Wrapper: Honduran Maduro
Binder: Honduran Corojo
Filler: Honduran Corojo
Size: 6 x 48/54/48 “11/18-Figurado”
Body: Full
Price: $6.00-$11.00

11-30-2013: This review was written before Camacho released large quantities of the new blends produced by its new owner; Davidoff. And their web site had just been revised to show the new line. I reviewed this old line cigar which is still widely available. It was difficult finding research material to explain the transition. The departure of Christian Eiroa really put a crimp in their style. So please pardon my inaccurate references.

I went just about nuts last night researching this cigar. Everyone calls it something different. I won a couple on Cbid. What I bid on was the Camacho Corojo. What they sent me was the Corojo Maduro. Try and find that blend. I dare you. On top of that, the price range for this cigar is so spread out, it is laughable. I saw them for $6 each and I saw them for $11 each. All the same cigar.

There is something called the Diploma which many reviewers attached to this cigar. But Diploma is a size, not a blend. It means it is a 5.2 x 50. I think that’s right. Even that was conflicting.

The Corojo is widely available, but not so the Maduro. I have no idea why. The Camacho web site is practically useless as it only focuses on three new cigars.

So methinks, I got something special here. I am going to lump the Corojo blend and the Corojo Maduro into the same blend for reviewing purposes as the binder and filler are identical. Only the wrapper is different.

The Camacho Corojo received a 91-point rating from CA, noting: “A well-made robusto with a slightly firm draw and very even burn. Cedar and leather are pleasantly balanced by woody notes and a tea leaf finish.”
Okie Doke.

“Camacho Diploma Corojo Maduro Natural cigars are fully-aged cigars with a distinctive ‘Havana-like’ flavor. Handmade from select, two-year-aged vintage tobaccos for a robust, yet smooth smoking experience, the tobaccos are genuine, first-generation Cuban seed (1997 vintage) Corojo leaf.”

This from another online store:
“Camacho Corojo takes the Eiroa family’s flagship brand to new heights. Each of the sizes, Diploma, 07/05, 08/22, and 11/18 are produced in very limited quantities, making them difficult to come by. Reason being, these sizes utilize only the best wrappers from the top of the tobacco plant, called the corona. Each leaf is then aged significantly longer, resulting in an even more powerful level of flavor, but one that’s delivered in an impressively balanced fashion. When it comes to Camacho Corojo, these are the crème de la crème, and a must try for any aficionado.”

Construction is as solid as a rock with a little bit of give. The wrapper’s color reminds me of coffee the way I drink it. There is indeed a triple cap. A bit sloppy which allowed me to see it clearly. Seams are invisible and the normal amount of spider veins. The wrapper is very oily and the wrapper very sandy to the touch.

I just noticed that the Maduro lettering is off set from the main band. Yet it is all one band, no secondary one present. So someone was asleep at the wheel when they type set for the band. It’s cockeyed.

I clip the cap and find aromas of delicious cocoa. Lots of spice and cinnamon and baking spices. A bushel full of cedar and leather. And a nutty aroma of almonds and hazelnut.

Time to light up.
The cigar hits it out of the park on the first few puffs. It is earthy and sweet. Cocoa and cedar lie in the background. A blast of black pepper explodes from the starting gate.

The draw is a bit tight. But the char line is spot on. A natural tobacco sweetness takes charge. A bit of salty pretzel shows up. In fact, there is a bready quality to it as well. Sort of yeasty. The body is on the mild side of medium.

The cigar is packed so tight that it is a very slow burner.

I come to the end of the first third and the profile becomes about the cocoa and sweetness and nuttiness. Strangely, the body is only medium. I expected more of a punch. At this point, it is merely a pleasant cigar. With black pepper still hanging in the background.

The second third develops some real character. Flavors come out of hiding. But I keep wondering where the Corojo is? The stick becomes very expansive and colorful with all the aromas becoming flavors. Camacho is an old school blender. Maybe that’s why their web site is only about the new stuff. Coming to compete with the tattooed New Breed blenders. The old school sticks take forever to age in your humidor. That’s why most guys on a budget don’t buy them. No instant gratification. Like the Asylum 13 I smoked last night.

I am at the halfway point and not much has changed. The cigar cap is a mess now and I have to trim it because of all the loose tobacco.

The body is still at medium. Clearly, this cigar needs months and months of humidor time. A couple weeks just won’t do. The cigar goes out on me and I light ‘er up again. It somehow regurgitates more flavor than before. The last half seems to be where the sweet spot is.

Thankfully, the huge cigar band comes off easily. I haven’t had much luck with bands lately and I hate to cut them off. I always knick the wrapper. But not this time. Because of how the cigar is packed, it has taken me an hour to get to the halfway point. And that was the skinny cone part.

Still at the end of the halfway mark, the cigar finds its spiciness. It turns into red pepper and gives the cigar some oomph.
So far, I am not impressed with this cigar. I read a lot of reviews and most came to the same conclusion no matter how long the cigars rested. I had hoped my experience would be different. But this is just an ordinary, blah cigar. Not even the legendary power of the brand. But I will finish it to make sure.

The cigar started out with such promise. But now the flavors begin to disappear in the last third. There is a little creaminess, some cocoa, sweetness and earth. And the spice is almost non existent. The char line is very wavy but I hope no touch ups will be required.
I can’t recommend this cigar unless you are willing to buy it and store it in your humidor for 6-12 months, or more. For the smoker that wants a cigar ready to smoke in 2-3 weeks, this ain’t the one.

And now for something completely different:

Even though I was a bona fide rock star in England for a short time, my favorite band of all time I played in was called Homegrown. I know, how original. But this was 1970. We were a 5 piece band made up of me on bass, a guitarist, a keys player, a drummer and a lead singer who did not play guitar on stage. The singer and guitarist were butt ugly. Really. And so was the drummer. He looked like the Cookie Monster. Only the keys player and I were the good looking kids on the block.
But oh how we played. We could play anything. We were a brilliant cover band and if you think back to who was popular in the late 60’s, you can only imagine the task we set for ourselves. Our best impersonation was the Zep. The singer could do anything Plant could do and the guitarist could do anything Page could do.

So we played out just about every weekend. And since we lived in Orange County, CA, we played a lot of military bases for the EM’s. Especially, El Toro. It drove the bookers crazy because all of the Marines wanted us and us only.

It was a wonderful and a sad time wrapped together. The good thing about El Toro was that men had already been through boot. And were now assigned their duties.

We played in their giant mess hall. They had a nice stage set up. And hundreds and hundreds of Marines could fit in…and they did. Whenever we played, the place was packed to the gills. Fights would occur in the waiting lines to get in.
And talk about drunken Marines. Holy shit! These men knew how to drink a sailor under the table. And every single one was kind and generous to us.

We came to learn every single guy’s name that came to see us. Really. It was mind numbing but we played there steadily for over two years.

And I admired that they were respectful. No one ever got on stage and grabbed the microphone…except for a couple times. And then some of the bigger guys removed him quickly.

One night, a really drunk Marine decided he didn’t like me. Why? Who knows. He stood in front of the stage calling me names. Some of our good buddies kept sitting him down but I knew trouble was coming. And then it did.

He was huge and he charged the stage aiming for me. Back then I played the huge Fender Precision bass. The neck was like a big ol’ 2 x 4. And the head stock was massive. Just as his foot hit the stage, I reared back and clobbered him with the head of the bass right in the puss. Knocked him off the stage and he slid several feet. He was stunned something good. A huge eruption of applause rang throughout the hall. If I drank all the shots these guys bought for me afterwards, I’d still be drunk today.

We always set up our gear late afternoon. The place was loose and friendly. A whole gaggle of Marine friends came and went to greet us. It was great. And then we would hang with our friends, get something to eat, and just hang. The music always started early on a military base. 8pm. Four sets and shut ‘er down at midnight.

Back in those days, things were not so secure. And we pretty much had the run of the base. Everyone knew us. We would take walks and smoke our joints. No one cared. They were too scared of losing us. And besides, many times our Marine friends would walk with us and share a doobie.

Then one day, a gaggle of Marines came in while we were setting up. “Did you hear what happened to Shorty?”
We recoiled in shock fearing the worst.

“He was high on something. He went to the top of the four story barracks and fell off!!!”
We were inconsolable and then someone said, “But don’t worry. He will be here tonight.”
What the fuck?

He was so fucked up when he fell that he bounced and did nothing more than bruise the shit out of himself.
That night, as we got ready to play, Shorty limped in with a big smile on his face. He came to the stage and greeted us. We all hugged him and called him rude names. As usual, he handed over a bunch of pills and capsules to our lead singer who popped them all in his mouth. This had become ritual at every gig. Our lead singer was tripping like crazy the whole night and never missed a note. We had to drag him out of the bathroom every night where we found him talking to the soap dispenser, but that was the worst of it.

We brought Shorty on stage to sing with us on Stairway to Heaven. He completely murder-lized it. But the crowd went nuts and applauded like crazy. We had thought he was killed and the crazy bastard bruised himself instead.

Those years were full of different military bases including Camp Pendleton which was a training facility. We only played there a few times because we always left there crying.

The boots would get drunk and pack themselves into our dressing room telling us how they knew they were going to die in Viet Nam…and how they hated the Marines…and wanted to go home. It was oh so depressing. So we turned down further invitations to play. We felt bad for these young men. Going off to fight a stupid war over what? Communism? It was an out of control war that LBJ couldn’t stop. And to make things worse, these find young soldiers did not come back to ringing applause, but rather, they were spat upon and called baby killers. This is the most shameful period in that point of time.

I did not join, nor was I drafted. I had gout. It hit when I was 13 and nearly crippled me. It lasted until my early 20’s. And the medication for it was gruesome. So I was 4-F. The military didn’t want some young kid with bad arthritis. But many of my friends were drafted and went to VN. Some were killed. Some were injured. And almost every single one suffers from PTSD to this day. Back then, they got no help for this. Another shameful period for our government.

Anyway, that’s a real downer to end one of my rock stories on. I apologize.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS