Wrapper: Ecuadorian Maduro
Size: 5.5 x 60 “Gran Robusto”
OK dear readers! The Katman needs your help desperately. Here I go again humiliating myself by asking for your help. I need a simple donation of $10 via Paypal using firstname.lastname@example.org
We have no money for cigars this month. I spent my whole wad of a budget; $50, on some Alec Bradley 2nds. Last month went swimmingly and got me through to the new year. But now my humidor is looking very bleak.
I wouldn’t be debasing myself like this if I really didn’t need it. So, please, if you can, help me.
Enough with the whining. On we go…
(NOTE: JUST TODAY, I GOT DONATIONS FROM JOSEPH TALOTTA, MICHAEL SIMMONS, STEPHAN BOSHKOV, AND CHARLES AMSTER. IF 25 MORE PEOPLE SENT ME SMALL DONATIONS, I WOULD HAVE ENOUGH CIGARS FOR THE MONTH OF JANUARY. SECONDARY NOTE: THIS MONEY IS USED STRICTLY FOR SINGLES FOR REVIEW. I AM NOT USING IT TO BUY STICKS FOR MY PLEASURE. THANKS JT, MIKE, STEVE, AND CHARLES. COME ON EVERYONE. HELP THIS OLD KATMAN OUT!)
Today we take a look at the Cubanacan Soneros Maduro.
The Mederos Family of Cuban descent produces these cigars which include Cubanacan Connecticut, Cubanacan Habano, Cubanacan Maduro, Cubanacan Mederos Connecticut, Cubanacan Mederos Oscuro, Cubanacan Soneros Habano, and Cubanacan Soneros Maduro.
From the Cubanacan press release 3-10-2014:
“Soneros Maduro– Nicaraguan fillers are contained within a rich Ecuadorian Maduro wrapper. Cocoa, cedar, and pepper entwine to deliver a deep, complex flavor that lingers on the palate. Aromas and flavors of coffee join in as the cigar progresses and become the foundation of an outstanding flavor. A full flavor and full body make the Soneros Maduro a cigar for those passionate about enjoyment.”
From the Cubanacan web site:
“Our tale begins in the rich tobacco history of Cuba. As the stories of tradition and quality were passed from generation to generation, that tradition was carried forward to the fertile soil of Esteli and Jalapa Nicaragua in 2006 where we started to grow our own tobacco. Shortly after we established our factory in Esteli with just five pairs of rollers set out to create cigars that will share our story with the world.
“The name Cubanacan was chosen for its vibrant history and the story behind its meaning. Cubanacan means “where fertile land is abundant” and is derived from tobacco traditions that predate Cuba itself. The story of Cubanacan is not just one of our past, but one that is still being written.
“The Mederos Family is proud to present our personal ties to the homeland of Cuba through our traditional tobacco blends! We started growing tobacco in Esteli and Jalapa and shortly after opening our factory with only five pairs of rollers under the name Cubanacan. Cubanacan is the name of the city in Havana Cuba where the famous factory (El Laguito) is located and the Cohiba cigar is rolled. Each blend has its distinctive flavor and strength level that will appease every pallet. Please share with me our family’s tradition and our commitment to excellence.”
The Cubanacan Soneros Maduro comes in 5 sizes: Campana Belicoso 5.5 x 60 $9.25, Corona Gorda 6.5 x 46 $7.75, Gran Robusto 5.5 x 60 $8.75, Petite Sublime 5.75 x 54 $8.05, and theToro 6 x 52 $8.15.
The Cubanacan Soneros Maduro has a gorgeous oily dark coffee bean colored wrapper. I hope my photos do it justice. Seams are tight. Lots of small veins. A very nice triple cap with the tiniest pig tail I’ve seen. And a nice smooth surface.
The red and gold cigar band is striking. Yet doesn’t say whether it is the Maduro or Habano. But the Habano band is black and gold.
The cigar is jam packed in the most major of ways. There is no give when pressed.
I clip the cap and find aromas of cocoa, spice, coffee, rich earth, clove, fruity and caramel on the shaft, with black licorice at the foot.
Time to light up.
The draw is great. This big log feels like I’ve got a fucking giant rubber penis in my mouth. Now I know that allows me to be the straight man for your comments. NO. I’ve never had a penis of any material in my mouth before. But I’ve seen enough porno in my life to imagine it. Doesn’t appeal to me “..but there’s nothing wrong with that.” (Seinfeld)
It also forces me to bite down and chomp to hold on. The 60 ring gauge makes it a heavy cigar.
I’ve said over and over and over that I HATE Gordas. I hate 6 x 60 cigars. So what do people send me? That’s right. 6 x 60 sized cigars. They don’t want them and they figure I’m so hard up I won’t mind sucking on a redwood tree. Wrong. I will take a petite corona over a Gorda any time.
And sure enough, the first puffs are muted versions of chocolate, cream, coffee, cedar, and leather.
There is an in-between amount of spice. Black pepper. Instead of spinning my head around, it’s just OK.
There is some spicy cinnamon now. More in line with red rather than black pepper. Like those wooden cinnamon laced toothpicks we bought as kids for a nickel. Do I sound like your grandfather now? LOL! “I walked 35 miles in the snow just to buy some ice for the simple freezer we had.” I know that makes no sense.
Jesus. I tossed and turned all night. My neck is killing me. I feel bad right now for those two nice people. She is 72 and he is 78. They must be fucking dying on the vine right now from the pain.
My educated guess tells me that it will take at least getting to the halfway point before this baby livens up.
A crack forms near the foot that is an inch long. Now mind you, I’ve reviewed a bunch of cigars from the same humidor that were just fine. But I’ve also had a few clunkers that made me feel guilty because I thought it might be my fault. It isn’t..or wasn’t. It is the manufacturer’s fault. My humidor settings are perfect on all 3 hygrometers.
It’s the dam cigar and I’ve proven it over the last several reviews.
If I’m lucky, I will burn right through it. And of course, the crack is partly on the side and partly on the front. Makes nice photos.
A sweetness enters. A generic sweetness. At the moment, this could be any decent $5-$6 cigar. I’ve reviewed some large cigars lately and were bought and received at the same time as the Cubanacan Soneros Maduro. I think yesterday, I reviewed a 5 x 54 BLTC Salvation. No, it’s not a 60 but big enough. And before that, the 5.5 x 56 Pura Sangre Edición 2012. And they were both great cigars.
It does appear like I might just burn through the crack. About half an inch to go.
Snowing here. Snowing where you live. A big portion of the country is going to get hammered. But here in Milwaukee, we only expect 3”. That’s nothing. It began last night and I’m staring at the trees covered with snow so no sunlight today.
The new fucking cat knocked over my small lighting stand. The one without the umbrella that I use for focusing light on a cigar. Broke the damn fancy shmancy light bulb. Had to go on to Amazon and spend $13 for a new one. Damn kitten. The dog and cat are getting along famously and play together. Mostly chasing each other around the house.
I’m happy for the dog that she has a companion.
The second third begins. I know, I know, I’ve been writing like an idiot this whole time and you barely know anything about the Cubanacan Soneros Maduro. But it ain’t my fault. The flavor profile is dull and without imagination.
Clearly, old school blending needing a few months of humidor time, not 6-7 weeks. But when I can only afford to buy singles for review, I am forced to take my chances. (Send money!)
Those two cigars mentioned earlier had big ring gauges and they were just fine after 6 weeks and rarin’ to go.
The photo below shows all the cigars I have in this world at the moment. There are about 5 sticks for review and the rest are for my leisure enjoyment. This would cause panic in a weaker man. But I am counting on your help to bail me out.
I put torch to wrapper and burn away the remaining cracked wrapper area. Fingers crossed I am good to go now.
I’d love to tell you that the flavor profile has wondrously and miraculously improved; but it hasn’t.
The halfway point will tell the truth.
Meanwhile, I am writing a small novella here. Let’s see if I can hit 23,000 words. LOL. (My average review is about 1700 words.)
All of a sudden, things begin to perk up.
Flavors become bolder. The sweetness has a bit of pomegranate in it. That sweet and tart fruity flavor. The creaminess is very bold now. Followed by the milk chocolate.
Just now, I did a Google search of this cigar. There are only a handful of reviews. Puzzling. Or is it?
The cap has behaved nicely. And so has the char line. There is also an orange/lemon citrusy element. Tart.
It’s not very woody.
Look for the comment from Charlie H. who will tell me that this cigar is 10 times as great with 6 months of humidor time. Right Charlie?
I can always count on Charlie to tell me I’m full of shit and then praising me all at the same time. That’s quite an art if you ask me.
BAM! We’re in business.
Halfway point reached.
Flavors explode like a pie in Curly’s face. “Spread out!”
Here they are with some real oomph: Spice, creaminess, chocolate, coffee, cinnamon, fruit, citrus, anise, toasty, nutty, leather, and cedar.
Where were these hiding during the first half?
The cigar band is removed. As a musician, ya gotta love the cigar band. Musical notes, treble and bass clefs, a guitar, etc. Kudos.
A “Sonero” means an improvising lead singer in salsa music. Love that.
I haven’t hit the sweet spot and not close to being a flavor bomb. But I surmise that the last third will become the sweet spot.
That missing wood component is very strong now. It is also smoky and has a very nice long finish. No complexity yet.
I’m going to stop writing now and just smoke and get back to you at the start of the last third. (What’s that? Do I hear a million Hoorays?)
The Soneros comes in 5 mostly large ringed sizes. But there is a Corona Gorda 6.5 x 46 that I’d like to try. This stick was a gift. So I had no choice.
I need to make my first clip of the cap due to my chomping. Causes no cracking of the wrapper.
The last third begins.
I’ve invested 90 minutes in the smoke.
Flavors are very lively and I’ve hit the sweet spot.
Flavor Bomb 1.0.
Now it is a gorgeous flavor profile. Still, I would like to get the Corona and report back with a new review. I bet it is completely different cigar.
I can hear people shoveling snow outside. We are supposed to get another 3” of snow and they are shoveling. These are people who don’t smoke cigars. Heathens.
Now the Cubanacan Soneros Maduro is a force to deal with. Outstanding flavors. Complex. Long finish. Perfect balance.
Strength is still medium body. The Cubanacan web site describes it as medium/full. Another sign that the Cubanacan Soneros Maduro is old school and probably needs another month or two.
I received this as a gift as I mentioned earlier and it came without the cello so I assumed it had some decent humidor time. Again, it might need more time or this is it. This is why I can’t stand 60 ring cigars.
One fella sent me a bag of cigars and 90% of them were redwood trees. A loyal follower and even with all my bitching about this size, that’s what he sends me. I realize I sound ungrateful, but I’m really not. It was a wonderful thought by the gifter to send me sticks.
The price point. Nah. I’d pay $7.75 for the corona but not $8.75 for the Gran Robusto. Why is this called a robusto at all?
The Cubanacan Soneros Maduro finishes nicely. Very flavorful but a long and painful experience. I can only recommend a single or 5 pack of this size. And then you must humidor age it for at least 3 months. Get the Corona instead.
And now for something completely different:
Yesterday, I go to my pain doc for a check up on my spinal stimulator implant.
On the way home, I get involved in a hit and run.
Some ancient old fuck pulls out of Petco in an ancient old station wagon. He pulls right into the ongoing traffic of the car in front of me causing that car to slam on the brakes.
Now we are going about 35mph and I came to a stop by slamming into the back of that car in half a nano second. I learned that my car bag doesn’t work.
We pull to the side while the old man makes a run for it down a main street in Milwaukee.
Not a scratch, a dent, a discoloration…nada…nothing. Neither car had any evidence of the slightest damage.
The woman driving was 72 and her husband, 78. But very cool people. One of the things I hate about hanging with some of Charlotte’s friends. Their friends from the Berliner Group are old as dirt. And the ones that aren’t are as dull as a butter knife. I have absolutely nothing in common with any of them because I feel I’m young at heart. This lady and her husband in the accident are people I’d love to hang with. At my age, most have given in to the geriatric experience. They know they are old and they behave as such. Try and talk Iron Butterfly with them and their eyes glaze over. Speaking of which, I was playing out when that song hit the Top 10 back in the 1960’s. I hated it because of the long drum solo. Plus, generally speaking, “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” is a stupid song.
She says there is no point reporting this. Meanwhile, I am thinking about whiplash that hasn’t set in. And both those people will probably re-think their decision not to get my info.
I get home and after the adrenaline wears off in about an hour, my neck begins to hurt. Two hours later, my neck, my head, and my shoulders are screaming pain. I can’t turn my head.
Now these poor old people in the car I hit got the real whiplash. I got secondary whiplash. They must be absolutely miserable. I feel for them but I need something like this on my driving record like I need a hole in my head.
I spent the night in the fetal position muttering for my mommy.
I feel like a cartoon character that gets his head stuck in a key hole and his friend tries to pull it out as his neck stretches a couple feet.
The thing has worked itself down to my shoulder blades and down my back.
Funny thing. This is the first time I’ve had whiplash. That is quite the accomplishment for a 65 year old man. Whoopee my ass.
Happy Fucking New Year.
To make a point of how much I hated my career in commercial construction, this is the perfect anecdote. “The car accident.”
I worked for a steel fabricator and erector in Fremont, CA. A bunch of serious alcoholics, an absentee owner who got his face lifted same time as his wife at the early age of 50. Finger pointers, back stabbers, liars, and impressive favoritism.
I left a job and was on my back to the shop. As I got off the freeway, the off ramp was a sweeping curve in which the termination to the street could not be seen til the last moment.
A young man had smacked into the back of a beat up jalopy. An illegal alien woman was driving it. How do I know this? Continue reading.
All three of us got out. The woman barely spoke English. I creamed the back end of the guy’s car. I totaled my car; a new Ford Taurus. My company car.
The woman’s car was not in too bad of shape because most of the damage occurred as the guy in between veered to avoid hitting her and smacked into a light standard.
See, she just parked at the end of the off ramp like there was a stop sign. There was no fucking stop sign and she should have continued without parking at the end of a busy off ramp.
We were standing outside of our cars exchanging info when the woman bolted to her car and burned rubber escaping. We got her license plate number.
THEN, the cops show up.
I always carried my Glock in my brief case. I didn’t care about the fascist state of Kalifornia’s rules. Better alive than dead. That was my credo.
Upon slamming into the car, the gun flew out of my brief case on to the passenger side’s floor.
I had no idea this had happened until I was checking for my registration while the cops were there. I saw my Glock sitting in the open and just about shit my pants. I managed to get the gun back into my brief case and took it with me to stand by the road while the tow trucks did their thing.
So here is the deal. I get back to work. They send me to their company clinic under the guise I should be checked out when they really wanted that piss test.
I get back and am ordered into the general manager’s office with other muckity mucks.
They rip me a new asshole. I was the last car in the pile up and they called it my fault.
Now, not only was it not my fault. Duh. But the cops didn’t even ticket me for slamming into the back of the car in front of me. The cops exonerated me.
My people didn’t care. Shortly after that was the yearly review. I was denied a raise because of the accident. No. It’s now what you’re thinking. “Yeah, Katman just thinks it’s because of the accident.” They fucking told me that was the reason!
I was running 23 major construction projects. I had no administrative assistant because I had to share her with the chief project manager who was fucking her on the side behind his wife’s back. So the assistant spent all day in Dave’s office just fucking around, giggling, rubbing Dave’s shoulders, and doing nothing. Everyone in the office knew what was going on. Even the wife knew this. And the assistant had the balls to come to the company picnic in Sonoma CA where the owner rented a KOA camp for everyone and got them little units separate from the others.
This is where I had my infamous sky diving accident. May 21, 2001.
At work, I had a wall of cubby holes where paperwork was put before it was to be filed. I had no time to file and be a senior project manager and run 23 big jobs that were being fast tracked because this was Silicon Valley and they were building faster than they could think. We started jobs without bidding on them. No bid contracts. It was hurry, hurry, hurry.
The cubby holes got so jammed with paperwork and small drawings that every time someone called to discuss something, I had to tear the paper out of the cubby holes while cursing and throw them all over my desk to find what I needed.
Dave’s cubby holes and paper work were beautifully filed of course. I made a big stink and forced three administrative assistants to come in on Saturday to straighten things out.
Because of the fast tracking of every job, I’d be handed a signed contract and two minutes later the job’s superintendent called, screaming at me, where are his 4 tons of embeds?
I hated that job. I hated construction. I was honest like I am in my reviews. So it was taken advantage of by the evil employees. I got blamed for the crucifixion. And they were terribly anti-Semitic. I had to listen to nasty Jew comments all the time.
Yes. I am now dirt poor. I no longer make a couple hundred thousand bucks per year plus bonuses plus a company car plus expenses. But I won’t have a heart attack which I was working my way up to.
I don’t miss it. I just miss the dough. I bought cigars like I was a Saudi Arabian prince.
Now, I have to buy small batches of cigars behind my wife’s back. All $50 per month.
How the hell did I get here from a hit and run yesterday?
Fucking old man brain, that’s how.
(A new record. 3632 word review)
Don’t forget to enter the Paul Stulac Contest.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS