Wrapper: Nicaraguan Sun Grown (Aged in Bourbon Barrels for 10 Months)
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan (4 Year Aged Condega, 5 Year Aged Jalapa, 6 Year Aged Esteli)
Size: 6 x 54 Toro
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $8.50 ($5.38 at Atlantic Cigar) I have zero affiliation with Atlantic Cigar.

Today we take a look at the Perdomo Habano Barrel-Aged Sun Grown.
If you tried this blend before 2016, things have changed. Perdomo retooled the blend.

BACKGROUND:
From Atlantic Cigar:
“The latest creation from Perdomo Cigars is now in stock here at Atlantic Cigar. The new Perdomo Habano Bourbon Barrel Aged cigar features a wrapper that has been aged for a minimum of 6 years. They’re not done yet though, the Sun Grown wrapper then gets another 10 additional months inside bourbon barrels to give it a distinct flavor. The blend continues with a collection of high-priming Cuban seed binders and fillers from Jalapa, Condega, and Esteli, Nicaragua. The result is a full body smoke, with rich earthy flavors and a subtle hint of spice.”

SIZES AND PRICING (MSRP):
Churchill 7 x 54 $9.00
Robusto 5 x 54 $8.00
Toro 6 x 54 $8.50
Gordo 6 x 60 $9.50
Torpedo 6.5 x 54 $8.75

APPEARANCE:
A very ordinary looking cigar. An oily brown paper bag hued wrapper. Lots of veins. Tight seams. Looks like just a double cap. The sticks aren’t consistently filled as this will be my third stick. On this particular one, the bottom 1” is very spongy and soft. The rest of the stick seems to be evenly filled.
The cigar band and the footer band are quite spectacular. I like pretty things.

SMELL THE GLOVE:
Aromas are barnyard, red pepper, malt, bittersweet chocolate, floral notes, espresso, cedar, malt, rye bread, honey, raw cashew, and mushroom.
The cold draw is hindered by blockage near the cigar band area. Two insertions of my PerfecDraw cigar poker and the cigar can now breathe. Flavors are dark cocoa, red pepper, creamy, espresso, malt, cedar, sweet liquor-esque, and graham cracker.

FIRST THIRD:
I’ve found you…oh wait, spoiler alert: After two bum reviews, I’ve found you a reasonably priced cigar that should make more expensive blends ashamed of themselves.

Here we go…This is a hefty Toro. Perdomo wasn’t shy about filling the cigar to the brim with lots of tobacco. This ain’t your puny lightweight example of a 40 minute cigar. This Uncle Fester is going to last til Lerch comes home.

It’s -3 degrees here in Milwaukee…how you doin’?

Because this is a big cigar, I don’t expect any miracles upfront. Big sticks take their time; which is why I prefer smaller sticks but I got a 5 pack in coffins on special from some online store and this was the size offered.
The amazing thing is that these babies are New Breed all the way. My first stick was only two weeks in and was great. Another one another two weeks in and it was even better. So after only 6 weeks, I’m reviewing a Perdomo that’s aching to please.

I’ve been sucking on this cigar like a $5 hooker for 5 minutes and it’s only burned a quarter of an inch. I may be here til Pesach.

Discrepancies are apparent from other reviewers. Some say they taste the influence of the bourbon barrel aging and others say no way. Me? There is definitely a sweetness that has a brandy tinge. Very modified and simple but yet a nice addition.
Strength is medium+.

Complexity makes its intro at the 1” burned mark. Transitions find a heartbeat. The finish is warming up.
Open windows and cigars do not make for good bedfellows. I begin to see a crack near the foot from the sub-arctic cold coming through.

We have our first sweet spot: Creaminess, red pepper, big monstrous chocolate that wants to eat your face, espresso, malt, cedar, graham cracker, brandy sweetness, nutty, green tea, and allspice.

The Perdomo Habano Barrel-Aged Sun Grown is turning the tide and becoming a real treat. Complexity is running amok like me during my ferret attack. Like Moe said, “Spread out!” And that is exactly what is happening. Flavors begin to widen their parameter and induce the main flavors to splinter off into all sorts of wonderful tangents.

Speaking of tangential, I can taste tangerine. It is surprisingly strong. Like candy. Gotta be the influence of the bourbon barrel aging. To be honest, it tastes more like Gran Marnier than bourbon.

The heartiness is perfect for a cold day. It is a wooby. A binky. A onesie. Your faithful dog lying at your feet in front of the fireplace while both of you deny being the one that is farting.

Yeah, the MSRP is $8.50 but it can be had for a little over $5. That’s fucking insane. I’ve been reviewing complete duds in the $10 range and this little gem wipes their asses all over the linoleum.

I closed the windows to save the cigar. Had to use a touch of my PerfecRepair cigar glue to fix a couple of cracks…good to go.
The first third ends with loads of potential for the remaining portion of this blend.

SECOND THIRD:
Long first third: 40 minutes.
The blend is screaming laughter in a sea of swarming simbas.

The Perdomo Habano Barrel-Aged Sun Grown is impressive. It is compiling all of the matter to construct a backpack tobacco bomb.
Strength hits medium/full.

This is a fucking great cigar. And I still have a long road to hoe.
At less than $130 for a box of 24 from Atlantic makes this a no brainer. A perfect every day go to stick…with all the trimmings.
Transitions meander like Bambi just before he watched his mom go down.
The finish is giving me Mick Jagger lips.
The creaminess and sweetness are killer components.

This is one of those rare blends that don’t require a sophisticated palate. It falls into the category of those that say they can’t taste chopped liver on rye with purple onion and tomato in the blend but they know what they like and don’t like. They will like the Perdomo Habano Barrel-Aged Sun Grown.

I’m kvelling. If another reviewer gives this newer blend a so-so review, send them your gerbil’s hair clippings.
Ahh…the cold is having a deleterious effect on the wrapper. So far, it is at the bottom of the cigar so I might be able to burn through the issue.

If my photos make the cigar look like it is in a burn unit from the schmutz that the glue leaves behind, then so be it. It’s not the cigar’s fault. I just can’t open windows when I review; until Spring in Wisconsin. In the decade we’ve lived here, I’ve never seen a single person with a tan. Once you move here, you become translucent. You find yourself getting compliments about how nice those blue veins make your face look.
I can’t wait til it warms up into the 20’s.

Super complex now. Elements of the aforementioned flavors are accounted for as they dance the tango while doing your taxes.
The blend is intense with balance and nuance. That sentence doesn’t seem to make sense. Once again, the blend is intense. And the flood gates of balance and richness burst open causing a temporary lapse of bladder function and a sudden rise of cholesterol.

My dears, you must try this cigar. You will not find a better deal on a blend of this quality.
I just emailed Nick Perdomo and told him I will mow his lawn and pick up the dog poop if he adopts me.

It’s taken a full hour to reach the halfway point.
The second half is going to run away with the golden ticket.

The wrapper issues are indeed being burned through, but I know the moment I remove the giant cigar band, the cracks will travel. My last photo is going to look like a traffic accident.

You know when you are in the moment and transfixed by a great cigar blend when you forget to sip on the libation you have sitting next to you. Some tobaccos can deplete you of all spit in your mouth. Others are at one with the oral universe. Which is near Andromeda. Or In ‘n’ Out. I forget which.

LAST THIRD:
Smoke time is one hour 35 minutes.
Strength is inching towards full. Nicotine is being held in abeyance. Thank you, baby Jesus.

Sweetness shifts from a liqueur to something fruity. Tangerine. Hints of honey, sweet cream, and chocolate toffee. The savory portion continues with its maltiness, allspice, spiciness, and aged oak.
Some reviewers said they tasted no influence of the bourbon. I guess they shouldn’t have had a pint of barium before lighting up.

Such a pleasure to find a catalog brand in regular production at this price that doesn’t fall off the edge of the planet.

Speaking of Janis Joplin…I was at the platinum record party for The Police’s “Zenyatta Mondata” in Hollywood. Hundreds of industry folk there. I found myself standing next to Bette Midler. She had no make up on and was tinier than expected. I told her about my days in Curved Air and Sonja Kristina. And how her movie “The Rose” not only depicted a tragic figure like Janis; but the story was also so similar to what Sonja went through but with a decidedly different outcome. She was very polite and nice and then walked away and forgot about me forever. I told myself she was just overcome with my virile masculinity and had to leave or be tainted for life. Go figure. I was high.

My dears, if you don’t take your Grandpa Katman’s advice on this one, I will double the length of all future reviews. That’s OK. I know everyone just scoots down to the rating and then moves on to porn on Yahoo.
The Perdomo Habano Barrel-Aged Sun Grown is a perfectly balanced blend. No shortage of complexity or richness. This is a box worthy stick.

RATING: 91

And now for something completely different:

Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, I was an everyday pot smoker.
I was a surprised Hippie musician after moving to Europe and then England in the mid 70’s. In L.A., hashish was a treat and a luxury. And usually stale. But it was a big deal when a friend came over with the shit.

We got to Europe and that’s all there was. Hash. Weed was harder to smuggle due to its size. It was even worse in England. It’s an island. And of course, the quality of hash was a 1000% better.
The only time we got to buy weed was at the Paradiso Club in Amsterdam. And at a premium price for an ounce. It came from Africa.

Europe was a shorter route for the smugglers. It was fresh and there were varieties. Lots of them. In the States, there were maybe 2 or 3 types.

What I never got used to was the way they smoked hash. Breaking up a cigarette and rolling into a long joint (Using two rolling papers overlapping each other end to end) while sprinkling bits of hash into it. Made me sick as a dog. To this day, I haven’t smoked a single cigarette, so the nicotine was a killer for me. There was no way I was going to survive getting high socially.

It didn’t take long before I found a pipe shop and bought the perfect sized pipe to smoke my hash. I made sure that when I socialized, I had my own pipe and stash. I always declined the joint full of cigarette tobacco. When I offered a Brit some hash from a pipe, they always declined. “We get too high, mate.” Pussy wankers.

Our tours of the continent of Europe would always bring us back to Amsterdam as our last gig of the tour.
My 1967 Fender Precision bass had a face plate and a hollowed-out area underneath for the electronics. I bought as much hash as would fit in that hollowed out section.

When we traveled, I had no choice. My bass had to go with the roadies in the big trucks.
So, in essence, the roadies smuggled my hash over to England for me. The trucks were always inspected by Custom Inspectors, but I was never caught.
I never told the roadies I was doing this.

But one day, as we landed at Dover, I asked for my bass from the truck. The roadies sighed as they tried to find my bass in a couple trucks full of gear.
Right there in front of them, I took out my jeweler’s screwdriver and removed the cover plate of my bass and removed the hash. Why? We had run out and this was our only source for the ride home to London which was a couple hours away.

We had to have something to smoke on the ride home; especially after that miserable boat ride across the English Channel.
Well, the roadies exploded when they saw I was using them as my mules.

I was the roadies’ favorite member of the band because I was the only one who wasn’t a prima donna. But on this day, they ripped me a new asshole.
I promised to never do it again. And they promised that they would check my bass before they drove it on to the ferry.

Well, I kept on doing it and lying to them that I no longer was smuggling an ounce of hash in my bass. Thankfully, they just didn’t have the time to take my bass out and disassemble it.
So, for the next two years this is how I smuggled hash into England. I never sold any. It was my personal stash.
When I got home, my girlfriend gave me a big hug and a kiss and then asked, “Where is the hash?”

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