Man O’ War Dark Aged Maduro | Cigar Review

Wrapper: Brazilian Habano
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 6.25 x 52 “Torpedo”
Body: Medium/Full
Price: $10.00


The cigar made its debut at the 2013 IPCPR trade show.
Ever wonder what those letters stand for?
International Premium Cigar and Pipe Retailers.

This cigar can only be had in B & M’s. Price range is $7.00-$11.00. The original MOW sticks were supposed to be only available in B & M’s, but they eventually made their way to online stores. So it is only a matter of time, before this blend reaches them.

Only the highest primings were used in this blend. The high primings get more sun and thus, the most powerful of the leaves. And it is the intense sun shining down on the leaves that give the wrapper its dark nature.

The blend comes in only three sizes: Torpedo (6.25 x 52), Toro (6 x 54), and Robusto (5 x 52).

The sticks look like they’ve been dunked in motor oil. The wrapper is a very mottled dark brown. Seams are visible but tight.

There are loads of veins. The triple cap is flawless. The cigar feels smooth in some places and sandy or toothy in others.

The main cigar band is the standard MOW band. The additional foot band merely declares the name of the blend.

I clip the cap using my ginormous stainless steel four hole cutter. I use a small V cut.

The most glorious aroma is the very dark and sweet cocoa. There is some very nice cedar and leather. Dates and raisins. A bitter espresso. Some sweetness from the wrapper. And a summer fruit of some sort. A bit of nuttiness appears after some deep huffs.
Time to light up.

Raisins. Sweetness, wood, Massive billows of smoke, caramel, and cocoa. Not bad for the first four puffs.

The flavors are so intense, I am literally blown away. I am a huge AJ fan. I love the MOW line. But we have something special here, baby.

I want to thank the lovely Scott M. for gifting me a couple of these wonderful sticks. You, sir, are a real mensch. (Don’t stop now.)

I cannot type and have the cigar in my mouth at the same time. Way too much smoke. I can’t see the screen.

The flavor profile is a Jr. Flavor Bomb within the first half inch. It appears, as usual, I will be fawning over this blend throughout the smoke.

As I move on from the half inch mark, spice finally shows up. I was under the misconception that I would have been hit with a Pepper blast. Instead, I have a slowly building muscle of spiciness. And the strength of the cigar is a bit over the medium mark.

Wood becomes very prominent. It is oddly intertwined with the luscious caramel flavor. I get it. Caramel on a twig. The next new summer carnival food.

We had a shit load of snow yesterday. At least 6”-8”. I’m getting very tired of this. But this morning is beautiful. The sun is out. It is going up to the highest temp of this winter: 35°. Time for Tee shirts and flip flops.

The char line is behaving nicely. Like me.

I made a new friend in the last couple days, Spencer Drake. This wonderful fella is the national sales director for AJ Fernandez Cigars. It is a new post for him and I wish him all the best. From my encounters with him, he seems like an extremely sharp cookie. Go friend him on FB and show your support. Say hi and congrats.

The tobacco is jam packed into the stick and as a result, burns slowly. I expect that from a double digit priced cigar. Clearly, this MOW is in a whole different class than the others. As the cigar burns, its character develops into a deep richness of flavors and nuance.

I’m halfway through the first third. Here are the flavors: Sweetness, creaminess, cocoa, wood, caramel, sweet cedar, and something fruity.

Normally, I don’t add one of my drug addled ex-rock god stories into a story where a manufacturer is involved but since Scott M. gave me this cigar, I’m sure that Spence won’t mind. Not to mention giving him a little insight into what a slag I was back in the day.

I love this cigar. It is highly complex as the second third begins. The flavors are so diversified and so intense, that I am having trouble breaking them apart.

The fruity element tastes like a combo of dried fruit and berry jam. But it is still the sweetness, wood, caramel, and spice that are riding herd over everything else.

And then a crisp nuttiness evolves. Sounds like I’m talking about my ex-wife, Teri. Sorry sweetie. Yes. I am still good friends with my ex-wife who divorced me in 1972. I think. I’m at the point of my life where shit is hard to remember. Anyway, a very lovely woman.

And to make it even stranger, Teri was born October 31, 1950. My wife of 29 years was born on October 30, 1950. (Cue the sound haunting sound effects.) I’ve got something for women in the Cancer sign. Teri encouraged me to get my expensive Gibson EBO bass, same one as Jack Bruce used in Cream. Again, lovely woman.

Back to the cigar. Watch and listen. This is what is going to happen to you when you hit your 60’s.

The second third begins and the flavors seem canonized. The only difference from the first third is a deeper complexity, richer flavors, a perfect balance and now the longest finish in a cigar yet.

The first third took me close to an hour. I can say right now that I highly recommend this cigar and the price point is worth every penny. What a treat.

I am learning to type while blind because I have been doing so with the cigar in my mouth and it must be pumping out more smoke than any cigar I’ve smoked.

I have hit the halfway point. The cigar is more than satisfying. It provides a much needed good start of the day. I recommend that you smoke this cigar as your first of the day when your palate is fresh and clean so you can taste everything I taste.
The spiciness has moved to the background. What is left is a flavor bomb.

The strength has settled back into classic medium body. I’m guessing the last couple of inches will be an eye opener.

Milwaukee is where cigar shops come to die. It is truly pathetic what we have here. There is no such thing as a cigar shop with cutting edge cigars. And none of them have any sort of social scene. They are like graveyards at midnight. The chances of any of them having this cigar are next to zero. This means that Scott M. will just have to keep sending me some. I saw his humidors. I plotzed when I saw the ridiculous amount of cigars this boy has. But of course, he is single. No “You spent $25 on cigars while I was getting my nails done?”

The last third begins and the strength makes a sudden lurch to medium/full. I can first feel it in my gut and then my vision goes blurry. Like eating a pot brownie.

We now have a flavor explosion. It is Flavor Bomb X now.

As the cigar finishes, it hits full bodied. The flavor profile is extremely intense. But it is very rich and complex. The balance is wonderful and the finish stays on the palate for what seems like forever.

The nicotine kick is strong now. I am seeing my dead relatives in the white light motioning me to come to them. I resist.

Find a B & M that has these. Buy lots of them. And don’t share them. Be greedy.

And now for something completely different…
The Eddie (Butch Patrick) Munster Chronicles…Continued:

The Waldorf Astoria charged $18 for a burger and fries in 1983.

Butch and I ordered one extravaganza each. The voice on the other end of the phone said it would take approximately 45 minutes. OK. This would surely be a feast.

Butch headed straight for the courtesy fridge with the ridiculously expensive treats. Items that I was not about to pop for, regardless of how much pot we had smoked.

An hour later, no food. I called room service and was assured that it was on its way.

I had to pry Butch off of the fridge. I had a brilliant idea. A little toot of cocaine would assuage our appetites until the Waldorf could manage to deliver the sumptuous feast to the peasants. I went over to my suitcase where the drugs were stored for the trip. I removed a small brown colored gram bottle containing the white death.

The dilemma: Where do we find a smooth surface to lay the drug out; in lines? Butch looked at the wall over the dresser. He got up, walked over to the wall, and removed an enormous mirror. I mean enormous! This piece of art was at least 36” x 48” with an ornate frame making it even bigger.

Slipping and sliding, he waddled over to the bed and lay it down. It took up the entire double bed.

I placed the bottle on the mirror and got up to get my wallet. Within the wallet would be our means to snort the white powder; a $20 bill to be rolled into the shape of a tube. When I came back to the bed, Butch had already dumped the entire contents of the bottle on to the surface of the mirror.

A gram, back then, was worth about $100. It was also too much for a little appetite suppressant. This was essentially a heart attack dose.

I had a good friend that was an ex-con. He made his living dealing. And he got stuff that was as close to pure as anything I had ever done.

I went first, doing a very small amount….maybe a quarter of an inch. Instant wake up and “what hunger?” As Butch leaned over the mirror, there was a knock at the door. Both of our heads jerked up and stared at the portal and then back at each other.

The food!

Obviously, we could not allow the waiter to see the mirror on the bed and the illegal substance atop. I yelled to Butch, “Get rid of it!”

Butch grabbed the mirror, and just like a scene from the Three Stooges, ran towards the open door to the adjacent suite and slammed into it. The dolt was holding it sideways.

The mirror held sideways, in his hands, overlapped the door by at least two feet on either side. Rebounding from the jolt, he turned the mirror the other way. But the oversized frame would not allow him through.

The knock at the door was louder and sounded impatient. I yelled that I’d be right there. “Hang on!”

Butch threw the mirror back on the bed. Yes! That’s right. Scoop it up and shove it back in the bottle. Not Butch.

He grabbed the rolled up bill and proceeded to inhale the remaining gram of coke up his nose.

My jaw dropped.

The paramedics would be called. Survival was not an option.

As I waited for him to drop in a heap, twitching and convulsing, the door knock came, for what seemed, one last time. I pulled the comforter over the mirror and opened the door. The food was wheeled in by a disgruntled employee.

Word was out that a pair of Hollywood types wearing T-Shirts was in the prestigious hotel. And no one liked it one bit.
I signed for the food and he left.

Butch’s eyes had no irises left, only pupil. He couldn’t blink. “Still hungry, Butch?”, I asked.
There was no reply. He had lock jaw.

I was hungry and he did not seem near death.

They forgot to deliver one of the burger and fries orders. I shook my head. We waited an hour and a quarter and they fucked up the order.

I called downstairs and bitched at them. Profuse apologies spewed forth. Yeah, sure. The Californians didn’t get their complete meal of burgers and fries. I’m sure the kitchen was in an uproar.

I was assured that the balance of our meal was on its way.

I cut the burger in half with a butter knife, nearly destroying it.

Expecting a beautiful piece of meat piled high on condiments and veggies, I was extremely disappointed at the fare. It looked like a fast food burger.

It felt like we were at some greasy diner in Arkansas. The plate was pitiful. But food was food.

Amazingly, Butch wanted to eat. The natural appetite suppressant of the drug did not seem to cause Butch’s desire to feed his face wane. So we shared a crappy burger.

An hour later, the second burger and fries arrived. A big smile on the waiter’s face with an outstretched hand, as he proclaimed that feeling badly, the kitchen threw in some extra fries! I shoved him out the door without a tip.

Life at the Waldorf was not cherries and cream.




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