- Wrapper: Nicaraguan ’99 Corojo Rosado
- Binder: Nicaraguan
- Filler: Nicaraguan
- Size: 6 x 55 Toro Gordo
- Strength: Medium/Full
- Price: $11.20
Today we take a look at the 2020 Fonseca by My Father.
From Cigar Aficionado (8-21-2020):
“The new Fonseca by My Father is completely different from the non-Cuban Fonsecas that were produced by the Quesada family, the former brand owners, in the Dominican Republic. Whereas Quesada-made Fonsecas typically included a mix of tobaccos from the Dominican Republic, Mexico and the United States, the Fonseca by My Father is rolled entirely from tobacco grown in Nicaragua, the same country where the new cigars are rolled.
“Though technically these are not the first Nicaraguan-made Fonsecas, the new Fonsecas from My Father are unique because all of the tobaccos used to roll them were grown by the Garcia family, founders of My Father Cigars. The highlight of the new smokes is the dark-but-ruddy, shade-grown Corojo ’99 wrapper that covers each one.
“Like all cigars from My Father, Fonseca is rolled at the My Father Cigars factory located in Estelí, Nicaragua.”
SIZES AND PRICING:
Belicosos 5.5 x 54 $10.60
Cosacos 5.375 x 42 $7.75
Petit Corona 4.25 x 40 $7.00
Robusto 5.25 x 52 $9.50
Toro Gordo 6 x 55 $11.20
Cedros 6.25 x 52 $11.00
First thing I notice is that this is a very heavy cigar. Plus, it’s a Gordo…nearly. Might be a long time coming before this cigar lets go of its ghost. The second thing is that the wrapper is OK looking no matter the lighting. There is a slight oily sheen that doesn’t attract aliens or barnyard animals. Seams are tight. There is a considerable number of veins that create a Braille road map. The triple cap is nicely applied. Lastly, the wrapper is smooth as freshly shaved nuts. I must comment on the cigar band. It is so old school that I like it a lot. Almost old Cuban style. It is full of illustrations and photos like a billboard or the old Gurkha bands.
SMELL THE GLOVE:
Faint aromas of semi-sweet chocolate, creaminess, caramel, malt, raisins, blackberries, black pepper, cotton candy, cedar, sweet white wine, and barnyard.
The throughway is clear, so I put away my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool. The cold draw presents flavors of butterscotch pudding, milk chocolate, caramel, malt, creaminess, black coffee, cedar, sourdough bread, and berries.
Good start…creaminess, black pepper, buttered sourdough, malt, caramel, cedar, and milk chocolate. And an almost immediate nibble at complexity. The finish impresses right away with an oily feeling of cream and spice on my teeth and lips.
I’ve been a fan of Pepin Garcia forever. Never lets me down. Fonseca, on the other hand, never been really impressed. So, while all the A list blenders are providing a boost to many premium cigar brands with their own take, a surprising Fonseca gets one from Garcia.
Lots of mildly sweet factors at work. The black pepper is reminiscent of every Garcia smoke I’ve ever tried. But it’s the balance that I realize is swaying me to the positive reaction I get from this blend. Very smooth despite the spiciness being a little over the top. The tobacco has a very rich content that gets my attention and won’t let go.
As I predicted, the cigar is a big honker and filled to the brim. I might be here half a day getting through this cigar. But at this very moment, I don’t see getting bored or distracted from the task at hand…enjoy the cigar.
Now that I said that, maybe it would just be easier for all reviewers to smoke a cigar and simply say one of two things: Enjoy this cigar. Or…Keep walking buddy. I could do more reviews this way.
I’m not jinxing it by saying this blend is on an upward trajectory with every puff. I love a cigar that has an interesting beginning and continues to layer and layer til the end. And $11 ain’t bad at all. I’m sure it can be had a little cheaper online. I had some second thoughts about picking such a big cigar for review. The trepidation was dripping down my forehead before I started writing. The cigars were a gift from a friend. I am happy to see all the different sizes in this blend. Short of providing a Lancero, the size list should please everyone.
I don’t know about you, but we’ve been hunkered down in isolation for 5 months. I find I write better when I have interaction with real people, not just digital friends. But I’m alone with my thoughts most of the time, and you know where that got Ted Kaczynski.
I’m sure by 2025, things will be back to normal. We will finally get out and party down and then break our hips and die the next day. Is this too dark? I think I’m getting too Woody Allen-ish in this pandemic. Death is all around us. Tick tock.
The blend features a beautiful an all-encompassing panorama of flavor and complexity now. The flavors plop themselves on a level playing field with each other and nothing really stands out above the others. A solid blend. I knew my man, Garcia, would make a Fonseca palatable.
Construction is excellent. The ash needs no touch ups and after over an inch, still hangs tough. What? Only an inch? Again, if I had a nickel…”It is all the way in!!”
Strength is an easy going medium. Nice morning cigar so far. Now my mind might be altered by the time I get to the last third, but that’s what hallucinogenics are for. Huh?
It is colder than a Polar bear’s asshole in Milwaukee. Not going to go above 7 degrees for a week or two. And the wind chill temps would snap shut that Polar bear’s ass like an angry clam.
This cigar is a beautiful example of a cigar one can enjoy without trying to find the rapeseed oil and ferret cheek flavors.
Only took half an hour to get through the first third. I expected longer. But I’m OK with the stick needing only 90 minutes to smoke.
A sip of water and lots of fruity things come to the forefront…green grapes, raisins, cinnamon toast, and vanilla ice cream. On the savory side is the ever present black pepper, malt, Italian breadsticks, creamy oatmeal, a touch of cumin, and cedar.
One reviewer said he felt like he was smoking a Cuban. I can see his perspective. But still a long way to go.
The blend reaches deeper into its bag of tricks…a full mouth feel is afoot. I don’t retro hale any longer. Fucks up my sinuses.
I fine myself trying to compare this Garcia blend to one of his other blends, but nothing comes to mind. The cheese stands alone. I like that the Garcia team are still working for excellence.
The creaminess leaps out at me. It coats everything. If someone creamed on you, you’d taste good too. What did I just say? I need to get my anti-psychotic prescriptions refilled.
Wait, I taste fava beans and a nice Chianti.
When a cigar is this good, I find myself in a stupor while writing…the downside of reviewing and smoking at the same time. Some cigar blends just have a relaxing effect on me. My shoulders come down to parade rest. My eyes roll back in my head and I fall to the floor for a quick 2-minute nap.
Just a delicious cigar. Strength has moved to medium/full. And shalom baby, here comes the nicotine. No more naps for Philly.
I believe this stick has no more than 2 months naked humidor time. It’s my last one. I smoked the first two early and was disappointed. Now I wonder what 6 months of rest will produce from this blend. I guess I will have to spend my money cache saved for coffee enemas and get at least a fiver…and then be very patient. Ha. My forte.
Each of the flavors I’ve mentioned are in place. Nothing has gone away and nothing has been added. I do expect the major change will be the intensity of the complexity and the ancillary parts of taste that surround the character of the cigar.
Sips of water go down well. Flavors brighten and produce a sharp edge.
Balance, nuances, subtleties, richness, and smoothness work together like a bunch of lesbians beating on a skinny straight guy. Nope. Never happened to me…lately.
Because my recording studio was in downtown Long Beach, I found out as soon as we moved in, we had opened our studio in the gay section of downtown. We had a huge gay club across the street. I became a master at imitating every gay blade I knew back then. Now, I just naturally act gay. Must be my age.
The rollers did a very nice job. An even burn. No flailing wrapper parts. I haven’t accidentally huffed the triple cap down my throat.
The complexity is impressive, but it is the balance that shines. Based upon past reviews, I deduce that this kind of blend is what makes the endorphins in my brain open and snap shut. Rinse and repeat. My kind of cigar.
Charlotte walks into my home office and demands we have sex right now. I will be right back.
3 minutes later…
I’m really enjoying the Fonseca by My Father.
We are on schedule. An hour down now. 30 minutes to go. I’ll wait while you make a sandwich.
No earth-shattering changes in the flavor profile. Steady as she goes.
Nicotine isn’t too bad. Although, I do have a bit of blood coming from my right ear. Which could have also been caused during the sex session when Charlotte demanded I put my schmekel in that ear. It’s hard to do when you are a senior. Kinky broad.
Strength is now full. And there goes my vision.
Not a morning cigar.
I remove the band. With that operation, I loosen the wrapper and it flaps in the breeze. Out comes my PerfecRepair cigar glue and there is finally long-lasting peace in Sweden.
The band is impressive now that I can see it unfurled. Must take a photo.
The flavor list is long. Creaminess still reigns supreme. The sweet v. savory balance is spot on.
Word of mouth must be strong. I can’t find a single deal online anywhere.
And the cigar goes out.
On the upside, when I re-light it, a massive flavor explosion that rips my merkin to shreds.
One thing that my age, and length of marriage, has excused me from is manscaping myself. Charlotte did once come at my private parts with a knife, but I think that was for something else. Although, since losing a lot of weight, I can now see my little love sausage. It’s not big but it is 3” in diameter, like a bathtub plug.
I wish I could have been funnier for you but sometimes a good cigar robs me of any miniscule talent I have in that arena. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
If this cigar were a tad cheaper, I’d love to always have this blend in my daily go-to humidor. The smaller cigars are a couple bucks cheaper. I might swing a fiver of the Robustos. But not working due to the godamm pandemic has changed my cigar buying habits.
While the strength is full tilt, it remains smooth. Not a lick of harshness. I could steal Charlotte’s tampon money…wait…she’s 70. Never mind.
An exquisitely good cigar. I’ve bored you long enough. On to the irrelevant music story.
And now for something completely different:
The Eddie Munster Chronicles.
The record company had us touring. No band. Just Butch and me. Why? Because Eddie and the Monsters was Milli Vanilli.
All session players and me on bass. And a singer to pretend he was Butch. So, we couldn’t play live which eventually hurt us.
But since Butch was already known as a child star, people came in droves to see him.
Butch had been out of the spotlight for years. Unlike now, where he makes a living going to TV memorabilia conventions and car shows; selling his Munster products and signing autographs for a fee. His new wife works in the car show industry, so he has it made from now on. She even got him to wear the original Eddie Munster make up at one appearance along with Marilyn (Pat Priest) Munster.
1983. We were in Chicago. And we had a morning radio show at WGN.
And lo and behold, they had also booked another band. The Peter Tork Project. Yes, that Peter Tork of the Monkees.
Freaked me out that Peter’s band was made up of really young guys dressed in complete Metal regalia replete with hair and eye makeup. While Tork dressed in homeless casual.
We killed time and talked before the two of them went on.
All Tork talked about was how much he hated the Monkees. How it stifled him. How he got pushed around. How he didn’t make enough money, etc.
It got a little tiring hearing him piss and moan. Meanwhile, his band listened attentively filling in like a Baptist chorus, “Right on brother. Yeah, baby, etc.”
They were called in and we listened to the hour-long interview in the “green room.”
And Tork took every opportunity to diss the Monkees. The DJ lapped it up. Meanwhile, Butch said nothing but nice things about his tenure on “The Munsters.” And his one-time appearance on The Monkees.
One of the things that shocked me was when Butch told me how much he was paid for that show. Back in the 60’s, seasons were 40 shows long. And they did only two seasons. Not long after the show ended, the Screen Actors Guild got a royalty clause into their bargain.
Butch did all the 1970’s TV shows as a guest….detective and police dramas, variety shows, and other TV shows like “Lidsville.” He got small royalties for those shows over the years, but the checks got sent to his mother’s home in Gardena and she cashed and pocketed the money. So Butch redirected the checks to my house. I’d open them and see a $57 check for “Ironsides.” Or $35 for doing “Mannix.”
In The Munsters, he was paid $400 per show and received no royalties. He made a total of $32,000 over two years. He had every right to be bitter. The only person on that show that got royalties was Herman (Fred Gwynne). He was a smart businessman and demanded a cut of the earnings.
Tork didn’t make much more.
Both Tork’s band and Butch were booked to appear at a happenin’ club that night. Tork’s band played while Butch mingled with the crowd signing autographs. They did show our music rock video on a big screen.
I sat down when Tork’s band went on stage. They played a total of 10 songs. I was anxious to hear what a metal band playing behind folkie Peter Tork sounded like.
Of the 10 songs, 8 were Monkees’ songs. He hated the whole Monkees concept and there he was…performing their songs. What a hypocrite. And the two metal songs they played were terrible.
Afterwards, Tork and I exchanged T shirts. I still have a few of the Eddie and the Monsters tees left. Occasionally, I sell a package of the 45 single, signed promo photo, DVD of the video and a tee shirt on eBay. I haven’t done that in a while because they won’t really be worth any dough until he croaks. So, I will leave all that to my daughter, Katie.
Butch had an alcohol problem. Coke was the only thing that kept him upright during his binges. And his appearances in clubs made it worse because everyone wanted to buy Butch Patrick a drink…or pack his nose.
I usually had to drag him back to the hotel kicking and screaming.
To be continued…the Halloween debacle.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS