Wrapper: Ecuadorian Connecticut
Filler: Nicaraguan Cuban Seed
Size: 5.625 x 46 “Corona-Guapos”
Price: $8.00 MSRP
This blend is considered by a lot of people to be Pete Johnson’s best. It was blended by Jaime Garcia at the My Father Cigars S.A.
“Cabaiguan received a 92-point rating, noting: ‘Solidly rolled with a lightly-colored wrapper and a pigtail cap. It exhibits great balance with cocoa-powder sweetness, some light black pepper notes and cedary, leather intonations.”
And later named the cigar #7 of its Top 25 of 2012.
We’ve all probably been smoking this stick for years so I see no point in bogging us down in stats.
I’ve had a few of these sticks sitting in my humidor for months. My best guess is that I got them through Cigar Monster as they tend to sell them often. And I probably saved 25%-50% off the price above.
This is a very rustic stick with lumpy and bumpy wrapper, big veins, wrinkles, and the color changes a bit from stick to stick. On the more positive side, the wrapper is a gorgeous caramel color with a nice oiliness. The stick feels smooth in some areas and toothy in others. The triple cap is done nicely and the cherry on top; the pigtail is more of a fan tail.
I clip the cap, doing the straight yarmulke cut removing the cap wrapper and none of the tobacco beneath, and find aromas of strong wood, spice, sweetness, and floral notes.
Time to light up.
The first puffs get right at it with the famous Garcia Blast of Pepper. Strong espresso along with sweetness jump right in. There is a very nice floral element accompanied by a bit of sweetness, wood, and a touch of creaminess and leather.
Houston, we have lift off.
The cigar starts out beautifully. Bordering on a deep complexity. A nice balance in its early stages. And quite the unique flavor profile so complex that it is difficult for me to describe it. I’ve read that many experts say this cigar is about as close as you will get to tasting a Cuban cigar that isn’t one.
I’ve had no luck with Cubans. Most are grossly overrated. Some were fakes. The real ones needed so much humidor time that by the time I got to them, they lost their oomph. And they are just too damn expensive. And you can’t trust anyone….ANYONE!
The pepper has ratcheted down. Flavors begin to morph into one. Creaminess takes over. So here are the flavors: Creaminess, spice, wood, sweetness, floral notes, espresso, and leather. Very simple. Like a simple, yet superb, French dessert.
Before we left So Cal for good, Vietnamese had moved into Orange County by storm. They took over large portions and did well. They called it Little Saigon. I loved it. The stores had wonderful food. The restaurants were terrific especially if you like Pho. And since the Vietnamese were occupied by the French..man oh man, these people knew how to make French pastry delights like no body’s business. I think the town in OC is Westminster.
With the sun out now, the wrapper looks like golden sunlight.
With less than an inch in, the flavor profile blossoms into a flavor bomb.
It’s only been in the last 6 months that I have begun to buy Coronas. Like the robusto, flavors are very intense. And if you are only in a mood for 30-45 minute cigar, this is it.
The flavors are now so intense that my real yarmulke is spinning like a beanie on the top of my head. After all, it is the Jewish Sabbath today and I should really be typing. But then I eat bacon.
I read a couple reviews and one or two said they smelled, and tasted mint. I don’t taste it. Maybe they just have better palates than I. I don’t know. The description on the Tatuaje web site makes no mention of mint.
That’s the great thing about cigars…like a fine wine; we all have different palates and can taste things that others may not. You are the master baiter of your own palate.
The strength is classic medium body as I near the end of the first third. It has taken me 35 minutes to smoke 1-5/8”. Four inches to go. And looking forward to savoring every moment.
The char line is very close to being razor sharp.
The Wisconsin sun is blasting through the window causing the oiliness of the wrapper to shimmer like gold.
The second third begins and the status is Super Uber Flavor Bomb!
A luscious combo of caramel and honeycomb candy moves to the front of the line. I think I can taste a bit of cocoa. Not sure because the coffee is hanging tough and sometimes it is more of a mocha java taste than any definitive coffee or cocoa taste.
I remember now. I paid $22 for a 5 pack on CM. What a deal. And I still have one left. It did take a couple months to get to where the flavor profile beams lightning bolts but it’s worth it. If this is what a fine Cuban tastes like, give me more…or find me that Cuban that tastes as good as the Cabaiguan that doesn’t cost $25.
I also find myself leaning towards the ring gauges smaller than 50. I like the 48 and 46 a lot. They make a huge contribution to the flavor of the cigar; and its intensity.
The halfway point is about to make my head explode from delight. Construction has been spot on. No cap problems. No touch ups for the foot required. And the wrapper is in beautiful condition. I did have to trim the cap a bit for the photos because I am a chomper. I have to do this will all the sticks I review. No one wants to see a spittle soaked cap. Or my false teeth still gripping the cigar in the photo.
Here are the flavors once more: Creaminess, caramel, sweetness, coffee, wood, leather, cocoa, and floral notes.
“My body stunk but I kept my funk.” My favorite Rod Stewart tune is playing in the background: “Every Picture Tells a Story.” Don’t it?
Biggest mistake Stewart was to get rid of the original band and get session players to do his recording. He could be on the same par as Zep or the Stones if he had done that. Instead, he is playing the musical standards getting an audience of codgers. He is now a parody of his old self.
The stick is on fire. The strength moves to medium/full body. And a bit of nicotine shows up. Most online stores categorize this cigar as mild/medium. What the fuck are they talking about? The Tatuaje site makes no reference to its strength. Instead of mellowing out these months, the stick has done just the opposite and become stronger.
Ahhh….Jimi in the background playing “Little Wing.” It doesn’t get better than this. We played the tune in my last band here in Milwaukee and we brought the house down with our improv in the middle of the tune.
The last third is upon me. It has been over an hour of smoke time. So much for my prediction of 30-45 minutes.
I should say the Shema in Hebrew as it is the Sabbath: שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יהוה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יהוה אֶחָד. Jump in if you know the words. It is one of the holiest of holies to recite. It means: “Hear, O Israel: the LORD is our God, the LORD is One.”
The phonetic translation: “Sh’ma Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad.”
There. Now you have had your first Hebrew lesson. I dare the A List reviewers to do this for you. Oh wait. I think I am the only Jew Boy reviewer.
The strength is most definitely medium/full now. And the rate of nicotine is making me dizzy.
The flavor profile remains constant. But with each puff, the intensity grows. It is a magnificent cigar.
And now for something completely different:
After a couple thousand stories, my memory is beginning to fade so I tend to bring up old stories that only the followers who have been with me for years remember. My apologies to those good folk as I am about to do it again.
My recording studio was doing well. A good friend and fellow musician asked if he could bring Butch (Eddie Munster) Patrick over to talk about a project.
From that meeting, it blossomed into a full blown nationwide project stemming from a 45 single called “Whatever Happened to Eddie?” and its rock video. We sold close to 200,000 singles in just a couple of months. I was Butch’s manager and the reason why will be disclosed in the following story:
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. Slipping and sliding, he waddled over to the bed and lay it down. It nearly took up the entire 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 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 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…forcing him to bounce back and almost drop the mirror.
The mirror held sideways in his hands overlapped the door by at least a foot 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 entire 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 into a heap, 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.
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. 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 something you would be served at the Waffle House.
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 as he proclaimed, that feeling badly, the kitchen threw in some extra fries!
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS