Wrapper: Nicaraguan Habano Oscuro
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 5.25 x 53 “Robusto Extra”
Body: Full
Price: $3.00

Atlantic Cigars is one of those few online stores that doesn’t have a catalog of house brands or seconds. So when they do, it’s something special; and not to be ignored.

I bought a bundle of My Father Overruns cigars a year ago, from Atlantic, and was completely blown away. There is no question in my mind that this was the real deal.

The bundles come in 4 blends: Oscuro, Maduro, Rosado, and Sumatran. They are available in a variety of sizes.
This review will only suffice for a short period as I remember these cigars disappearing quite quickly and one must act accordingly.

Construction of the cigars shows only the slightest of imperfections. An errant seam here, a sloppy cap here, and a few bulging veins. There are definite color variations. So it is no secret why they are seconds. But the guts are the same and they are what can be expected to come from the My Father factory in Esteli. That’s all that counts.

I pick one of the most aesthetically pleasing cigars to review. It is very oily. And very smooth. The cigars have triple caps. All of the sticks are solid without any soft spots.

I clip the cap to search for aromas. There is a deep earthiness as the leading aroma. Loads of cedar. Some cocoa. Tobacco sweetness. Very strong spice. Cinnamon. And raisin.

I don’t have a clue as to which My Father cigar I am reviewing. Although, the My Father Le Bijou has the same wrapper. Exactly. Including the all Nicaraguan binder and filler. Researching the My Father line of cigars, it is most likely that I have nailed which cigar it is. This cigar doesn’t quite match the exact size as the Grand Robusto or the Corona Grande but that may also be the reason for the overruns.

Cigar Aficionado says this about the cigar: “….A 90-point rating, noting: “Dark and spicy with an even burn throughout. After the cigar warms up it shows significant coffee notes as well as some sweetness.”

The 1922 is a $10 cigar; even more in B & M’s.

Time to light up.

The first puffs are sweet. Followed closely by dark baking cocoa. The draw is perfect as plumes of smoke pour from the foot. The char line ain’t so hot. I touch it up and seems fine now.

And then the Garcia pepper arrives like an Abrams tank chasing bin Laden. I sort of get the mental picture of the Coyote and the Roadrunner. Beep Beep!

With only half an inch burned, the flavors explode and drip on to the floor. I’ve had these cigars exactly one day without their cellos. I dry boxed them overnight. I smoked one last night and it was very pleasant. But today, is a whole different story. This is a full blown Garcia product.

I remember from my purchase of these a year ago, that giving them two weeks of rest in my humidor was all that was needed for the cigars to bloom.

It is going to be difficult to keep my hands off of these.

The flavor profile consists of strong red pepper, cocoa, dark coffee bean, licorice, raisin, earthiness, and natural sweetness. Not bad.

As this is a Nicaraguan puro, I expect that the flavor profile will remain the same throughout the entirety of the cigar. The only thing missing is the creaminess which should show up tout suite.

The body of the cigar is a classic medium. But I expect the last third to kick my ass as this cigar is advertised as full bodied.

I have a good rock no roll story today. Another true chronicle of my days in England and Europe in the mid 1970’s. Struggling to have the biggest cucumber in my pants than any other rock star. (Allusion to “Spinal Tap.”)

Larger sizes are available at basically the same prices. But I chose the robusto because it is a given that it will be a flavor bomb and mature very quickly compared to a much bigger cigar. Yes, they disappear quicker, but the experience is golden.

The cigar is very solid; and hence, a slow burner. You have to take that into consideration when you buy sticks at your local B & M. A solid cigar will give you much more pleasure time than one that is not. I know…common sense.

The spice is doing a number on me. My nose is running. My sinuses are wide open. My eyes are watering. And I think I peed myself. (That’s OK. I’m wearing Depends.) So I don’t have to leave the laptop.

I’ve been working on the cigar for 15 minutes and only gotten to the one inch mark.
The first third ends with a nice flourish.

It is here that the creaminess arrives completing the portrait of a Nic puro. This stick is like a candy bar now.
I hit the halfway point and the cigar is screaming flavor. The only change is that the spiciness has tamped down a bit and my eyes stop watering.

The body remains at medium.

The last third is smooth and balanced with a long finish. The creaminess enhances the other flavors magnificently.
The last inch and a half sees the body of the cigar hit full. It is certainly kicking my ass now.

This was an incredible experience. I am warning you that if you don’t jump on this deal now, it will be gone and you will have to wait a year before having the chance to purchase these terrific cigars.

And now for something completely different:
The Curved Air Chronicles…
1974

My oldest, and dearest friend, Skip with his wife…me and my girlfriend, all left for Amsterdam out of LAX. It was a miserable flight. Skip and Debbie left a week early to they could visit her family somewhere in Norway or Sweden or someplace that everyone has blonde hair and blue eyes.

The plan was to meet up in Venice a week after we got in. April and I spent a few days in Amsterdam in a cheap hotel, where the floor was on a slant, and were forced to listen to disco music from the bar in the hotel, all night long. April cried herself to sleep. I just whimpered.

We made our way to Venice using our Eurail passes. It was not a pleasant trip as the trains were not air conditioned and it was hotter than hell in July. Plus, we were crammed into a six seat compartment with 8 other people. We traveled in a compartment with one big Italian family who took pity on us and fed April, but not me.

Both Skip, and I, started our European tour by hitting Amsterdam first. He brought his guitar and Fender amp. I brought my bass, and an amp, with a custom made speaker box with an 18″ heavy duty bass speaker. We agreed to leave them in the train station luggage storage and when we met up in Venice, we would go back to Amsterdam to retrieve our stuff. Of course, we didn’t leave our axes in the train station. My bass never left my eyesight.

April and I were strolling through an open market, when right in front of us, was Skip and Debbie.

The first thing out of Skip’s mouth was, “Do you have the amps?”
I blustered out a, “WHAT? NO!! I don’t have the amps. What are you talking about?”

He had apparently wanted to do me a favor, and stopped in Amsterdam to pick up the amps, and bring them to Venice so we wouldn’t have to make the long trip.

Our gear had been stolen. I stomped the ground and yelled profanities. I had that speaker box custom made at a small fortune.

We had agreed to stay at the same hotel ahead of time. So we dropped the girls off and Skip, and I, mounted a train heading for Amsterdam.

I think the train ride was around 18 hours. Lots of stops on the way.

The train was full and we ended up sleeping in the hallway….it was hot and miserable.

We finally got there and ran to the luggage department. Right in the middle of the floor were our amps. Almost as if on display.
I started screaming at Skip. He just threw his arms into the air and could only sputter, swearing they weren’t there.
We figured that someone working at the luggage department “borrowed” them at the same time Skip went to pick them up. I yelled so much at the person in charge, that Skip had to pull me off.

We dragged our equipment to a small café and ordered some food.

An hour later, back on the train for Venice. We watched as the amps were loaded on the train by the train guys.

During that train ride, one must travel through France and Germany. Skip showed me something while we passed through France: Hashish. He had only a bit, in a small pipe, and he stowed it in his three ring binder… in one of those opaque pencil holders with the zipper.

I gritted my teeth and told him that if we get caught with it, we will spend our days in a German prison. I begged him to toss it but he wouldn’t listen.

And sure enough, as soon as we hit the German border, the compartment door slammed open and there were four armed soldiers with machine guns yelling, “Hashish! Hashish!”

I damn near shit my pants. The compartment was full of young people traveling through Europe for the summer.
The head guy pointed his weapon at Skip’s back pack sitting on the racks above the seats and motioned for whoever owned it to get it and open it.

I started flapping my arms.

All four soldiers squeezed themselves into the compartment. Guns were haphazardly aimed at people. It was impossible to squeeze my butt cheeks any tighter than when automatic weapons are being carelessly aimed at you.

The head Nazi, me and Skip stood almost on top of each other. The soldier pointed at Skip’s binder and motioned for him to remove it. My arms were flapping like a humming bird.

There, in plain view, was the hash pipe. I was about to faint.

And then Skip did something that defies logic. He removed the pipe, in full view of the soldier, and put it in his back pocket. All I could think of was what it would be like to be someone’s new bride in prison.

The soldier didn’t see it. It didn’t register. It was a miracle.
How? Thank you baby Jesus!!

And in a flash, the soldiers exited the compartment.

We fell into our seats, covered in sweat. Skip and I stared at each other without talking. We couldn’t speak.

And then my senses returned. I grabbed the pipe from Skip’s back pocket, opened the train window, and threw it out while the train was going 50mph.
Skip screamed at me. I told him I’d buy him another one when we re-visited Amsterdam.
It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. We were redeemed.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS