New Camacho Corojo Maduro | Cigar Review

Wrapper: Corojo Maduro (5th priming)
Binder: Authentic Corojo
Filler: Authentic Corojo (3 primings)
Size: 5 x 50 “Robusto”
Body: Medium/Full
Price: $6.00


I’ve reviewed two of the new Camacho blends: Triple Maduro and Diploma Bold.
This is from the Camacho web site:
“From vintage Cuban seed “liberated” from the island. 100% genuine Corojo, the thoroughbred leaf. Slowly aged, like a fine rum. Robust, yet smooth.
“We’ve taken great and made it better. Taken classic and made it ours. Dialed up the richness and amped its intensity. Built with a high-grade, fifth priming wrapper leaf and grown with a seed that’s been perfected for over 40 years.
“In the 1960’s, we received a handful of smuggled Authentic Corojo seeds and began growing them in the Jamastran Valley of Honduras. A rugged area of the country with a similar microclimate to that of Cuba’s famed, Vuelta Abajo region. Over the course of four decades, we learned and perfected growing the original Corojo strain outside of Cuba. Making us the last in the world preserving and in possession of this critical element that made Cuban cigars and Cuban tobacco famous.”

The site says the strength is full not medium/full. We shall see.

The cigar is rustic. Some visible seams. Lots of veins. A very dark wrapper that is oily and toothy. And a well done triple cap.

I clip the cap and find aromas of spice, cocoa, floral notes, coffee, cedar, leather, and sweetness.
Time to light up.

Hot red peppers out of the gate. The draw is good. Smoke fills the room. A dab of sweetness and creaminess appear.

The new “Bold” blends of Camacho have turned out to be very good. A little on the expensive side; especially the Triple Maduro going for $10-$11 a stick. The Corojo is the most budget minded.

Within the first inch, flavors are truly bold. This stick wastes no time getting your attention.

Starting from the strongest flavor: Spice, sweetness, creaminess, natural tobacco, dried fruit, and leather.
Spice and sweetness are doing the heavy lifting.

The char line is not behaving requiring several touch ups. And the cigar seems to burn fast.
Creaminess makes its move. It is neck and neck with the sweetness.

I’m well into the second third after only 20 minutes. I realize it is a robusto but it seems a little quick to me.

Flavors keep building as the cigar burns. The spiciness reminds me of a Garcia blend. Maybe the Cuban Black blend.

The nice thing about the new blends is that they have the mark of the New Breed Tattooed Ones’ style. They mature quickly in your humidor and really hit the flavor bomb status quickly.

At the halfway point, the cigar is screaming laughter. The flavors have been reduced to spice, sweetness, creaminess and natural tobacco. So with all the hoopla of the leaf stats, the cigar is somewhat devoid of a broad spectrum of flavors.
Maybe the stick needs 3-6 months. I don’t know. I lit this one up after a month. That’s all it took for the Triple Maduro and Diploma Bold to spread their wings.

Don’t get me wrong. This is a flavorful cigar but not up to par with the two sticks I just mentioned. Those two ranged in the $10 price points. This, only $6. Maybe that’s the ticket to why it is like it is.

I begin the last third and still the char line does not want to cooperate. I am disappointed. Constant touch ups are a real pain in the ass.

For some reason, the burn time slows down. I have no idea why the first half burned so quickly.

The flavor profile makes no changes as it approaches the last third. I expected more from this cigar; especially since I love Corojo blends.

The stick is now bordering on average. The bold flavors of spice, creaminess and sweetness have moved to the background allowing the flavor of the tobacco to move up front.

I hit the last third. I really hope some major changes take place. The burn line seems to finally mellow out. The plumes of smoke that started this cigar are pretty laid back now. I can easily chomp the stick without worry of going blind.

And then the cigar goes out on me while I’m chomping it. Strange. The draw ain’t so hot.

The cigar begins to regain its flavors. But then it goes out again. Normally, I’d just toss the cigar but I’m reviewing it so I move on.

The body went from medium/full to full in a blink of an eye. The blinding smoke returns. The spice returns big time but the sweetness isn’t very strong and the creaminess is gone.

A couple minutes later, the creaminess returns. I do believe this cigar is bi-polar.

I’m getting a real nicotine buzz now. I’m spinning.
I lost interest in this cigar 15 minutes ago.

I finish it out because of cigar reviewer union rules.

I cannot recommend this blend from the new Camacho line. I am surprised with all the leaf stat info that this isn’t a better cigar. I don’t bother to finish it and just let it lay.

Would I buy this cigar? I don’t think so.

And now for something completely different:
When I was in the English progressive band, Curved Air, it was fun galore all the time. We lived the dream of sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

On one of our trips to the Continent..that’s what the Brits call Europe…our lyricist told us of a great place to get some really good hash in Amsterdam. All of our 6-8 week tours started in Amsterdam. Back then, it was a wild town. Hash bars and clubs were everywhere.

Norma gave us an address to visit to get our hash. Unfortunately, the directions she gave us were bad. The drummer, Stewart, and I went up and down the canals knocking on one house boat after another.

One way to know that the boat sold pot or hash was obvious. They used the top of the boat to cultivate the weed. And it literally covered the boats.

We went into one boat and knocked on the door. Inside was a 50 year old man sitting on a regal throne wearing king’s clothing. And wearing a crown. Surrounding him, were young half naked boys on the floor. Stew and I looked at each other and froze.

The man was from NYC. So language wasn’t a problem. We told him about our quest and he knew exactly where the boat was and gave us directions. We high tailed it out of that place and continued on our journey.

At last, we found the right boat.

We knocked on the door and a young man answered. We told him who we were and what we were after. He told us to come in with a big smile on his puss.

We moved into a small part of the boat with a desk and a couch. We sat. The guy sat at the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a plank of hash the size of a shovel.

We had around $50 to spend and he cut us off a big chunk. We were offered a pipe full, smoked it and said we must be on our way.

We ended up a long way from the hotel. The guy said he had a dingy and would take us there in the boat. We agreed.
We got on the bow of the boat and the dingy was the size of a stick of gum.

As Stew was getting into the dingy, a man shows up and is screaming. It turns out the guy that sold us the hash was not the owner of the boat. Just a friend who was staying there.

Both men were screaming at each other. Meanwhile, the dingy began to drift and Stew found himself with one leg in the boat and the other on the bow of the house boat. His eyes were the size of dinner plates. He was scared shitless.

Then the two guys moved the argument a step up and it went to fisticuffs. Stew tried to get back on the house boat and we said we would walk back to the hotel. Both men screamed at us to stay where we were and we would get our ride.

The owner of the boat helped me into the dingy and he revved the engine. Off we went into the canal with choppy waves from all of those big tourist boats traversing the canal.

It took a good 20 minutes to get us back to the hotel and we were both sea sick. We also spent the entire time hanging on to the sides of the dingy for dear lives. It bounced up and down and to and fro the whole time.

We got on to dry land right in front of our hotel and jumped out. We walked through the lobby like drunken sailors from the bumpy ride.

We got to our rooms where the rest of the band was hanging out. We told them our story and everyone laughed. Except us.

Stew pulled out the slab of hash and lit a bowl. An hour later, the adrenaline had stopped pumping and we were at peace with the world.

Later, we made a phone call to Norma. She told us it was our fault and there was nothing wrong with her directions.


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