Wrapper: Ecuadorian Habano Maduro
Size: 7 x 50 Toro
This baby has flown under the radar. No big P.R. campaign. No cigar reviews.
I’ve had these cigars sleeping for a few months.
I believe this cigar will give me redemption after the reviews of the Ferio Tego Generoso and the 20 Acre Farm. Terrible and expensive cigars.
And this cigar is only $6.50!
These are sold only at Atlantic Cigar.
Because they have not gotten any publicity, the limited editions are still for sale. But they will be gone soon so I stepped in to accelerate that process. Nothing pisses me off more than missing out on a great cigar at a great price.
Plus, who did not like the original cigar that came out nearly 15 years ago? It is as reliable as your urologist’s love for you.
From Atlantic Cigar:
“Master Blends 3 is the special release offering in a series of limited artisanal blends. Liga Maestra is specifically blended to deliver the richest characteristics of Nicaraguan ligero filler and now being offered in Ecuadorian Habano maduro wrapper. It is complex like the original Master Blend, but with the added maduro flavor profile this wrapper brings, delivering a hint of natural sweetness to this spicy profile. The new Oliva Master Blend 3 Maduro satisfies the most experienced smoker. Complexity is the word that comes to mind when thinking about the Master Blends series, and the Master Blends 3 Maduro is no exception. These are wonderful cigars that’s sure to become a modern classic in the cigar world like its sister blend.
“This year’s batch is limited to 1,500 bundles of 20 cigars for each of the three sizes.”
SIZES AND PRICING:
Churchill 7 x 50 $6.50
Double Robusto 5 x 54 $6.50
Double Toro 6 x 60 $6.75
This is a very rustic looking stick. Quite sloppy. But no big deal when the cigar is not a $21 cigar. The wrapper is oily with a mottled combo of coffee grounds and dark chocolate hues. The cigar is very toothy. But my dear readers, the cigar is heavy in the hand and feels perfect. No hard or soft spots. Nice resistance when I depress it. And I cannot tell how many caps sit upon the top of the cigar. I am going to guess there are two. A very slick application of the caps makes the lines disappear. Lastly, it is a soft box press that feels good to caress.
SMELL THE GLOVE:
Aromas are faint…raisins, chocolate, malt, red pepper, creaminess, floral bits, black licorice, cedar, and barnyard.
The cold draw presents flavors of dark cocoa, cumin, creaminess, floral, black pepper, wheat, barnyard, and cedar.
The draw is wide open so no need for my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool. It is a very handy device when trying to break out of jail. I have nearly gotten through my first bar on the window. “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” I hope to escape in time for the next horrific pandemic. By jail, I mean that Charlotte keeps me in a dog crate when I’m bad.
The first puffs explode in my face like soft boiled eggs. It tastes like the cigar has been aged for years. Now this is what I’m talking about. This inexpensive new take on a classic cigar is wonderful and performs immediately.
The char line is military spec.
Big fat notes of chocolate, espresso, creaminess, malt, black and red peppers, molasses, I think I taste baked apple (Merely my tiny brain playing tricks on me), steak sauce, Cheerios, a thick cream cheese element, and licorice.
This is what a $21 stick should taste like.
Complexity digs its heels in. Transitions begin with both savory and sweet influences. The finish is chocolate raisins and an odd lemon twist to give the blend a kick in the arse.
Upfront is chocolate cream pie. This is luscious.
Hallelujah. The curse of reviewing lousy cigars has been lifted.
Strength is medium/full, but the blend is so smooth that I barely notice the potency.
Well rounded, nuances galore, subtleties flailing, and balanced like the Flying Wallendas.
I tried one only a week after receipt and it was pretty good. But I decided to wait to see what this blend conjures up.
Whoever thought of this deserves three free nights at Caesars Palace in Vegas.
The music is pretty good on Pandora. I’m telling you it is a sign of mysticism and card shuffling.
Fat. Really fat. I’m not talking about Larry B. The cigar oozes character. Larry oozes bodily fluids…not as pleasant as the cigar.
The cigar is a slow roll. The guts of this tobacco sausage are perfectly placed so that there is a beautiful consistent experience.
The blend gets better. Linear is not in this cigar’s lexicon.
Right now, you are scrolling down to see my rating. I know how this works.
I can tell you this long before I am verklempt from this lovely cigar blend…it is a limited edition and if you don’t go to Atlantic Cigar and get a fiver at least, you are no longer in my will. Get this…a bundle of 20 is only $80! A fiver is only $24. This is insane.
Also, please mention that I sent you. Atlantic should know why their sales went up. Thank you.
Flavors whiz by. There is nothing earth shattering about the flavor profile other than it is done by experts who know what they are doing and aren’t trying to shove something down your throat no matter how bad the stick was when it went to market.
This was a brilliant stroke by Atlantic. No shit.
I am bummed they are going to run out.
The first third took over 35 minutes.
Oliva is the largest provider of tobacco in the world. They worked with Atlantic and used some very nicely aged tobacco with a design born of passion for their work. Nice to see.
The cigar is advertised as full strength. Yet it lingers at medium/full. My guess is that the second half will see the strength ramp up and I will swoon and pass out. That’s OK. I am more than willing to become unconscious for a good cause.
The blend is so smooth that it morphs into the whole bearing fruit of its disparate parts.
This is a perfect go-to cigar for your humidor. Where are you going to find a delicious premium cigar for this price point?
I remember a few years ago on Veteran’s Day when there were televised concerts. I remember this one thing like it was yesterday…Bruce Springsteen came out to a huge audience of soldiers and sang the Credence song, “Fortunate Son.” The song is about the rich and entitled kids that were either exempted from service or had a cushy gig because their father had juice. But the young audience didn’t get it. They embarrassed themselves by booing Springsteen when he finished. Bruce looked stunned and marched off the stage in a huff. I felt bad for him.
America is now on Pandora and “A Horse with No Name” is playing. The worst song ever written. I stick cotton in my ears and move on.
Complexity makes a huge leap. The intensity of flavors has gone Bozo Crazy.
I’m liking it. The blend grows and develops new attractions on the main stage.
The savory v. sweet balance is spot on.
As usual, I smoke and review with an empty stomach in the a.m. It may reach an untenable blinding strength, but so far, the cigar is so tantalizing that I barely notice the cigar moving to full status.
The halfway point is upon me in 50 minutes. Feels like time has stood still as I’m enraptured by the blend.
I am uncontrollably smacking my lips to snare every flavor it expounds upon.
I am so happy that I am able to bring this exciting cigar to your attention.
I’ve always thought that the Master Blends III was the best blend Oliva has ever had. The previous blends, that are gone, were incredible.
I’m sitting here with a stupid smile on my puss.
Around 2010, I was in house reviewer for several online stores. One is a very big online store. The owner is an ex-pat of Cuba and young. I used the same term: ‘stupid smile on my puss.’ I got an angry phone call from the owner who told me he can’t print pornographic words on his site. I gave him an American language primer 101 and how puss also means one’s face. He grumbled and didn’t like it, so I changed the phrase. I got a big laugh out of that one.
He wanted me to go through his entire catalog starting alphabetically. The mail arrived and there were at least 20 five packs of 5 Vegas cigars. I can’t begin to describe my disappointment. And of course, he did not allow any time for hibernation before I reviewed them. Imagine trying to come up with positive reviews. It was a nightmare.
The Master Blends III Maduro is cruising. There seems no end to enjoying the improvements puff by puff.
I must get more.
The complexity changes every half inch. I smoked a couple at the end of the day with food and drink in my belly and the cigar did not suffer. That is the description of a fine cigar.
Bill Withers. “Use Me.” I loved everything that man put on vinyl.
I’m going to give it a shot: Spicy black pepper, dark chocolate, espresso, malt, raisins, explicit creaminess, graham crackers, charred wood, a slight hint of citrus, vanilla toffee, and smoked brisket.
Most of these flavors are expectations with a Nic heavy blend. But the aging and passion for the blending makes this cigar a must have.
Strength is full tilt. My eyes are glazing over. I guess I will always be a wuss when it comes to nicotine.
The sophisticated smoker will ask themselves where has this cigar been all my life?
The cigar is a solid commitment of two hours. Its character makes this easy as pie.
Not once does this blend back up on itself. It is in a constant forward march of intensity and balance.
The finish is chock full of flavor. Lots of lip smacking.
The sweet spot arrives. It is nearly overwhelming.
This cigar is the best $6.50 stick ever. And if you snag a 20-count bundle, it is only $4.
The nicotine levels off and my sight returns.
I have run out of words to describe this blend.
Go to Atlantic Cigar and mention me and grab some before they are gone.
I am signing off so I can enjoy the end of the cigar experience without distraction.
And now for something completely different:
Back in time around 1979-1985 was me as a recording studio owner.
I lived in North Long Beach…a very diverse neighborhood.
But a very clean and neat area because folks took care of their houses and yards.
A very friendly neighborhood.
A Philippino family lived next door with about 15 uncles and aunts living with them. One elderly uncle started to mow my lawn without ever asking. All good. I paid him to do so every week.
I had a gopher problem about 6 months after I bought the house. I tried everything we all have done. Nothing worked. My lawn began to sink.
I turned into Bill Murray. I used the hose constantly. The gophers laughed at me.
I tried poisoning them. They put the poison on Ritz Crackers.
I’d be out front, and it was like Whack-A-Mole. These little assholes would come up from their holes and stare at me. I’d run over with a shovel but to no avail. Gophers are faster than man.
I hired an exterminator who guaranteed he would make them disappear.
He failed. He even used gas.
One day, I was doing the hose thing when I noticed a few feet away from me that a very wet and soaked gopher popped his head up coughing for air.
I took my KA-BAR knife and started slashing away like Anthony Perkins in “Pyscho.” I was screaming like a banshee which had folks coming out of their houses to see what was going on.
I kept missing the little fucker…because I didn’t have the nerve to look when I brought the knife down. Finally, as it seemed that the clock had run out, I stared at him in the eyes, I yelled like a Japanese soldier in WWII, and stuck the huge knife through his chest. I had skewered him like a shish kabob.
He was dead. It was hell getting my knife back and I began to feel queasy.
It was a beautiful, sunny SoCal day.
I walked back into my house and sat on my couch staring at the wall. I sat there a long time.
I had sent a message of death to the other gophers.
Because he was soaking wet, I didn’t want him to fall apart on me when I tried to dispose of the body. So, I figured I’d wait til the next day when he was a bit crispier.
Because I worked late at my recording studio, I usually slept in til 9am or so.
I start my day and I hear the gas lawn mower plugging away. I looked out to see my neighbor doing his thing. I didn’t see the gopher, so I assumed he got rid of it for me. I was going to tip him when I got back from work for lunch.
As I got into my Bentley, I waved and nodded to my neighbor who responded with a huge toothless smile.
I came home about 4 hours later, and I noticed something on the lawn.
It was gopher burger. The neighbor just ran over and over this little dead critter until the lawn was one big feeding ground for wild dingoes.
That must have scared the shit out of the millions of gophers that made my lawn their home because I never had a single problem after that.
Part 2 House in Long Beach:
The two thugs in charge of all things illegal in my part of the neighborhood made themselves known to me not long after I moved there.
Instead of being afraid of these guys, I held them to my breast.
I made it clear that I was a musician, and I had a studio. Immediately, I was cool to these guys…who must have been in their late 20’s.
But the thing that really swayed them to my side was the opening of the studio. After I turned the place into a state-of-the-art business, we had a big party. I invited all the important people in town. I had city council folks, fellow musicians, writers from the Long Beach newspaper, etc. It was an official happening.
I invited the thugs to the party. They were blown away that I offered an invitation.
The party was a huge success. Yes, I hired two magicians to walk amongst the crowd. There was free booze. And music was blasting away on our studio speakers.
Several hundred people attended.
At the party, the boys would occasionally approach me and tell me they were having the time of their lives…all big Cheshire Cat smiles. They got to meet some well-known musicians and I introduced the guys as dear friends.
After that, they mandated that my house be left alone, and no minor thugs could touch me. They became my protectors.
I continued to invite them to every release party.
One day, they show up at my door with a couple of new Fender Strats with the tags still on them. They wanted to sell them to me.
I knew they were stolen but I knew if I didn’t buy them, my protection might be diminished. So, I got the guitars for cents on the dollar.
Before long, it became a regular thing. I kept buying and storing the gear at the studio.
Then one day they asked if there was any musical equipment I needed?
I told them it would be nice to have this or that. And the boys came through.
I had an epiphany.
I realized that not only was I receiving stolen property, but now I was placing orders for items to steal. I saw myself at Terminal Island Prison for 10 years.
I explained to the boys that I could no longer place orders. They took it well and were smart enough to understand the dilemma.
Every time I saw them, they offered up weed or coke or God knows what. I told them I didn’t do drugs. I told them I was a recovering junkie.
Each time I had to leave town for a couple weeks to babysit Butch Patrick and my Eddie and the Monsters project, they had one of their own stand guard over my house so no one broke in.
I had become a crime lord.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS