Wrapper: Honduran Maduro
Binder: Mexican
Filler: Nicaraguan, Panamanian, & Proprietary Secret filler
Size: 6 x 52 “Toro”
Body: Full
Price: $6.00

Here is an old stalwart that was given to me. I do believe it has about a year’s humi time on it. So I am looking forward to it.

Back in 2004, when the cigar hit the market, the buzz was immediate. This had a bright future ring to it. It got a 90 from CA. It got “Best Buy” honor from CA. So CA can’t be wrong, right? And the Patel PR Machine gave it a byline: “Professional Smokers Only. Smoke While Sitting Down.” Pretty clever and sure to attract us full body hounds.

The cigar was originally produced without a cigar band and then in 2006, a foot band was added to the line.

CA said this about the cigar in the torpedo version: “Although there are minor flaws on the cap, this torpedo burns and draws evenly, with wood, caramel and cocoa flavors. The finish is dry and long with a hint of pepper.”
The cigar was a joint venture between Rocky Patel and Nestor Plasencia.

The Patel folks make a big deal about keeping the secret filler, well…a secret. More PR machine. Where is it going to be from? Tel Aviv?

The construction of the cigar is interesting. This stick is so solid, you could drive a railroad spike with it. Reminds me of the Oliva V series. But there is just the right amount of give reassuring me that the draw will be fine.

The wrapper color is so dark, that it looks like a hunk of coal. There are a few minor veins but some really big honkers. The darkness of the wrapper does a good job at hiding them. There is a beautiful oiliness to the wrapper and it is very toothy.

I clip the cap to find aromas of much muted smells. A sign that this cigar has been humidor aged for quite a while. There is cocoa, leather, cedar, spice, and dried fruit.

Time to light up.

I remove the foot band and on the inside it says: “Beware of Imitations. Original Edge. And the Rocky Patel logo.

The draw is good. There are big flavors aboard. Very spicy from red pepper. Big doses of leather and cedar. A wonderful, strong sweetness. Everything coming from the cap is BOLD! There is loads of dark, bittersweet cocoa. A double of espresso. A fruitiness I am working on defining. And I am barely at the half inch mark.

The pepper is ratcheting up big time. I haven’t had an Edge in quite a while. Mostly due to the fact that it takes a long time for most Patel sticks to mature. And when you are on a strict cigar budget, you want cigars that are ready to smoke in 2-3 weeks, not 2-3 months. If it wasn’t for my good buddy SH, I never would have tasted such a well-aged Edge. So far, the cigar is magnificent.

The La Bomba has the same kind of panache about its strength. It too, has a warning on the inside of the box lid. Sit down or your head will explode..or something like that.

The char line is all wavy. But not out of control.

The maduro wrapper, the Mexican binder and the multi fillers are making this a very rich and earthy cigar. My kind of cigar. As of late, I’ve been smoking, and reviewing, medium to medium/full bodied smokes. And while I liked them, give me a ball breaker any day.

The cigar is so dark; I’m not sure how the photos will come out. Remember the movie, “Caddyshack?” Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. Only I’m not going to eat it.

The cocoa is so prevalent, along with the coffee; I grab a diet Coke for my chocolate soda experience. Or as they call it in NYC: Egg cream.

At the halfway point of the first third, creaminess enters the picture making the flavors just explode with definition. The cigar is delicious.

As I am not reviewing this cigar for a manufacturer, I think I am overdue for one of my boring and sexist rock n roll stories.

The foot gets too wavy and I must touch it up.

The second third begins and the cigar is singing to me. The body is at medium so I don’t have to sit down yet. Although, I am sitting down.

The flavors become very smooth and even keeled. The pepper has tamped down quite a bit. But the others have morphed together to become one giant flavor that is a combo of the aforementioned profile. Again, I’m digging this stick.
The halfway point arrives and the creaminess is just running down my arm. What a flavor bomb. Still, the body remains at medium.

And as I finish typing the last sentence, I feel it. Whoa Nelly. I still have 3” to go and I am swimming in blurry vision. Fortunately, I have seat belts on my big office chair. I strap in.

The last third is a delight. The spiciness has all but disappeared. Leaving scrumptious flavors of dark cocoa, cream, dried apricot, leather, wood, and sweetness. I am wobbly but in no danger of passing out from the full body influence. I don a crash helmet just in case.

The power of the cigar is tolerable out of nowhere. Still have a slight buzz but I take my crash helmet off.
The last bit of the cigar is oh so flavorful.

This is a cigar that Patel got right. The price point is perfect. And it is a real experience. I can’t begin to count how many higher priced cigars are out there that don’t come close to the flavor profile and sophistication of The Edge.

And now for something completely different:
1975
I was never that bright in the world of street sense. We were touring in the far south-west country of England. We were in the sea side community of Torquay…just east of Plymouth. Torquay is in the county of Devon which is one of the most beautiful places in the U.K. Mick, our guitarist, had lots of friends there who he invited to the concert and to hang out with.

I always forgot that I was considered a rock star in the U.K. I have lots of silly stories to back that up. I felt that I was the same So Cal kid who just happened to be playing bass in a band. The fact that we played in front of huge crowds was the only difference in my head.

The original band leaders took their fame seriously. It was boorish to me which eventually led to my downfall within the band.

All of Mick’s friends were good people. And one in particular, a very pretty girl named Cynthia, took a liking to me. I had no radar and Mick had to tell me. We spent 3 days in Torquay and Plymouth doing two shows over two days.

On the second day, Cynthia and I began to hang. She was a lot of fun; smart, funny, witty, and really good looking. We began holding hands as we walked the sea side and boardwalks. And did a little smooching. I was truly enjoying myself.

That night was our first concert. Mick got all of his friends front row tickets. And Cynthia got caught up in the rock star show with all the lights and the big sound system and my dynamic personality on stage. LOL.

The lights were bright enough that we could always see the first few rows unless they were really far back.

We did a 2-1/2 hour show, including encores. For some reason, the audience always expected us to do 3-5 encores a night…which just floored me. The band had a history that I was not part of. And the band coming out of hibernation from 2 years of sleep really got the huge fan base going. And I should mention that these were the original players except for me. Another story.

(Me on the far left playing my beloved Gibson EBO bass)

The huge klieg lights made me sweat like a monkey or a clam. Not sure which. So by the time we hit the dressing room, I was drenched. My leather pants clung to my skin making it very uncomfortable. I usually raced to the bathroom to change into my civvies but I wanted to impress Cynthia.

I sat in a big chair while she stroked my forehead with a damp wash cloth from the bathroom. It felt great. She felt great.
I took Mick aside and told him it looked like I was getting laid that night. But I knew nothing about her. What if she had an STD? Oh God!

He told me the way you tell is light a cigarette and get some tar and nicotine on your thumb and forefinger. Then you insert them into her vagina and if she jumps because it stings, well…you know there is something wrong. The only problem was that I had never smoked a cigarette in my life.

And the whole time she and I hung out, she smoked cigarettes and I declined them every time she offered one. How would I do this and not look stupid.

After partying in the dressing room for a couple of hours, we left for the hotel. It was a given that Cynthia was coming to my room with me.
I was nervous as hell.

We got undressed and I asked for a cigarette. She looked stunned. “I thought you don’t smoke fags, darling.” Fags are what they called cigarettes. Don’t ask me why. Had nothing to do with homosexuals which they called Puftas.

I choked and gagged on the cigarette trying to look cool while she looked at me like I was from outer space. I kept rubbing my fingers on the cigarette filter until I saw a brown substance. Time to go to work.

We made out for a while. Very tender. All the time, I was trying to keep those fingers from touching her which made the whole thing comical.

Finally. I did the deed and she never made the expected “Ouch” sound.

I was relieved. So we spent the night making love. It was a great night and I remember seeing the sun come up with her and me sitting on the patio of the hotel room in our bathrobes provided by the hotel. My fro looked like a squished sea urchin. She laughed at me every time she looked at me. I laughed too. A fro was very high maintenance. I hated it but it made me look very rock n roll.

Years later, of course, I came to find that Mick’s technical test for STD was all hogwash. Like I said, I wasn’t very street smart. But she was a good girl and there was never any chance of me catching anything.

Thank goodness. My girlfriend, back in London, would have killed me.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS