Wrapper: Connecticut Broadleaf Maduro
Binder: Dominican
Filler: Dominican
Size: 5.75 x 52 “Pyramid”
Body: Medium/Full
Price: $13.00

Addendum 12-18-2013:
A gentleman left a comment, at the end of this review, that I made a gaffe about the correct name of this cigar. It is not the Shark #77. In fact, it is the #55.
It was brought to my attention by a reviewer out hunting for bear, I guess. I did not approve the publishing of the comment as I don’t care to give this gentleman free advertising for his site. The cool thing to do would have been for this gentleman to contact me privately and advise me of my mistake; instead of knowingly embarrassing me for all to see.
I don’t do that to other reviewers when I catch an error; and I don’t want others doing it to me.
Every once in a while, someone new makes a comment that is clearly made for the sake of showing me how smart they are and how dumb I am. I’m human..most of the time.
Considering I’ve written almost 1300 reviews, a mistake now and then, is inevitable. My email address is plainly shown in the “All About the Katman” section on the Home page. This guy could have performed the compassionate act of letting me know in private. And then, not only would I have made this correction, I would have gladly recommended his review blog. I apologize to everyone for the mistake and for not being more aware of my purchase and what I reviewed. I truly am sorry.

This is a daunting review for me. Everyone and his brother have written about this 8th wonder of the world. And now I’m adding my two cents.
The cigar is only made in small batches and comes out only twice a year and disappears quickly into the greedy, and appreciative, hands of cigar smokers.

The stick was first introduced in 2000. It was also, at that time, the first cigar to progress from a box press at the foot to round at some point on the body. The point of this design was to create the perfect draw. And it is virtually impossible to tell, at the start, where the box press ends and the round begins.

The word, “Anejo” means aged refined or well refined or well-aged. Take your pick. Each cigar has been aged in Cognac barrels for between 5-6 years. To make this cigar even more alluring is the fact that the filler leaves come from the Opus X, Don Carlos, and Hemingway. How’s that for a pedigree?

The cigar I’m smoking and reviewing today has spent over two years in a humidor. This nice bit of aging should make that ceegar shine, baby.

Construction is impeccable. No. Perfectly impeccable. Looking closely at the stick, it gives off a rustic look of a very dark brown wrapper with even darker mottling. There are lots of veins but they look almost buried underneath a coat of lacquer. The stick is rock hard. But has some give to it. The wrapper is as oily as car garage floor. The cap is so well made; there are no seams to be seen. Not only are the seams tight on the cigar, they are invisible. It almost looks like a rustic version of machine made cigars with that composite wrapper.

I put nose to cigar and detect strong cedar, cinnamon, some tobacco sweetness, and at the foot, there is a big dose of cognac. The cognac is very strong and pleasing.

The cold draw is all cognac.

I clip the pointy cap and light up.

The first puffs draw well considering how hard the cigar is. There is a syrupy treacle like flavor that starts us off. The cognac moves to the forefront immediately pushing the sweetness to the side a bit. For the first time, I taste bona fide oak. I sniffed my dining room table to make sure. I’ve never tasted a cigar like this. It is completely unique.

The draw continues to be fine and the almost snow white ash at the char line is dead nuts. The next flavors to appear are a bit of spiciness….black and red pepper. But mild. They may have been stronger when the cigar was younger in my humidor. And yes, this is my first properly aged Anejo.

There is a very Cubanesque flavor about this cigar. It is meaty and bold. And the damn cigar band is too close to the cap forcing my lips to touch it when I bring cigar to mouth. The band is completely secure and won’t allow me to scoot it. Under normal circumstances, I’d remove it, but since I am taking photos….I will endure.

At the one inch mark, the cognac takes off. It doubles the flavor value of the sweetness and other flavors. Because this cigar is so jam packed with tobacco, it’s taken me over 15 minutes to get here.

The draw improves now. It was fine at the start but now it is screaming laughter. There is a yellow mango-like fruitiness that complements the cognac. The spiciness begins to ramp up and become solely red pepper as my tongue tip numbs out.

The char line is getting a bit funky. Fingers crossed no assistance will be necessary.
Still in the first third, I get some cocoa notes. So now we have cognac, sweetness, mango, cocoa, oak, and pepper. That is one bizarre group of components.

The body has been medium from the start. As I expect this to be a two hour burn, I should sneak a bowl of cereal somewhere in the review so I don’t get the hotsy totsies and want to do the Hokey Pokey in the living room with the dog. Put your left paw out and shake it all about….

The flavor profile is stationary at this point. Nothing added and nothing removed. And complexity has not entered the picture yet. The char line has corrected itself. Go Arturo!

My wife yells over at me and asks what I’m smoking? She’s on the couch, watching TV and doing crossword puzzles. She says it smells good. I tell her about the cognac and she snaps her fingers and says, “That’s it. That’s what I smell.”

I start the second third and the cigar begins to develop some real complexity. While the cognac is dominant, the other flavors meld into one. There is a real balance and a very long finish. My lips feel sticky like I am sucking on a lollipop.

Since the cigar burns so slowly, I take the interim times to write a continuation of the Griffgator saga. The master of all roadies. And the man who found women weeping at his feet.

Creaminess enters, but a very buttery smooth creaminess. It changes the whole character of the cigar. It enhances the other flavors and makes them bolder. So basically, the complexity has raised a whole notch, providing a new dynamic.

I’m sure that the Fuentes made this cigar to have a couple years of aging on it before it was smoked. There are such gentle nuances that would never have been experienced with only a couple months of humi time.

Of course, the quagmire upon receipt of the cigar was how do I maintain it for a lengthy rest? Exposed to other cigars, would it lose its heavy cognac influence? Would it help cigars next to it to taste better? Well, we will never know. If the cigar lost some of its cognac potency over two years, so be it. I can’t imagine a more definitive impact of that flavor.

I slept like shit last night. I wear a CPAP mask because I have sleep apnea so I look like Hannibal Lecter. But this mask needs replacing because it is falling apart. The CPAP industry is crooked as my…..Every part of the mask costs a ridiculous amount of money. The soft gel cushion is $54. $54!! Anyway, it feels like I spent half the night adjusting the damn thing and now I am writing like a drunken sailor. Makes me want to down some cognac, finish the review, and go back to bed.

I approach the halfway mark and the flavors are so emboldened that I can’t believe after all this time, they have this much punch. This will be the last time I mention that cognac leads the pack. Right behind it is that creaminess mixed with cocoa and a delectable sweetness; which is no longer mango-like. That was a nice touch, by the way.

The last third is upon me. The first two thirds took an hour. The complexity is still exquisite. The flavors make subtle changes from muted to bold. This is unusual and only the fine complexity and aging could produce this.

I can taste a bit of cinnamon at this late stage. And the body is still hanging in at medium. The pepper is stronger now. And some nicotine makes its presence known.

I would have loved to smoke this cigar in my man cave, relaxing with some good music and not distracted by anything. I believe I could pick up more nuance under those circumstances. But I chose long ago to smoke and write at the same time. I tried the “note” process but that was highly faulty. One needs to experience the cigar’s talent while one writes so it is an accurate portrait.

This stick is pure heaven now. I’ve smoked a lot of cigars in my lifetime. But rarely am I treated to one this perfect. I have absolutely no criticism of this stick. Nothing to complain about. No faults.

The price point on this cigar is all over the place. Whatever the market will bear. I used the price Atlantic Cigar has posted of $13. But of course, they are out of stock. But I’ve seen it go for twice as much. At $13, it is worth every dime. You’re just not buying a cigar; you’re buying a two hour event in your life.

This cigar was blended to be savored. And in these last couple of inches, I am milking every bit of satisfaction I can squeeze from it.
It’s a big deal when these cigars are brought to market twice a year. Every single store that carries them trumpets the sale of this cigar. And then they disappear in hours.

The strength of this cigar is pushing towards medium/full. It might have reached full bodied if it weren’t aged as much as this one.
During the last inch, the power hits the tilt button and we have reached full body.
What a wonderful two hour experience this has been.

And now for something completely different:

Roadies.
A breed of men and women that are like no other. There are two levels; the grunt who humps the gear. And the highly trained technician. Bands depend on their expertise implicitly.

Dave the Griffgator was the highly trained type. And we depended on him to make things go right, every gig.
His nickname comes from his alligator smoothness in moving through the crowd pulling the best looking chicks for the band; and saving the best for himself. That was because he was a strapping, handsome lad.

We played a gig in Nottingham. And he did not shoot the sheriff.

This version of the band had two new members: Mick Jacques on guitar and Stewart Copeland (The Police) on drums.

Back in the mid 70’s, Stew was Keith Moon-like in his approach to playing. He was a madman which infuriated the band’s leader, Darryl. Every improv in the middle of songs engaged both guitar and violin in which they traded riffs. It was usually brilliant. And once in a while, they threw me a bass solo.

Stew didn’t care about time signatures. He basically soloed through every song making “1” impossible to find. Meaning that rock n roll is in 4/4 time and 1 is the beginning of each bar.

Stew would blast through the sometimes subtle exchange of guitar and violin totally screwing up the boys. Which forced me to play quarter notes so the boys knew where 1 was. I’d play boom-boom-boom-boom. Four notes. Totally boring. But if wasn’t for me doing that, the players would have no idea where they were.

So Stew got fired about once a week and since he was hooked up with the chick singer; when Darryl fired him, the chick quit. This drama went on every single stinking week.

All the roadies grimaced watching this high drama. And saw two struggling musicians trying to trade riffs.

One night, the Griffgator got on the drum riser and took a cowbell and drumstick and hammered out 1-2-3-4 to keep time with me. It infuriated Stew. But Griffgator just gave him the bird. Darryl told Griff to do this every night when Stew went crazy during the solos. It eventually wore Stew down.
There were times that I was so aggravated that I matched the drums and played like Stanley Clarke turning this classical progressive band into a jazz fusion band. Sort of like Spinal Tap.

One night, the end of the song came and Stew went out with a flourish. He raised his arms dramatically to signal this would be the end of the song. As he did this, he threw his arms so far up, they went behind him and he lost his balance.

He fell backwards and off of his stool. The stage was 8 feet tall. The drum riser was another four feet tall above the stage. So Stew tumbled backwards 12 feet. Griff tried to break his fall, but at the last moment, he pulled back and let Stew fall.

Luckily for Stew, all of his drum cases were piled right behind him. He had a big set so the cases were piled six feet.

Stew’s fall was partially broken by all those cases. We looked around as we were about to start another song…and no drummer. Vanished. I thought he disappeared into the mist.

Griff helped him up and saw that there was no skin left on the inside of Stew’s arms. Torn raw. As he came running around the side of the stage, his eyes were the size of dinner plates. Blood was dripping like a faucet and he yelled, “I’m OK.”

He got back on his stool and the next song began.

After the gig, Stew confronted Griff about not catching him. Griff said he missed. They yelled at each other very loudly and for a long time. Stew fired Griff but Darryl said he had no authority to fire anyone. So Grif stayed.

After that, every time the drum kit was set up, Griff would loosen some nuts and bolts on the kit. This caused a myriad of antics. Drums fell of their stands. Cymbals came loose and rolled down the stage. Stew accused Griff of doing this but it was denied vigorously.

More later…..

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS