Wrapper: Ecuadorian Habano Maduro
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan (Jalapa/Esteli Ligero)
Size: 6 x 50 “Toro, FT-153”
Body: Full
Price: $8.00

I’ve reviewed this cigar a couple times before this. The first was on my old cigar blog: “Katmancross.” And the other was for an online store. But in neither case, did the cigar have almost 2 years of aging in my humidor. So I shall open the door to most folks who would like to age these sticks as to whether they will be rewarded by doing so.

I haven’t had a Fausto since I bought the current ones. I fell in love with this cigar and then burned out on them. I remember them being powerhouses of strength and flavor. Mostly strength.

The strength of the Fausto comes from using only the highest primings of the tobacco plant; which is the ligero. You know about viso and seco so I won’t go there.

Two years in the joint have been good to the last two sticks I possess. They are hearty looking and no nicks or damage from being moved around so much. The stick is solid. Seams are tight and the veins showing are minor, at best. It looks like a triple cap, in the Cuban tradition, but it is so well made, it is hard to confirm without research.

The stick is extremely oily. The oils just ooze from the wrapper. And it feels very toothy.

I do the snifferoo and detect mounds of cocoa and earthiness. At the foot, there is so much spice, my eyes begin to water. No bullshit. I had to grab a nearby Kleenex box.

The pre-light draw brings spiciness and cocoa with a nice sweetness that is very sugary.

So I light this baby up.

The first puffs are delicious standing by its earlier aromas and then the spice hits me like a habanero pie in the face.

The draw is dead on and the char line is perfect…so far. The initial flavors are the cocoa, of course…and a sugary sweetness that is also met with some coffee. There is no hay or anything that comes from the ground or farm in this smoke. It lives by the earlier described flavors. And in my book, that is why I smoke Nicaraguan cigars more than the other Central American country based cigars.

I love the cocoa element you don’t find much in DR or Honduran cigars. There are, of course, exceptions.

The spiciness has ramped down a bit and is not as strong as when I started. It is allowing the deep nuances of the coffee, cocoa, and sweetness to show through as a trifecta. The char line is doing very well.

The cigar begins to mellow at the one inch mark. This is telling tale of its aging. With only a few weeks or months on it, the pepper would be pumping out Niagara Falls of spiciness. And that’s all I’d be tasting; pepper and body. At this point, the cigar is medium bodied, not full.

The draw sees the same thing over and over; at first puff, I get the pepper, then behind it is the cocoa and coffee almost as an after taste. The sweetness is contained in the long finish. Even at this early stage, the cigar is very well balanced. The cigar is much more sophisticated than when I had them in days gone by with only weeks or months of rest on them. This is a different cigar. It is hard to know what Pete Johnson and Pepin Garcia had in mind when they blended this cigar. Was it pure power and strength intended to be a mighty force of nature early on?

Or did they think long term to what it would taste like after a couple of years? In either case, they brought two cigars to market. One that made your boxers go up and down without control and one that beguiles you with its depth of character.

As the first third goes away, the complexity takes a warp speed leap into extreme sophistication. It is so complex that I am flummoxed by its sincerity. I don’t remember smoking a cigar with this many aspects of flavor in a long time; or ever. At this point, I think this is the best cigar I’ve smoked. But only because of the aging. And because of the aging, it is perfect. There is nothing I can criticize.

The draw remains perfect and so does the burn line.

Let me explain the nuances of this cigar. Gather up all your fondest memories spent in candy stores and ice cream parlors and join them together. Take the childhood memories and insert them into an adult’s ability to understand the tiniest of points of your palate’s talent for discerning flavor.

I am at the halfway point and the cigar is singing to me. A cantata of pure brilliance. The flavors have not changed, but intensified in not an explosive way, but in an implosive manner so that the flavors of cocoa, coffee, sweetness, and now creaminess, become plutonium so small, but packing a gentle punch, that in its whole, is a flavor bomb.

I spend time with this cigar with my eyes closed listening through the open dining room window to the myriad of birds that inhabit SE Wisconsin. No other sounds are there. And I concentrate on the fleeting flavors to be extinguished too soon.

The last third is a symphony. The spiciness has moved into the same plane as the other flavors. Instead of becoming overwhelming, the cigar is balanced and delightful.

Light headedness begins to kick in now. The strength increases. But very slowly. I can feel the ligero doing its job of trying to kick my ass. My hands shake a bit making typing difficult. And I still have a couple inches to go.
Additional flavors have not come. They are the same. Only the character changes as it finds new depths to mine.

I grab an Atkins Shake to ward off anymore shaking. Some protein should fix that. And it does.

Of course, I recommend this cigar. But I highly recommend aging it until you can no longer show any discipline. Brava Tatuaje.

And now for something completely different:

Since we were a chick singer based band with classical musicians behind the helm, I was generally a loner on stage. There wasn’t room for a fourth actor on stage.

So I did my job admirably, honing in on my bass riffs and always finding ways to make them better….stealing the thunder of the other instruments. This, of course, was the beginning of my long decline in the band. Don’t upstage the stars. But I was young. What did I know?

Back in the day, the English motorways had truck stops every 25 miles. One day we stopped at one to have lunch out of convenience only. The food was served cafeteria style and it was always the same and always horrible.
At the news stand, I saw a yo-yo and bought it. I had an idea for that night’s performance.

During our first encore, the chick singer approached the mic and thanked everyone; and since she was really high, most of it was rambling muck. So I would move to the front of the stage and stand next to her; not saying a word…and play with my yo-yo. It sounded like fun when I bought it.

All was going according to plan as I approached the chick and stood beside her. I played with the yo-yo and not a single snicker from the crowd. They wanted her, not me.

And while I felt the gag going flat, I heard from the side of the stage the band leader and violinist, yelling, “1-2-3!”

He was counting in our first encore song and I was a good forty feet from my amp and not plugged in. I looked at him and with beseeching eyes, begged him not to do this. He was a sadistic fuck and the song began without me.

I dashed to my amp, plugged in and attempted to get the hanging yo-yo off my finger. I couldn’t. It was stuck. The song was very bass heavy and there was no bass.

I tried to play with the string now getting caught up in my bass strings fouling them dead.

I screamed for a roadie and the dumbest one we had came to the rescue. I screamed at him to cut the string and instead of doing that, he took a screwdriver and began to unscrew one of the pick-ups on my bass. WTF?

Beric Wickens was a big man and with him bent over in front of me, I could not see anything but a big expanse of fat. So I pounded on his back until he stopped and he looked up with his sweaty face, and listened to what I was saying. He snipped the string and I joined the song.

Of course, by that time, we were at least halfway through the song. I missed my bass solo and, now….I got my laughs from the audience.

In the dressing room later, the band leader and I screamed at each other and pushed each other around. I was furious. And adrenaline took over my 150lb frame. I shoved him right into the buffet table, knocking it over, and everything spilling on to him

Darryl and I didn’t speak for a week. Neither apologized. We just went back to work and pretended it never happened.
I, never again, tried to be the focus of attention.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS