Wrapper: Nicaraguan Corojo ‘99
Binder: Nicaraguan Criollo ‘98
Filler: Nicaraguan Corojo ’99, Nicaraguan Criollo ‘98
Size: 5.625 x 52 Toro Especial
My cigars have been percolating naked for 2-1/2 months.
I should have done more research of this cigar blend. Searching the interwebs, I found only one written review of the 2019 version. One. Only 400 boxes were released and that might have been the reason. This new version? Not a single review. Surely (Go ahead…say Leslie Nielsen’s line), that these new cigars have been out for a just a few months and that may have reviewers waiting. But then again, there is always a group of reviewers that wait a week after receipt and review a green cigar. I am girding my loins for disappointment.
From Halfwheel.com (5-24-2022):
“The cigar, which debuted in November 2019, returns in a 5 5/8 x 52 vitola that the company refers to as a Toro Especial. The blend remains a Nicaraguan puro and appears to maintain the same components, however, in an Instagram post, the company said that it wanted to offer a difference from the original, so the viso and seco within the blend were reworked to lean more towards the Jalapa-grown tobacco, which the company said offers undertones of more sweetness to play with the rich, dense power of the ligero from Estelí.
“For this release, 1,500 boxes of 25 cigars are being produced.”
SMELL THE GLOVE:
Aromas are faint but distinct: floral, milk chocolate, caramel, malt, big nuts, cinnamon, black pepper, cedar, and barnyard. Pretty much your typical Nic puro nasal stains.
The cold draw presents notes of graham cracker, malt, pretzel, caramel, creaminess, espresso, milk chocolate, cedar, and barnyard.
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
It takes a minute or two, but the cigar blend begins to deliver. Very spicy black pepper that I hope restrains itself once it gets that it is the boss of the cigar out of its system.
Sweet caramel is up next, followed by lots of creaminess, buttery Ritz Crackers, café au lait, hunka hunka burning malt, and a nice even keeled earthy tobacco flavor.
The strength starts at a very solid medium.
I don’t want to jinx it, but the char line is dead nuts perfect.
Nicely balanced, which totally surprises me. The cigar really hasn’t had what I consider proper time in my humidor to review. But as this is a limited edition, I didn’t want to wait till they are all gone. If I review a cigar, fawn over it, and you can’t buy them…I get hate mail.
I am so relieved that this cigar was properly rolled with plenty of innards, so it doesn’t become a 25-minute Toro. My last two reviews were barely filled, and they burned like a wood match.
The cigar sends me a psychic message that it is gearing up to show some real complexity. I use the Vulcan nerve pinch and the cigar is knocked unconscious. The cigar awakens and sends another message apologizing. I give it the nerve pinch once more.
With barely ¾” smoked, the blend moves into sophisticated mode. I can taste flavors spreading out across my tongue, my cheeks, and my ovaries.
The Eagles Descent starts hitting complex notes like a whack-a-mole. The black pepper recedes appropriately and allows for subtle nuances to send nervous signals to my hard as a walnut brain.
The graham cracker element shines like a cop’s flashlight after a traffic stop. I get stopped once a week because I flash my headlights constantly at oncoming traffic hoping gangbangers will turn around and chase me. I have a hidden Barret .50 cal hidden underneath my car’s roof. I show the cop my CCW license, and I’m allowed to carry on. Love Wisconsin.
The cigar moves into the effervescent creamy status. The blend could use some of that milk chocolate I done smelled on the wrapper. But as to apologize once again, the cigar has a very nice savory v. sweet balance.
There are no booming flavors. Subtlety is the name of the game. Transitions begin to pick up the pace. I put on some KPOP music and lip sync. The finish is only noticeable after a sip of water.
Wow. I am so happy that I chose to review this cigar. After the last two dud reviews, I was having serial panic attacks moving into this review.
A well built snausage. The char line is impeccable…no different than when I wear my $72 Under Armour briefs. I don’t wear them in public as they are so tight that my package makes me look like a Ken Doll. No one warns you that once you become elderly that there is significant shrinkage. I slap a piece of boloney in my nether region so the cat can find it when I need to pee.
There are so many new cigars in the over $16 range now. It is just amazing that this blend is at the user friendly $12.
Did you know that the average time spent on any reviewer’s site only lasts between 40-90 seconds? That is a fact. Which means that smokers scroll down immediately to the cigar’s rating and move on.
Nice slow burn. Most probably close to becoming a 90-minute experience. Lots of bang for your bucks.
Complexity intensifies. Transitions sway to the rhythm of voo doo music. The finish is light and entertaining.
There are no significant changes to the flavor profile. This is just fine with me. The cigar, as a whole, is magnificent.
Strength reaches medium/full with 2” burned. Nicotine lands in a deserted farmer’s field. Crop circles are forming in my brain.
I’m guessing what was missing in the 2019 version has been tweaked to perfection.
While there was no mention of extended aging, this is exactly how the cigar performs.
Taking the recommended two minutes between puffs is now obligatory in order to stay conscious.
Strength is quickly attaining full tilt.
I smoked one of these babies a month in and it was not ready, Freddie.
Despite the strength being at Chernobyl level, the blend remains smooth as edible panties.
I’m tripping so I play some Grateful Dead.
Once again, flavors remain the same, but intensified.
Complexity is through the roof.
I remember once that just before Curved Air was on stage ready to begin when a roadie ran over to me with a package in his hands. Big smile on his puss as he told me that he shat his pants and had to buy new underwear. I’m guessing he is now a member of Parliament.
Nicotine is either calming down or I am experiencing a brain aneurysm.
Warped Cigar Co is one of those many boutique brands that almost never disappoints.
While the rest of the country is either in flames or flooded, Wisconsin has had a mild winter and a mild summer. Go figure.
Gov’t Mule is playing. The band is a natural extension of The Allman Brothers Band.
Charlotte is still asleep, so I run in and have sex with her twice. And now I’m back in only 5 minutes.
The balance is nicely balanced. What? The strength mellows out some.
And the unique smoothness returns with a basket of blueberry muffins.
A big leap occurs at 2” to go. The excitable sweet spot is upon me.
As these cigars are still available, you just need to spend your wife’s weekly food allowance on snagging some.
Nicotine is the only way I get high anymore…that and the massive doses of Fentanyl I take every day. I buy it on the street, so I know it’s clean.
I’ve gone through two bottles of water. Each sip causes an explosion of flavors.
This is the most fun I’ve had since I figured out how to properly wear Depends.
My encounter with the Eagles Descent has been a very enjoyable 90 minutes.
And now for something completely different:
We played a lot of universities in the mid-70’s in England. There were only a few arenas. Universities had huge auditoriums that could seat thousands of people…with no shortage of SRO. But there was always a large event like May Ball at Oxford University or the Cambridge Corn Exchange, and large private theaters.
At one of these, the student body president, a young lady of 22, gave us her personal office to use as a dressing room.
All the food accoutrement was there, but no bottle opener. The prez put her head in and asked if we needed anything. We asked for a bottle opener, and she grabbed her personal opener from her desk and presented it to us. She wagged her finger and said she must get it back.
After the gig, we were chilling out. Exhausted, sweating, and flopping on the furniture.
The roadies stood guard at the door, and one roadie said that there was a persistent groupie who wanted to meet the band. Darryl gave him the OK. I looked at him with a WTF attitude. I didn’t realize he had a devious plan.
In walked this pretty chick wearing a paisley muu muu and earth shoes. And not looking particularly clean.
She sat between Darryl and I on a couch. Darryl leaned into me and whispered that he could have her humping a small orange juice bottle within 5 minutes. I laughed and shook my head. I’d seen a lot on the road, but this was fucking nuts. I bet him a fiver he would not, and could not, accomplish this.
Sonja was stretched out on a couch across from us watching everything. Sonja was not shy about her bisexuality. After the original Curved Air broke up in 1972, she became a Playboy bunny at the London Playboy club. While I was in the band, her bunny friends (with the same sexual leanings) would show up at the London gigs and she would always leave arm in arm with several of them, looking at us over her shoulder with a shit eatin’ grin on her face. The next day, she tortured us with details.
Darryl started laying BS on Ms. Earth Mama telling her that people should be free to do what they want, etc. She just nodded.
Darryl grabbed the empty orange juice bottle and played submarine pushing the bottle up her arms and thighs. Then in a quick motion, he lifted her muu muu and put the bottle next to bare skin.
She made insincere comments asking him to stop, meanwhile; her moaning was loud and passionate.
Sonja’s eyes lit up. She was now having a good time.
And with a swoosh, the bottle was inserted into her quedgie. She wore no panties…unless they were standing in a corner outside the dressing room.
Francis Monkman, who was very prim and proper, did no drugs, did not drink, and meditated; jumped over to us and grabbed the last 1/8” end of the bottle so as not to touch much of anything and proceeded to jack hammer the empty bottle.
Apparently, neither Darryl nor Francis was doing a good enough job, so the chick grabbed the bottle away. She leaped off the couch and laid on her back in the middle of the floor. Her dress was up around her waist. Her legs were high above her head in the V position.
She began using the bottle how she wanted it used.
We all just sat and watched. Rock n roll was good.
The door of the office was flung open, and the student body school president came back to get her bottle opener. We told her it was on her desk.
Her eyes were like saucers when she saw the chick on the floor and what she was doing.
Rather than run screaming out of the office, she crossed the room to her desk. She gingerly stepped over the girl with one giant step; got her bottle opener, stepped back over the girl and left in a huff. Could have been a minute and a huff.
It all came to an end in minutes and the roadies escorted her back to the hotel where she willingly gave it up as they all took turns making her a happy woman. Although it was reported to us in the morning that she kept asking if the band was going to join in?
We wanted nothing to do with her. I was 24 and enjoying big time rock n roll but this was just a disgusting oddity. Luckily, there were other opportunities for debauchery on the road that were a lot more pleasant.
A year later, same university…and there she was again. We told the roadies that once was enough. Once again, she returned to the hotel with the roadies.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS