Wrapper: Ecuadorian Habano Havana 2000
Filler: Dominican, Nicaraguan
Size: 6 x 52 “Torpedo” (Box Pressed)
Price: $9.00 MSRP ($8.00 online)
Humidor Time: 6 weeks
Number of cigars smoked prior to review: 1
Today we take a look at the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo.
Thanks to Eric Anderson for the sticks.
Made its debut at the 2016 IPCPR trade show.
Factory: Jochy Blanco’s Tabacalera Palma
First release was the Oscura, followed by the Renacer. The Quadrata is the third release. And Serena is the fourth.
Release Date: July, 2016
The Big Guy reviewers give a really great back story to this cigar so no point in me repeating it. Besides, most people just skim the review til they get to its rating. So if you feel the need to know the history of this brand, go to the Big Guy reviews.
SIZES AND PRICING:
Robusto 5.25 x 50 $8.50
Torpedo 6 x 52 $9.00
Toro Bravo 6.5 x 54 $9.00
The Matilde Quadrata Torpedo is a beautifully box pressed specimen. Tight seams. A generous amount of small veins. And an impressively constructed pointy cap.
The oily wrapper is the color of cinnamon and caramel. With a nice toothy feel.
The stick is packed perfectly with just the right amount of give.
AROMAS AND COLD DRAW NOTES:
From the shaft, I smell cinnamon, spice, dark chocolate, prunes and raisins, cedar, and vanilla.
From the clipped cap and the foot, I smell spicy hot chocolate, roasted nuts, curry, red pepper, cedar, raisins, vanilla, and citrus.
The cold draw presents flavors of lemon zest, red pepper, chocolate, prunes, vanilla, cedar, and nuts.
There is no shortage of reviews of this blend. I don’t think I have ever seen so many kitchen sink flavor lists. Some overlap from one review to another. But most get the gist of the blender’s intent.
I’m sure mine will be similar to the other reviews. No new revelations. So if you’d rather, go watch football that you DVR’d the other night…
And for those who want to see what a fucking idiot I can be….follow me.
The draw is excellent for such a heavily packed stick.
Flavors immediately begin a procession: Red pepper, chocolate, baking spices, raisins, roasted nuts, vanilla, cedar, cinnamon toothpicks, and citrus. Whew.
This baby ain’t foolin’ around. Right to the quick of things.
The pepper becomes a two-fer…both red pepper and black pepper shares the same stage.
The start is definitely kitchen sink quality. Flavors are zinging by so fast and furious that it is hard to keep up.
More components to the puzzle: black cherries, plums, molasses, malts, and creaminess.
This cigar keeps on chooglin’.
Strength is a potent medium body.
I hope all these wonderful flavors don’t drop off like it slammed into the Bermuda Triangle halfway through the cigar.
I vote for continuous transitions til my head explodes like an over ripe watermelon.
This morning’s musical selection is the 2007 Crossroads Guitar Festival…5-1/2 hours long. I shall try not to meander but I will sit here writing til the concert is over.
Something fruitier than prunes and plums and raisins lurks in the background. It is acidic and has notes of pineapple. There is also a touch of peach in there somewhere.
At just over an inch burned, the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo is very complex. Transitions are a mind fuck. Holy crap. What a great cigar. I’ve always loved the Matilde blends as my reviews reflect. Both the Oscura and Renacer were great blends.
Time for coffee. Don’t go anywhere.
I’m getting a ride in the Way Back Machine with the flavor of an Orange Creamsicle. The citrus, creaminess, and vanilla do their job.
Remember the ice cream trucks with those annoying tunes played over and over? In my early 20’s, two friends and I rented a house in Santa Ana. We bought ice cream from this guy every time he made his rounds because we were stoned and had the munchies. Turned out, he was selling weed to adults from the truck. Not to kids. Still, a very dangerous thing to do. We made him our drummer for a couple months and then he got arrested for dealing and we never saw him again.
Smoke time is 35 minutes.
Flavors go bat shit on me. Malts lead the pack followed by the fruitiness, creaminess, chocolate, citrus, and espresso.
There is a cereal element. I eat this organic cereal called Heritage Flakes by Nature’s Path. I can taste the wheat bran, oat flour, spelt flour, barley flour, and barley malt. Delicious.
I have to be honest. When I saw the big descriptions from other reviews I was dumbfounded. Especially, as each reviewer added his own ingredients that his palate tasted. An avalanche of components to tantalize the taste buds.
Well, no equivocation about the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo. It will make my top 25 cigars of 2016 list.
And you don’t have to spend $17 for the pleasure of enjoying it. Are you listening Davidoff, Padron, and Opus X?
I got my latest Cigar Aficionado last week and two Davidoffs were rated. The Davidoff Escurio got an 88. Not bad for a $17.00 stick. And the Davidoff Millennium got an 82. Again, not bad for a $19.00 cigar. Who the fuck are these people kidding? Davidoff must have a pact with the devil in order to sucker punch guys with too much cash in their pockets to buy subpar blends yet be an incredible status symbol.
And the Yamasa? I rated it a 75. Sure, that’s pretty good for a $20 stick.
Meanwhile, the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo is an $8-$9 stick and kicks arse over the ridiculously expensive cigars. Matilde could have shot for $12 a stick and it would be worth it. Thankfully, not every manufacturer is a greedy S.O.B.
My rant allowed the cigar to go out.
Burn issue. Hoist the cigar by its petard.
I can’t keep listing flavors. They move around my palate like a flesh eating virus. Taking nibbles here and there and laying eggs for more flavors to burst from a cocoon to a butterfly. (See. That’s how cognitive issues fucks with you).
I get an unexpected tasted of bitter pine flavor. Don’t like it. I let the cigar rest hoping it wasn’t sprayed with paraquat. (Just in case you were wondering what the formula for paraquat is: C12H14Cl2N2.)
Each puff of the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo blows me away. How nice to review a great cigar.
I reach the halfway point. Smoke time is 50 minutes.
The Matilde Quadrata Torpedo is a cigar full of mystery. Jam packed with interesting and unique flavors while totally satisfying and providing a true cigar experience. The stick deserves your undivided attention to catch everything it throws at you. And if you can, make it the first cigar of your day.
I smoked one too early. Green. Not ready for prime time. What a difference a few weeks make in the maturation process of this blend. And I do consider it a New Breed blend. No extensive humidor time required. 4-6 weeks and you are ready to boogie.
I removed the double cigar bands from the box pressed stick so I could flatten them for photos. Then I lit the same cigar. I stopped, put it down, and lit up the one with the bands in place. I guess I will just have to smoke the unbanded Matilde Quadrata Torpedo after breakfast.
The bitter pine quality disappeared quickly. Don’t know what that was, or why.
Strength is medium/full.
The spiciness tapered off near the end of the first third. Gone, baby, gone.
Now it has resurfaced in spades. Big wallops of black pepper. My lips burn. Oh wait…that’s because I put the cherry in my mouth. Ever do that? That will wake you up.
Crossroads Guitar Festival. I can’t believe how many bassists are playing 6 string basses. I’ve always been a 4 string player. I think, deep down, 6 string players just want to be guitarists. My lack of 2 strings has never impeded my playing. Though, it would be nice to have that deep B string.
Drat, the cigar goes out on me once more. I can’t dry box cigars in this high humidity. On average, the outside humidity far outweighs my humidor humidity.
The Matilde Quadrata Torpedo is going to get a killer rating.
Bespoke Cigars. I reviewed 5 blends and they are incredible cigars. The only brand that I can say, without reservation, is worth the double digit pricing. Spoke to Jeremy Casdagli, owner of Bespoke, several times this week. What a nice man. Charlotte and I want to drive 90 miles down to Biggs Mansion. Jeremy told me that 2/3 of the cigar store is for members only. So now I’m not so sure that Charlotte and I are going to make that trip.
I think it was Jeremy S. (If I got that wrong, please contact me and I shall correct it) that sent me the new Bespoke blend “Rosetta.” It’s a little spark plug 4 x 46…in a cone shape. And I believe it goes for around $10. It may be too small to review. They are resting comfortably in my humidor. You can check out the Bespoke Cigars web site.
The 2007 Crossroads concert is much better than the 2004 version. I have both taped.
When Charlotte leaves the house, I go into the living room, put the concert on, and crank the sound while smoking a cigar. Doesn’t get better than that.
My Indian neighbors don’t seem to mind the pounding bass lines. I guess word has gotten out among the Indian inhabitants of Milwaukee that this apartment complex is the place to be. So all day long and all night long, the smell of curry wafts down the hallways. Finally, broke down and made my own curry last week.
Bam. What a friggin great cigar.
Smoke time is one hour 20 minutes. Nothing burns faster than a great cigar. The duds take forever.
OK. Last time: Black pepper, malts, orange zest, creaminess, cedar, raisins, plums, prunes, cereal, baking spices, cinnamon, molasses, chocolate, coffee, vanilla, and black cherry.
Now that is a kitchen sink.
While becoming more and more complex…transitions overload…the funny thing is that I haven’t hit a sweet spot. The whole damn blend is a sweet spot.
Strength is now full bodied. But no nicotine. Good thing as my crash helmet is in the shop. And my cat’s crash helmet is too small.
For the same price as a lot of catalog brands go for, you can treat yourself to the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo for the same price. And like a brilliant musician once wrote: “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.”
Dang me. I found the sweet spot. It explodes with a volley of bold flavors. Complexity reaches its nadir. Transitions are Bozo crazy.
Uh-oh. Nicotine kicks in as the Matilde Quadrata Torpedo hits uber full body.
Not a cigar for newbies. Too bad. The strength will kill you.
Time slows down. Posters on my wall begin to melt. A torrent of hallucinogenic thoughts assaults my brain.
Of the 7 reviews I found for this blend, most give the cigar a high rating and a rave review. There are a couple though that give it an undeserved low rating. Goes to show. The palate is an individual experience. I shall surpass the other reviews with an exceptionally high score.
I discovered how the FDA can be circumvented when it comes to manufacturers sending out samples…which is now against the law. These folks send out cigars from “their stash.” Wham. Loop hole.
I’ve said all that needs to be said. Get some.
And now for something completely different:
(Written over two days)
This is fucking weird; but cute. So, for this story, remove your testicles and put them somewhere safe….so the dog or kids can’t get them.
Just got up from my-old-man-nap. Not long after, my cat Sammy woke up from his nap.
He saunters over to me and I do the gooshy mooshy “Sammmmmyyyy….c’mon Sammmmmmmyyyy. Who’s your daddy?
Schmuel sits on my lap while I am trying to torch a cigar. I’m sitting in our second bedroom that has become my hobo man cave.
In the good ol’ days, before I was blasted out into space as a result of the Wall Street melt down, I had the most spectacular man cave…I was king of my domain.
The entire foot print of the basement was the entire foot print of the house. Probably 2000 sq. ft. Big, and clean, no spider webs to scare women….and a fucking -no- shit – professional-cock-sucking -real bar. Not a tiny 3’ half circle thin wood top and two stools. Nothing from the Dick Van Dyke Show.
Everything was either black leather or in red leather with cherry paneling; just like the upscale steak houses would drape themselves with back in the day.
My bar had a double stainless steel sink system with 5 working taps. The bar was approximately 12 feet in length with one end curving back to the wall. 10 expensive stools.
A working fridge and third sink behind the bar. It had a beautifully designed back wall, giant mirror, shelves, cupboards and all the accoutrement of a mid-1960’s type Danny Ocean bar.
10 Speakers were built into the ceiling and walls. All controllable. Plus, I had a rehearsal sized space of power amps and giant ass speaker cabs. So I could play music louder than a Uriah Heep concert. I became pseudo-psychotic during an extended keys solo that hit notes that left me impotent for weeks.
We had a full sized living room adjacent to the bar. Couches, big TV, music player, etc.
The best fucking part? The best fucking part? Four feet from the living room, I had a full sized kitchen with house-size fridge, full oven, double sinks, cupboards…the whole megillah.
I still dream about that impeccable man cave.
My daughter (around 28 at the time) had some kind of party and we hosted it because we had just rented this perfect frat house designed for entertaining large groups of people. . Katie and her friends just liked to hang at our house.
I should add that I was working and making mighty good dough when we rented the place earlier. This worldwide company based out of Milwaukee brought me up from my Chicago gig and lavished me with stuff. I did have to travel more than I like but the bread allowed me to spend a lot of shekels on cigars.
So…anyway, my blues band wasn’t playing the night of the party…a Sunday night. I talked my four compadres into doing this for fun and for free. It really was a damn fine blues band…killer harp player, killer guitarist, killer vocals, drummer who signed a deal with the devil, and, of course, a monster bassist. I’ve always been very selective about my band choices. Most of you musicians out there feel the same way. So, I only played in bands that allowed me a lot of freedom on the bass.
Fuck I miss it. Fuck I miss it. If you count my parents making me play accordion at age 9, I’ve been playing continuously as a gigging musician for 58 years. Ever see that documentary that came out last year about Glen Campbell while he was dealing with the end of his career due to Alzheimer’s. His last performance gave that wretched disease a pointy thumb to the eye. Campbell played impeccably for the first, and last, time in a few years. Good on yer’ Glen.
Back to the kid’s party….It was a little strange for us old Hippie musicians because the crowd was all young cops. Male and female. And everyone dwarfed me and I’m 5′-11.
There must have been 50-75 at the start. Everyone had a military haircut. The men too.
They looked at us like we were their parents on acid.
Turns out the band pulled it off and my daughter’s friends really dug us. Musicians are always cool. Everyone knows this…Especially older guys that have been around the block a few times and are great players. Doesn’t matter how old the age of the listener is… everyone recognizes a kick ass band.
Today. October 27, 2016. I wrote part of the story yesterday because I now need time to edit a lot of shit because my brain is fokakte.
I wanted to call him Schmuel but I was outvoted.
He was in my lap, with the slope of my stomach and chest forming his stretched out lynx-like body, and his face against my nose, smelling my lips.
I rub Sammy’s forehead, back of ears, neck, the area under the jaw, and bits of his back. I caress Sammy like I’m him his gay lover. His eyes glaze over.
5 minutes later, I stare at this thing and I think my furry pet had a cat orgasm. Creeps me out…sort of….shit, I don’t fucking know.
I felt dirty.
Then I give myself a “He’s got not balls” forehead slap realizing the only thing coming from his missing testicle locale is cat litter and pollen.
As I sit with my laptop in front of me, I deal with the fact that jerking off my cat.
Right now…this exact moment…I gently urge Sammy to get down. I’m sure his legs will look wobbly as he walks away.
I put my cigar down. Walk down the hallway with the cat running beside me…
And I jump Charlotte. Old people sex ain’t bad when your main squeeze is still a killer in the looks department. Love the old broad.
And she’s a dirty little kitty.
Remember. Woody Allen said, “Sex is dirty only when you’re doing it right.”
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS