with the same passion for music and musical styles. It was even better than when I played in Curved Air. No pressure.

We played out every weekend somewhere. We were beloved for our ability to mimic just about anyone; but especially Led Zep. Our singer could hit those high notes like Robert Plant.

We played a lot at military bases in So Cal. Our fave was El Toro Marine Base. And then our booker really screwed up and booked us for the officer’s club at El Toro. Up til then, we played for the enlisted men.

The OC was a small place which should have been our signal to get the hell out of there. The juke box was playing Country. And the officers and their wives/girlfriends all looked like they had a stick up their ass. Oh Lord!

We started by playing the least offensive songs we could think of and in the middle of the first song, we were told to turn down. Oh great.

The booker, an old broad, showed up to see how things were going and immediately realized she cocked things up and tried talking us into playing country and wedding band songs. We didn’t know this stuff. We were a hard rock band. The whole thing was like Spinal Tap when they played for the officers. When I saw this movie, a good 12 years after El Toro, I laughed so hard that the audience members turned around.

We never finished the whole four hour gig. We were politely told that we could leave at the end of the second set. Our feelings were hurt a bit but we knew it wasn’t our fault. That damn booker was an idiot.

As we packed up, the juke box was turned on and country music blared from it. Almost at the same decibel levels we played. All we could do is laugh. We still got paid the full amount. And we knew that next weekend we’d be back at the EM club. Where they really appreciated our music.

We allowed the booker to put us at Camp Pendleton. It was a horrific experience. All these men were at the end of their boot camp training and were being readied to go to Viet Nam.

We had a dressing room. And about half way through the evening, the grunts began to invade our space. They sat with us and cried. Really cried. About how scared they were. And how they knew they were going to die. It was heart breaking as we gave hugs to one Marine after another.

It was a huge audience and they just loved us. Some of the really drunk ones pushed their way onstage to sing along. Considering the circumstances, we didn’t mind.

As we packed up, more and more Marines told us how afraid they were and each and every one of them were crying.

We got into the big van and said nothing for a bit…and then we all broke into tears. This was terrible. Such a waste. All these fine young men being thrown to the wolves. For a war that was useless. Over what? Communism? For Christ’s sake.

When the officer on duty paid us with a check, the band agreed to give it back and told the officer to put it towards any sort of fund that helped the soldiers. The officer was actually shocked. But he took the check back.

We promised ourselves on the way home that we would never play there again. Our nerves couldn’t take it. Playing there was like playing in front of ghosts.

Absolutely heartbreaking.

Supplement: Our guitarist and leader of the band died a couple years back from prostate cancer. May he rest in peace.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS