Curivari Reserva Limitada 1000 Series | Cigar Review

Wrapper: Nicaraguan
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 6.25 x 54 “Series 4000-Torpedo”
Body: Medium/Full
Price: $6.75


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.

And this is the list of reviewed Curivaris: Selección Privada Maduro, Buenaventura, Achilles, El Gran Rey, Limitada Classica, and Reserva Limitada Café. All superb cigars. Although, the Achilles was probably the weakest link.

From Atlantic Cigars:
“The Curivari Reserva Limitada 1000 Series is an ultra-boutique cigar from a company that’s catching the attention of serious cigar aficionados looking for rich and balanced Nicaraguan smokes. This dark Colorado Nicaraguan puro packs a punch with loads of spice and pepper, notes of coffee and a touch of berries. These full-bodied gems are all triple capped and packaged in cedar boxes of 10, sure to be a hit for those hardcore fans of Nicaraguan cigars. Find out why Curivari isn’t a secret in the cigar world anymore.”

As the other blends, there are only three sizes:
Reserva 2000: 5 x 50
Reserva 3000: 6 x 50
Reserva 4000: 6.25 x 54 (Torpedo)

Most Curivaris are rustic and this stick is no exception. A Colorado maduro colored wrapper. Seams are fairly tight. There are lots of veins. The triple cap is a little sloppy. And the wrapper is extremely oily and very smooth.

I clip the cap and find aromas of spice, earthiness, coffee, cocoa, and fruit.
Time to light up.

Earthy greets me on the first puffs. And then a delicious sweetness. Draw is good. Some Curivaris start out at flavor bomb status. Others work up to it. This seems to be the latter.

A bit of vanilla bean shows up. But this stick has very nuanced and subtle flavors. Not bold and explosive like some of the others.

The draw gets harder. It feels like there is a plug just below the cap. I carefully use my cigar awl and fixes the problem and no wrapper damage has occurred. I always sweat that. Now smoke fills the room.

Not a lot of flavor going on. Red pepper begins to show itself as it slowly builds. There is a touch of chocolate.
The char line is spot on.

This stick is more like the Achilles than the rest of the blends. Very subtle. No flavor bomb status that seems to be on the horizon.

I begin the second third totally disappointed. I thought the Achilles was the weak link of the blends, but clearly, the Reserva Limitada 4000 aced the Achilles out.

The second third begins with some spice, leather, and sweetness. And just barely there on top of it. Where is that famous Curivari flavor profile?

I near the halfway mark and FINALLY! Flavors begin to emerge.

Here they are: Creaminess, cocoa, spice, sweetness, and earthiness.

I guess I’ve been spoiled by the previous blends that were magnificent flavor bombs from the first half inch. This stick is more conventional.

It’s not a flavor bomb by any stretch of the imagination but it has turned into a very pleasant cigar. So far, the Buenaventura is my favorite and I bought a box after reviewing it.

Just past the halfway mark additional flavors arrive. A bit of honey. Some sweet nuts like raw cashew.

The cigar has required several touch ups.

This is not a hole in one for the Curivari folks. In fact, it is a boring cigar. I would put this cigar down by now if I were not reviewing it. But I still have the last third hoping for redemption.

Well here I am at the last third….and nothing. It is close to flavorless. This cigar ain’t going nowhere in the flavor arena. Why punish myself? I put it down and urge you not to buy one. But read my other Curivari reviews and see the difference.

And now for something completely different:

Skip and his wife…me and my girlfriend, and her 2 year old daughter, went to Europe in May 1974. Skip and Debbie left early to go to Denmark or somewhere they eat fish….and we went to Amsterdam. We were to meet in Florence a week after we got to Amsterdam. I stored my amp and speaker cab in the train’s storage facility. Skip stored his stuff there before me.

Skip went back to Amsterdam. His job was to get our stuff and bring it to Florence.

April and I and the kid were strolling in the Florence open market one day, and there they were: Skip and Mrs. Skip. The first thing out of his mouth was “Where is our shit?”


Skip said he couldn’t find it. He was supposed to go back to Amsterdam and get it and bring it to Florence. But it was gone.
I was furious, beside myself, aggravated and crest fallen. It was all custom made stuff. Expensive.

So Skip and I left the women in Florence and got on a train to Amsterdam. An overnight excursion. We had Eurail Passes.

We got on a crowded coach. No room to sit down in a compartment. Skip had come down with a killer cold and was just miserable.

He found a place for the night between the cars. It was not a place for humans. It rocked like an old roller coaster. Every now and then I’d check on him. It was the most pathetic thing I’d ever seen. He sat in the corner, smooshed against the exterior door with his knees up to his chest and his head just hung limp….with a two foot string of snot just hanging.

And I couldn’t do a thing to help. In the middle of the night, cars were changed and we found some empty ones. We had a whole compartment to ourselves. The conductor came by before it left and said, “Boys. You know you’re headed to East Berlin, right?” That woke us up and we found a compartment with a couple empty seats and collapsed.

Morning meant a new day. Skip felt a little better.

Now the disclaimer: Skip carried a triple hole binder full of paper so he could write down his thoughts. The binder had a zippered pencil holder. It was somewhat milky but you could see everything inside of it. Skip had taken his tiny hash pipe and stuck it in the pouch. I got mad and reminded him we had to cross countless borders to get to Amsterdam and we don’t want drug paraphernalia on us. He pish-poshed me.

It was sometime around mid-morning, when 4 German soldiers stormed our compartment and went right to Skip. Their automatic weapons were pointed at him.
The soldier screamed, “HASHISH? HASHISH?

They did not speak English. They used their barrels to point to Skip’s ruck sack on the shelf above him. They motioned for him to take it down.

All I could think of was the movie, “Midnight Express.” I didn’t want to suck anyone’s dick. I just didn’t have it in me….so to speak.

Skip brought the ruck sack down. They made him open it and told him to take his binder out.

Now the human contents of the compartment was like the scene in the Marx Brothers movie where there were 15 people all crammed into a ship’s cabin.

I’m standing 6″ from Skip and the cop. The cop was 6″ away from Skip.

And now the magic show begins….Skip opened the binder and there, in full sight, was the hash pipe. I started flapping my arms like a seagull in heat. I moaned loudly…”we’re going to prison…we’re going to prison.” One German cop turned his head quickly and stared at me as I said that. Apparently, he knew the English word, “prison.”

With the soldier staring at the pencil holder, Skip nonchalantly opened the zipper, removed the pipe and stuck it in his back pocket.

I was flapping so hard, that given the right head wind, I would have taken off.

The soldier DID NOT REACT!!! Nothing happened.

He turned quickly away from Skip and the soldiers exited the compartment in a flash. Skip and I stood there, breathing like we had run a marathon. Our eyes were dilated like tweakers. We just stared at each other.

Our fellow compartment dwellers were in shock and said, and did, nothing.

Skip took the pipe out of his pocket and put it back in the binder. But I grabbed it away from him before he could zipper it back up; I opened the window and threw it away.

I looked at him still breathing heavy.

Skip yelled at me: “Hey. What did you do that for? That cost 12 Guilders!!”
All I could do was spew unfathomable words and sounds.


“That’s what you’re concerned about? 12 Guilders?”

If I didn’t think he could snap my skinny neck, I would have poked his eyes out with my fingers.

We sat down. Neither of us said a word the rest of the way.

We got to the Amsterdam train station and went directly to storage.
Our stuff was sitting exactly where it was when we left.

Now Skip began to flap his arms! “It was gone. Honest to God. It was gone.”

My heart started a life threatening arrhythmia. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place. I had no words. Meanwhile Skip was about to take off like a helicopter due to the rotation of his arms.

I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over to the guy that managed the storage facility. I told him we were going to get something to eat and would be back in an hour. The guy just smiled the smile of someone evil.

We had lunch, went back, and got our stuff lugged it back to the train.

The adventure was 24 hours, round trip.

Thank God that Skip was my best friend. Otherwise, it would have been my first murder.


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