As I’ve stated in an earlier review, I am on a journey request to review every Curivari blend made. Why? Because they are the best kept little secret in the cigar industry. They have no reps to speak of and no PR machine of any kind. They depend on word of mouth.
From Atlantic Cigars:
“Curivari used to be a secret. But when an ultra-boutique cigar company makes cigars this good, your name will get around quickly. The Curivari Reserva Limitada Cade is a medium to full-bodied, all Nicaraguan cigar is blended with authentic Cuban seed Criollo and Corojo tobaccos, including the beautiful and rich Nicaraguan wrapper. A perfect smoke with a fine cup of coffee, the Limitada Cafe is loaded with lots of dark tobacco, coffee and cocoa undertones. These fine puros are all triple capped and packaged in cedar boxes of 10. You’ll want these all to yourself, but good luck keeping quiet about these stogies.”
I picked the Limited Reserve Café for no reason that it looks great. Don’t let the Café portion of the name fool you. It isn’t that cache of a double meaning it is chocolate or coffee infused. It’s just the name, that’s all.
Construction is very good. Tight seams. Some small and large veins but not too many. A flawless triple cap. A Colorado color on the wrapper. That tinge of red is beautiful. And it is very smooth to the touch.
I clip the cap and find aromas of spice, ginger, cocoa, toast, and mild coffee.
Time to light up.
It takes a while to toast this whale of a cigar. That 58 ring gauge takes forever to toast it correctly.
Smoke billows from the foot. The first puffs taste of sweetness and coffee. Other flavors lurk so I take a swig of water to set them free. There is a gingerbread cookie element to the flavor profile. And then cocoa slams into my palate like a crash test dummy. I’ll let you guess who the dummy is.
The char line needs a very minor touch up and off we go.
Half an inch in, red pepper shows up and begins to build. Normally, I would not buy a vitola this size. Just takes too long to mature in my humidor but my dear, anonymous to the readers, said he couldn’t get a smaller size at the B & M. It’s OK because this brand does wonders with every blend no matter the size. And I’ve done several reviews of the smaller blends to allow this more time.
The char line is a bit wavy but needs no touch up.
Some new flavors arrive: Red wine and nuts.
Curivari is a relatively new cigar company whose sole purpose is to make cigars that are as close to Cubans as possible: blends, the look, flavor, etc. The only thing missing is the pigtail cap.
The web site says it uses Authentic Cuban Seed Criollo and Corojo but where? Binder, filler? Mine was gifted to me by a follower who wants to remain anonymous.
I’m beginning to have wrapper issues. We still have frigid weather in Wisconsin. Currently, it is 4°. That’s almost a high compared to what it has been. My cigars are taking a beating.
I am just past the second third and the cigar is delicious. Earthiness just booms like it was shot out of a cannon. The flavors are highlighted by the luscious creaminess. The spice has moved to the background.
This is just another example of fine blending by the Curivari folks. It is superb in its own way but yet different from the 10 other blends. The red wind influence tweaks all of the flavors just like the earthiness does. This is a meaty, manly cigar. And the more I smoke, the meatier it gets. Spectacular. My friend who wants to remain anonymous is sending me the rest of the line.
I have in my possession, yet to review: Reserva Limitada 4000, Gloria de Leon, and the Reserve Limitada Classica.
Since I’ve reviewed four, and I have three, that leaves 4 to acquire.
Curivari doesn’t answer emails. They don’t have a phone number posted on their web site. They are telling everyone, “Leave us alone so we can make great cigars.”
Why does the wrapper issue always have to be at the cap where I can’t hide them? Well, one reason is that I damaged it by clipping the cap. I smoked one last night in my man cave and not a single wrapper issue. Go figure. I have to write with a window open in front of me allowing the cold air in. That doesn’t help.
I can’t glue the cracks as they are too small.
The cigar continues on its journey of total bliss. The strength started out as medium and is now medium/full. I feel a bit of nicotine kick. The first sign for me is blurry vision.
With almost any other cigar, I would become despondent because of the cracking wrapper and put it down. But not a Curivari. The cracks don’t affect the flavor and the flavor is everything. Plus, the cracking process seems to have stopped and not gotten worse.
Here are the flavors as the last third begins: red wine, earthiness, sweetness, creaminess, cocoa, gingerbread, nuts, coffee, and a combo of plump raisins and Medjool dates. Yum.
I have to glue the wrapper at the cap or it will be just exposed binder. Drat!
Please don’t allow my construction issues sway you away from considering purchasing this cigar. It’s all on me and the weather.
And now for something completely different:
It was my 25th birthday. February 10, 1975.
My band, Curved Air, decided to celebrate by taking me to England’s most famous club, The Marquee. It is the English equivalent to the Whisky A Go Go. I have no recollection of who was playing that night.
All my flat (apartment) friends and my band… plus the band, Renaissance, showed up. I remember hanging out in the lobby with Stewart Copeland and our chick singer, Sonja. Stewart pulled out an 8-1/2 x 11 piece of paper that turned out to be blotter paper. A friend of Stew’s sent him this blotter fully engorged in LSD. A piece the size of a dime was a trip.
30 minutes later, I was inside where the band was playing. No seats. Everyone stood. The acid hit me like a freight train. I looked over to Sonja and told her I had never gotten this high, this fast, in my life. She smiled again without saying a thing.
After a short while, I begged her to take me out of there and she led me to the lobby where I plotzed on a soft bench in the lobby. She sat with me while the acid did its thing.
3 hours later, I was still sitting there and had no sense of time passing. All my friends, and the other band members, approached us as the bar was closing and Stew handed out dime sized blotter paper to all.
I was vividly hallucinating and very uncomfortable. I told them I was really high and not to fuck with me….wrong thing to say as they fucked with me relentlessly. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
We went outside to the bitter cold of a February English night. Everyone was trying to hail a cab but it seemed useless. I saw a cab on the other side of Piccadilly Circus and screamed, “Taxi!” The driver actually heard me, screeched to a stop, and came for us. My friends all patted me on the back.
We climbed into two cabs and headed back to the communal flat I lived in. Inside the cab, the art of fucking with Phil’s head, continued. I begged for mercy but got none.
By the time we got to the flat, they were in the same acid land as I was.
I remember sitting by myself in the living room staring at a poster on the wall, watching it gyrate and melt. I laughed.
One of the girls popped in and asked if this is what acid is really like? I said no. “Usually, it’s not this good.” With that, she ran screaming out of the living room. She decided she needed air and went outside and walked over to the park across the street where she place her head between the wrought iron pickets….completely flying to the outer reaches of the universe.
When she returned, the door was locked and no one could hear the knocking. She spent an hour outside, blasted on acid for the first time, before someone heard her and let her in. She was crying and then began to vomit from panic. So a small coterie of friends held her head in the toilet. I had none of that as she bragged before taking the acid that she had done this many times before. Apparently, not.
Skip, being artistic, had kept all the glass milk bottles that the milk man had placed at our door step. He filled them with colored water at different levels of height. He then placed them on to the stairway to nowhere. We lived in a basement flat that had once been part of a very large house. The door at the top of the stairs had been boarded off.
There was at least 100 glass bottles full of brightly colored water, on those steps.
Skip was still in the kitchen with Sonja. I yelled for both of them to come see something and I asked Stew to do it again.
In his acid stupor, he had no idea what he was doing…and instead of flying up the stairs, he took a giant leap into midair. He hung there for a Looney Tunes instant, and then gave us a horrified stare, and collapsed on to the bottles breaking all of them.
He emerged without a scratch and received more applause.
Night turned into morning and we were still stoned. Curved Air had a gig that night. Our first of a 6 week tour. So did Renaissance.
Being a bunch of stoneys, we did the gig along with a few encores. The boys in Renaissance called the gig off. They were pussies. Annie Haslam, the chick singer in the band, did not do drugs. She was furious that they had to cancel an important gig because of LSD.
Each time I saw her after that night, she refused to talk to me because it was my birthday and therefore my fault her band were limp noodles.
It had been a wonderful night of mind expansion but that was it for me. I had taken very clean acid not mixed with other drugs and therefore got a clean trip….except for the stomachache I got sometime in the middle of the night. Being that high, I wasn’t sure if the stomachache was in head. So I went into the very cold bathroom and sat on the toilet. Cold air emitted from my mouth and nose.
My advice is never take a dump while on acid. All of my senses fixated on my asshole. Not pleasant. But I did have to go and my stomach felt better afterwards.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS