Wrapper: Ecuadorian Habano
Size: 5 x 50 (One size only)
Price: $5.40 by the 10 pack. $6.00 by the 5 pack.
Today we take a look at the Civil Disobedience by MoyaRuiz Cigars.
Not much research material available. And get this…only one review.
The cigar was released in 2016 after the IPCPR convention that summer. This does not bode well.
It is a very light cigar in weight. There is no give when I squeeze the stick. Seams are fairly hidden. Lots of big and small veins. A nicely applied triple cap…with a light milk chocolate colored semi-oily wrapper.
AROMAS AND COLD DRAW POINTS:
From the shaft, I can smell milk chocolate, red pepper, floral notes, cinnamon, molasses, cedar, and coffee.
From the clipped cap and the foot, I can smell dark cocoa, red pepper, cedar, dried fruit, and malt.
The cold draw presents flavors of red pepper, chocolate, cedar, and malt.
The cigar is full of plugs so I grab my new PerfecDraw poker and clear it all out.
First up is a blast of red pepper…followed by some creaminess.
I reviewed the MoyaRuiz Pickle Juice exactly one year ago tomorrow. I had major construction issues with the wrapper disintegrating before my eyes.
Less than a few minutes into the Civil Disobedience, the wrapper begins to unravel from the foot upwards of more than 1”. So I grab my PerfecRepair cigar glue and quickly reassemble the end of the cigar. (Dr. Rod Kurthy is getting more attention than the cigar this morning).
The glue is holding but it ain’t purty.
Flavors are minimum early on. Strength is medium.
The spiciness leads the attack but not followed closely by much of anything else except for that creaminess, a dash of chocolate, and a touch of malt.
The char line goes wonky on me. Needs fixing.
The chocolate and creaminess make a leap of faith putting the spiciness in the back seat. But not much else that pops.
I believe that this was originally an event only cigar. It became a regular production cigar last year.
I get a musty flavor that won’t go away.
More cracks in the wrapper form from the foot up.
Out comes the cigar glue.
This is making the Pickle Juice like déjà vu all over again.
It’s not the humidity being too low in my humidor. None of my other cigars have had this issue.
Strength moves to medium/full.
I remember a few years ago when MoyaRuiz came out with their La Jugada blends. These were stunning cigars. But helped greatly by Erik Espinosa. While still manufactured at Espinosa’s La Zona factory, it seems that the last few MoyaRuiz releases failed to meet their first outings with, apparently, a great amount of help from Espinosa.
I’m guessing they are getting less help from Espinosa because the previous releases are no match for the La Jugada line.
I have no idea if the wrapper will fend off total meltdown before I can finish the cigar.
Smoke time is 20 minutes.
I’m now forced to schmear cigar glue all over the stick. The next cigar photo should look like the Civil Disobedience was in a major traffic accident.
As far as flavors? No changes. Creaminess, malt, chocolate, cedar, and pepper.
The mustiness continues.
Transitions are non-existent. No complexity. Short finish.
The char line becomes a real mess.
I smoked one of my two sticks a week ago and had similar issues with the wrapper.
I am amazed but the Civil Disobedience seems to be finding life in its listless pod.
Flavors emerge in stronger contrast: Black pepper, creaminess, chocolate, raisins, cedar, malts, coffee, nougat, and mustiness.
It took about half a dozen cigar surgeries but I’m at the halfway point and Civil Disobedience finally finds its center. Either that or I’m so grateful to taste something that I’m overblowing my reaction.
The stick is now held together with glue. If I get another crack, I’m letting it flap in the wind. I’m not going to waste any more PerfecDraw glue on it. So stay tuned to see if I finish the cigar.
Strength remains at medium/full.
The mustiness moves up the list of flavors and is somewhat annoying. It clouds the other flavors.
Fortunately, the Civil Disobedience is inexpensive. I’d be going Medieval on this blend if it was double digit pricing.
Flavors taper off as quickly as they reappeared only minutes ago. A very inconsistent flavor profile.
More cracks appear. Fuck it. So be it.
I’ve turned down reviewing the latter MoyaRuiz blends because I hate writing reviews like this one. I prefer to rave about great cigars than tear down crummy ones.
Like a joke cigar, I’m waiting for the thing to explode in my mouth.
I have actually made it to the last part of the cigar without it unraveling on me. Cracks are everywhere. The char line is a catastrophe. I’m getting pissed off that I must constantly correct it.
Smoke time: Who cares?
The flavor profile is stuck in neutral.
All that’s left is spice, creaminess, a dab of cocoa, mustiness, and cedar.
I see no point in going any further.
RATING: There is no way to rate this cigar without being a smartass.
And now for something completely different:
Into the Way Back Machine….
In 1966, at the height of their short career, I got to meet, and hang with The Byrds at the Golden Bear in Huntington Beach, CA.
The Golden Bear is a small venue. Maybe seats 200 people. The Byrds had a string of major hits. And were considered the American Beatles.
They only played two gigs with two shows per night. It was impossible to get tickets. So my buddy, Elliot Kushell, had an idea. We would pretend we were reporters for the Long Beach Press Telegram newspaper.
I called the Golden Bear and introduced myself as a reporter. I just knew they wouldn’t buy it.
An hour later, The Byrds’ manager called back and said he would get us backstage passes.
Elliot and I were ecstatic.
We were both 16. And hardly looked like real reporters.
We got there and not a single reporter was there. Unless they were in the audience. We were the only people allowed back stage with the band.
I brought along my Sony reel-to-reel that my grandfather bought me for my Bar Mitzvah. And I brought two cameras: A Kodak Instamatic and a Polaroid.
We met them as soon as we got there. We were invited into their dressing room. A drab and tiny room. Not much larger than a big closet.
Right away, they were friendly and generous.
I got a 45 minute interview with Roger McGuinn. I took lots of photos. During the concert, I just wandered to the front of the stage and took pictures with my Instamatic. No one bothered me.
I was amazed at the access we had. We either stood at the end of the stage or watched or we wandered backstage without interference. This had to be a first.
Back stage, I used my Polaroid. David Crosby asked if he could use it so he could show me some tricks. He knew how to get double exposures with the thing.
So he took a bunch of crazy photos. I hung on to them for decades and then out of nowhere, they just disappeared. It’s very difficult to hang on to photos for 5 decades.
Strangely, I never saw them drink alcohol or smoke any weed. They were sober.
And neither Elliot nor I had used weed at that age. Things were different then.
Now, Roger went to a guru on a regular basis. Remember…this was the era of Peace, Love, & Understanding. The Beatles started it all with the Maharishi.
This guru told McGuinn his original name of Jim was wrong for him and changed it to Roger. Very cosmic and Zen…lol.
I asked for an autograph and, apparently, he wasn’t used to his new name yet. He started to write the letter J and then stopped and wrote Roger. I wish I still had that piece of paper. I’m sure I could get $10 for it on Ebay.
Roger let me hold his famous Rickenbacker 12 string that was the signature sound of The Byrds.
There were girls in the dressing room, of course. And David made sure that they all sat on my lap. I almost passed out. And I was embarrassed because I had the wood of a horny 16 year old.
The evening lasted for 6 hours. All of it exhilarating. When it was over, each of The Byrds gave me a big bear hug. I couldn’t believe it. We had bonded.
The next day, I wrote an article from the interview and submitted it to the teeny bopper magazine “Tiger Beat.”
A couple weeks later, it was returned to me, bleeding with red notes. I was told that my article was not cuddly enough. I swear to God. Those were the exact words.
That was the official start of my writing career.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS