Wrapper: Ecuadorian Sumatra

Binder: Nicaraguan (Double Binder)

Filler: Nicaraguan

Size: 6.625 x 49 Grand Corona

Strength: Medium

Price: $13.00

Today we take a look at the Tatuaje Karloff.

BACKGROUND:

Released: October, 2020

Factory: My Father Cigars S.A.

Cigars Released: 4,000 Boxes ~ 13 Cigars per box

According to Halfwheel.com (11-21-2020):

“While 2020 wasn’t responsible for the lack of a Monster Series release, it did catch my attention as just another one of those interesting things in a year that has been more than interesting.

“But that didn’t mean that Tatuaje didn’t have anything to ship to retailers in October; quite the opposite in fact. The company released the event-only Shrunken Pumpkin and a pair of new sizes and a new look for Cabaiguan, while November would bring three new sizes for the L’Atelier Selection Spéciale.

“Amidst that, Tatuaje announced the Karloff, a cigar that should have immediately perked up the ears of fans of an early offshoot of the Monster Series. It’s also a cigar with some history behind it.

“Back in 2008, Johnson had plans to create a complementary line to the Monster Series called the Actors Series that would honor those who played the monsters honored by the other line. Since Frankenstein was the first movie monster honored in the Monster Series with The Frank, the first in the Actors Series would be The Boris, a 7 x 49 Churchill named for Boris Karloff, who played Frankenstein’s monster in the 1931 film.

“Except, there was a bit of a snag with that release, as the name Boris was already in use for another cigar, specifically, the Boris 11, which is produced for Corona Cigar Co. in Orlando, Fla. As part of resolving that snag, Johnson made an agreement with Jeff Borysiewicz, owner of Corona Cigar Co., that included a stipulation that Johnson would produce a limited-edition cigar for the store. That cigar was the Little Boris, a 5 1/2 x 49 robusto released in July 2012 and re-released in November 2018.

“The Karloff is a 6 5/8 x 49 grand corona, and less than half an inch shorter than the original Boris. Both the Boris and Karloff use the same tobaccos, at least on paper, meaning an Ecuadorian Sumatra wrapper over a Nicaraguan double binder and filler. However, Johnson said that the Karloff’s is a tweaked blend that is a little fuller than that of the Boris, adding that consumers shouldn’t expect the exact same profile from this new cigar, even though the ring gauges of the Boris, Little Boris and Karloff are all the same.”

APPEARANCE:

In room light, the wrapper is a slightly oily paper bag brown and hints of red. Under the right light, the wrapper explodes with color. The oily sheen comes from dunking it in olive oil…or so it seems. The colors run the gamut of the orange, brown, and red categories; mingling and morphing into sunscapes on Mars.

The cigar is lumpy and bumpy. Not quite a Rum Crook, but on its way there. Seams are somewhat visible. Lots of twigs on the wrapper giving it a road map scene.

The cigar borders on being hard; but there is just enough give to allow hope, that once lit, it will relax.

And it has a closed foot. I can’t begin to count the cigars I’ve smoked in which I didn’t pay attention to the fact that the cigar had a closed foot…causing consternation during the early draw process. Being a schmuck is not environmental, it is inbred.

SMELL THE GLOVE:

I must agree with Halfwheel’s first impression of the aroma: A&W Root Beer. I can almost taste the foam from the frosty mug at their drive-ins. Do they exist any longer?

But Halfwheel’s 2^nd and 3^rd aromas I do not smell tree bark and cold salami. I do smell similar items as an intense tobacco aroma plus salt, garlic, onion, and apple cider vinegar. And it’s slightly meaty…so when I think about it, cold salami is probably the better analogy. My bad. On the upside, Pete Johnson has blended a very consistent cigar if two reviewers smell the exact same thing. That does not happen often.

There is also some red pepper, creaminess, malt, black coffee, black licorice, and cedar.

The cold draw presents flavors of root beer, creaminess, red pepper, some of the salami spices, black coffee, cedar, barnyard, and strong unsweetened tea.

FIRST THIRD:

The draw is spot on. I expected this big stick to have issues. I was wrong…so I put away my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool for an ordinary go-to cigar later.

I’ve had a few of these cigars for several months. Should be ready to go.

The first puffs are a punch to the jugular…a blast of black and red peppers. And the cigar’s strength conks me with a frying pan.

Smoke jettisons from the foot like a house on fire. The intake is harsh. Rough start. There is no way this cigar stays at medium throughout the smoke.

The spiciness calms down. Flavors emerge. A sudden complexity has my ‘nads in a vice. The cigar character completely changed over in the first half inch.

Notes of the beloved root beer are present…plus tidbits of creaminess, cinnamon, tea, citrus, cedar, and a nice touch of nutmeg.

Strength is medium+ out of the gate.

I’m listening to something I’ve never heard. Steve Winwood and Rush doing “Gimme Some Lovin” from the soundtrack of the movie, “Rush.” It’s pretty damn cool.

The blend continues to calm down. It is effortlessly settling into a tasty format. Creaminess moves to the forefront. The savory spices are compartmentalized so as not to interfere. The citrus is lime. Very noticeable. Very meaty. Vanilla shows itself to make the blend so very smooth. Wow…what a difference between now and the start. It’s like two different cigars. I guess the first half inch was a vision quest to see if you are man enough to smoke the Karloff.

The strength tapers down to a straight ahead medium. The harshness disappeared.

Not too much in the transition category. The finish is mostly spiciness with a touch of the cream.

I’m a huge Tat fan. Johnson is one of the most consistent blenders around. I love the Black Label.

This is a big honker of a cigar so I need to parse my words and focus on the experience…otherwise, I will ramble on incessantly…more than usual.

The burn is proper.

The flavors and composure of the cigar seems to have found its G spot in the first third. No abrupt changes. I have a long way to go, so I’m sure this is just a tease.

Balance fleshes out. But nuances and subtleties are very much in the background.

An hour ago, or so (around 8am), I went outside my door to check the mail. Naturally, at that moment, my neighbor opened her door to leave for work. And I’m wearing boxers, tee shirt, and a loose robe. We said hello…but she hurried her way to her car. She is a nurse so I can only imagine what she tells her cohorts about the perv living next door.

Well, at least my schlong wasn’t hanging out. It can’t. All the gravity on the planet couldn’t make my peeny hang with any distinction. Don’t get old.

This Karloff is becoming a head turner. It is now in forward progression mode. At 1-3/4” burned, it’s making its move. A lot sooner than expected.

Sometimes I feel sorry for the industry reviewers that must review a cigar before its time in order to be timely. I don’t feel that pressure. I get to allow my cigars a lot more humi time. Of course, I do not believe you can find this cigar any longer…but Johnson hasn’t denied that it might become a regular production cigar.

SECOND THIRD:

The ash held steady for the 2.2” first third. Atta’ boy, Pete.

The intense tobacco-ness of the stick is dialing down. It allows some minor influences to participate. Sweet factors such as vanilla ice cream, candied lime, licorice, and cinnamon toast.

It begins to get nutty. Almond marzipan, Brazil nuts, and raw cashews. Nice addition.

Time for my first sip of water which releases flavors that are very meaty, salami spices, a bevy of sweetness, complexity on steroids, and licorice. It took a big dump on my palate with that swig of water.

I smoke cigars during the day and evening. And each beverage influences the taste of the cigar. At night, I like a bit of bourbon with my last stick. It brings out the sweetness of the cigar blend. If you want a realistic flavor sampling, water is your only choice.

“The Weight” from “The Last Waltz” is playing. The Staple Singers are right there. Mavis is a force of nature. Stephen Hodges plays drums for all the current Mavis tours. Well, not in 2020. Hodges and I were friends in high school. I played in a couple bands with him then. I also used him as a session guy when I had my studio 10 years after graduation. He was playing with the blues band The James Harman Band. Stephen is one of those guys that is just a regular Joe and a very sweet guy. I’m happy for him that he could make a living in music…meanwhile, I sit here stewing that I took another route.

The denseness of the complexity is right up front. Transitions begin with all the aforementioned elements. The finish becomes interesting for the first time. A nice lingering of a savory v. sweet combo.

The Karloff is one of those blends that you don’t need a sophisticated palate to enjoy. The complexity runs the show and that’s all you need in life. Ancillary lists of this man’s flavor input are all personal impressions.

The cigar continues to cruise at medium strength.

Not a single touch up of the char line has been needed.

I have some 2019 and 2020 cigars waiting for review. Here’s the thing…I plan on posting my top 25 of the year at the end of this month. Gives me a chance to catch up after being sick for two months. So, I really don’t want to pick cigars I know to be less than stellar. I know I’m more interesting to read if I don’t like a blend; but now I have ulterior motives. But if I keep going on a regular basis throughout January, the devil inside will force me to review a few duds. I think of it as a public service.

Great cigar.

The stick is $13. Normally, on my old man budget, I would not buy a box of 13. But based on the first half of this cigar, I would have snagged me some. I’d have to tell Charlotte that the money was spent on a large Viagra purchase.

The cinnamon ramps up making the tip of my tongue tingle.

Just now, I got a call from my orthopod. I need to see him. I developed tennis elbow. This should be a Nancy Reagan warning…masturbation has its consequences. Just say no…just kidding. Play with yourself all you want.

The Karloff’s flavor profile continues to spread its wings. Elements become more intimate. And a separation of those flavors kick in.

Strength moves to medium/full as the last third quickly approaches.

LAST THIRD:

The masterful construction of this cigar is a wonder. Not a single problem. Moe, Larry…Cheese!

The citrus and creaminess assimilate into a nice key lime pie. The meaty spices are a perfect counterpoint.

Spiciness hangs in the background.

I can’t say enough about the tobacco mixture. Normally, I’d look at the leaf stats and think, been there, done that. How wrong I was. Johnson can be a wizard.

The trajectory of the blend is that one of constant improvement. Nothing linear about the Karloff. The last third is extremely intense and a joyful pleasure.

No additional flavor points…it doesn’t need more. It is coasting on its own merits.

It seems that Halfwheel was the only industry blog that reviewed this cigar because of its limited release. But I’m guessing this is due to the stellar nature of the blend. You just gotta tell people.

When this cigar is re-released, do not hesitate to buy as many as you can afford.

I smoked a Karloff a month in after receipt. It was OK. But an additional 3 months made a huge difference. So, be patient. I expect that some extended humidor time will create a real monster. (Sorry for the pun).

Strength is a potent medium/full.

Dr. Rod has an incredible new product coming. The pandemic slowed down the manufacturing process. But it will make its debut in the next couple of months. If you already own some of his wares, you will definitely want what’s coming up. He made me swear I wouldn’t give away the product. So, he flew to Milwaukee and implanted a small explosive in Charlotte’s molar. He is a dentist after all. If I screw up and disclose the project…no more Charlotte. Hmmm…I’d be a swingin’ 71-year-old. Think of all the pussy I’d be getting. That’s what I tell myself. What I wouldn’t do to snag a hot 65-year-old. Think of all the skin lifting necessary to get to the appropriate places.

We have friends that work in an assisted living facility. They tell us that the old coots are screwing each other like spider monkeys. And they have outbreaks of STD’s. Horny old bastards.

I’m up to 18,000 words now.

I’m nubbing this baby. As the end approaches, not a hint of harshness or bitterness.

And no nicotine! Let’s hear it for those not partial to swooning.

RATING: 95

And now for something moronic:
Circa 1966-1969

I had a great job at Knott’s Berry Farm in Buena Park, California in my teen years. My best friend worked there already and got me the gig.

I had applied earlier at the main personnel office but since they didn’t hire Jews, or any other ethnic group, I was turned down. It seems that Walter Knott was a real bigot. He hated everyone equally. Even the replica of the Independence Hall building had a table with pamphlets from the John Birch Society and other racist organizations. Sort of defeated the purpose of the hallowed building replica.

From Wikipedia:
“The theme park sits on the site of a former berry farm established by Walter Knott and his family. Beginning around 1920, the Knott family sold berries, berry preserves, and pies from a roadside stand along State Route 39. In 1934, the Knotts began selling fried chicken dinners in a tearoom on the property, later called “Mrs. Knott’s Chicken Dinner Restaurant”. The dinners soon became a major tourist draw, and the Knotts built several shops and other attractions to entertain visitors while waiting for a seat in the restaurant. In 1940, Walter Knott began constructing a replica Ghost Town on the property, the beginning of the present-day theme park. The idea of an amusement park really picked up in the 1950s when Walter Knott opened a “summer-long county fair”.

My buddy, Skip, worked across Beach Blvd. where Walter Knott had erected Independence Hall. There was also a big lagoon, a merry-go-round, a miniature train, row boats, and the steamboat: the Cordelia K. It was named for Walter’s wife.

Knott’s began as a berry stand in the 30’s and blossomed into a fried chicken restaurant and then ol’ Walter built an authentic looking western town. It was super cool and very realistic. It later had all kinds of western themed rides.

Turns out that the rides were owned by a subcontractor, Bud Hurlbut. He just leased the land from the Knotts. It was Bud that hired me giving me the distinction of the first Jew ever to work at Knott’s. Walter was a real SOB. He hated anyone not white. Or not Christian. And by the time I went to work there, he was ancient and decrepit. Occasionally, an employee would give Walter a ride in one of their maintenance golf carts over to the lagoon side where he came to ride the Cordelia K. He never, ever said a word to me.

I thought of pushing him overboard but too many witnesses.

I got hired to be the new steamboat captain. I was thrilled when I found out it wasn’t like Disneyland. No track. I actually drove the boat.

I spent a week in training and then she was all mine. The boat sat around 40-50 people. The price to ride the steamboat was 25¢. In fact, all the rides were 25¢.

I had to wear this stupid captain’s hat that made me sweat. I wore jeans and a nice white shirt with a clip-on western tie. And the Knott’s vest with my name on it. So, I took the hat off a lot. And I got in trouble a lot.
No one ever noticed what I had written where my name was supposed to go.

The steamboat was not run by steam; but rather, a big diesel engine that looked like a steam turbine. And my back was up against it the whole time I drove the boat. And since it was So Cal, it was usually warm all the time. That diesel engine was hot, baby. And it spewed horrible fumes. When I was given a break every couple hours or so, I wobbled off the boat and sat on a bench to get my bearings from the brain damage.

I learned how to run the merry go round, and the train, and sell tickets, and send people on their way in a rented rowboat. But the captain thing was my main gig.

I got really tired of kids asking me if the boat was on a track when they saw me struggling to turn it. So, I told them, “No. The boat isn’t on a track…the water is.” I always got befuddled looks and the questions stopped.

The lagoon wasn’t that big. And it had Duck Island in the middle of it. My job was to do two turns around the lagoon. One was a wide berth and the second was close to the island. That’s what you got for your 25¢. No brilliant repartee or speech. Simply a relaxing ride.
But that 25¢ gave people the impression that I would give some sort of narrative and shoot at rising hippos as we rode along the black water.

They were always so disappointed that all I did was keep my mouth shut and drive.

One of my passions was to ram row boats. People would get into them without the slightest hint of how to row a boat so they would be in one place turning the boat in a 360-degree circle.

So, I aimed for them. I would grab the megaphone and yell at them to get out of the way and they would start screaming in panic. Good times. Really.

I would then pull back the throttle, let the boat slow down to near still and I would climb out of the front of the boat, and on to the bow. I grabbed a long aluminum gaff and would push them out of the way. All the time they were thanking me for not killing them. It broke up the tedium from going in circles all day.

One Easter Sunday, chaos showed up dressed for the prom. The Farm was packed and so was the boat. I had a sharp turn to make to get out of the dock and turn to the left. Sometimes, I couldn’t make it because there were too many people on the boat. So, I’d have to back it up like a big rig and maneuver it back and forth.

I pulled and pulled that damn steering wheel. And on that day, the steering cable broke. The steering wheel spun like the wheel of fortune.

The boat then floated free. I pulled the steam whistle over and over which was the sign for an emergency. I then got on the bow of the boat. Employees ran over and I yelled the steering was broken.

No one knew what to do, and then one of the employees just started walking into the lagoon…that nasty, smelly, black water. With no filtration system and 2 feet of muck at the bottom.
My head dropped in resignation and I leaped into the water. The people on the boat applauded.
A huge Easter day crowd formed at the rim of the lagoon. I’m surprised TV cameras weren’t there.

By this time, the boat had drifted about 40 feet from the dock. There were four of us in the water trying to push it back to the dock. I moved to the stern. I leaped up to grab the back of the boat and was swiftly hit in the chest with the steering system that looked like two ladders…running horizontally about a foot and a half below the water. The water was so black, you couldn’t see them, and I never even knew they were there. I thought the thing had rudders.

I completely submerged into that black morass. Yuck!
I came up covered in muck. This was a bad day.

Me and another fella pushed the stern, and two others pushed the bow and after 30 minutes, were able to get the boat back to the dock. Once locked at the dock, a huge applause filled the air…as hundreds and hundreds of onlookers heard what had happened and lined the shore.

The owner, Bud, showed up and sent all four of us across the street for new clothes. Mind you, no shower, but new clothes. We had to work the rest of our shift doing other things, stinking to high heaven. We were young. So, we didn’t make a fuss.
All this for $1.65 per hour.

Me driving the boat:

Captain Katman, 1967 or 1968:

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS