Diesel Fool’s Errand Stubborn Fool | Cigar Reviews by the Katman

Wrapper: Connecticut Broadleaf
Binder: Honduran (Jamastran Valley)
Filler: Honduran, Nicaraguan
Size: 5 x 58 Perfecto
Strength: Full
Price: $9.99

BACKGROUND:
Courtesy of Halfwheel.com (3-23-2022):
“Stubborn Fool is the first of the new Fool’s Errand trilogy from Diesel. It’s a unique 5 x 58 perfecto size that uses a Connecticut broadleaf wrapper over a binder from the Jamastran Valley in Honduras and fillers from Honduras and Nicaragua. Like other Diesel cigars, it is being produced at Tabacalera AJ Fernandez Cigars de Nicaragua S.A. in Estelí, Nicaragua.

“The MSRP is set at $9.99 per cigar and it will come in boxes of 10 cigars. It is described as a limited edition, though production numbers have not been disclosed.

“Each box will come with a tarot card inside that includes a QR code. If you scan the QR code you’ll be able to play an interactive game that the company says will have the cigar smoker “complete the Stubborn Fool’s errand by solving a series of riddles.” There are prizes that will be awarded randomly to 10 people.

“AJ Fernandez and I recently completed the Elixir trilogy and in that time, Diesel fans grew accustomed to our cool approach to limited edition cigars,” said Justin Andrews, business development manager for STG’s North American Branded and Rest of World divisions. “We’re keeping the tradition alive with ‘Fool’s Errand.’ It’s our next three-year series, and we’ll launch it annually to kick off spring. With Fool’s Errand, we’re taking it to the next level by adding an interactive game to the mix. As far as the blends for Fool’s Errand go, we definitely won’t disappoint.”

“The company says the plan is to launch a new release each spring, meaning the trilogy should conclude in 2024.”

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
It smells good…lots of bakery spices, chocolate and randy peppery notes.
Tastes as good as it smells. Light up is accompanied by notes of chocolate, cloves, creaminess, lemon rind, hot fresh bread, cedar, and malt.

The airway has the proper resistance. My PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool slinks off to sulk and downs half a bottle of Jack.

The cigar is solid and feels good in the hand. Construction seems in good form.
Black pepper oozes from its own lagoon.

Strength hits a potent medium; although, the spiciness of the black pepper usually fools (no pun intended) the palate into thinking the blend is stronger than it is.

I am so happy to review a stick that isn’t a Nic puro or a semi hard Mexican wrapper and Nic guts. Totally different profile going on with this foolish Diesel.

Complexity wastes zero time in flashing its presence.
Transitions begin at a slow pace. The finish is my mouth on fire from strong black pepper.

I’ve reviewed a lot of Diesels in the past…15 since 2013. Most were just OK, but a few were good…which was totally surprising.

As the heat of the initial burn begins to fade, the flavor points begin to creep in under the door of the black pepper blanketed wave of spiciness.

Celery salt. That flavor is a first time for me. But a sip of water rushing past the dancing uvulas picks it up immediately. I like it. So does Mikey.

Unless a giant sink hole awaits me, the blend is heading in the right direction.
The burn is spectacularly poifect.

The Diesel Fool’s Errand Stubborn Fool is behaving like a grown-up cigar.

The spiciness begins to wane. Flavors use the opportunity to shoot from the besieged cap to my palate like the Mongols charging at the Battle of Zhongdu. Refreshments were served during half time.

With 2” burned, I find this cigar alluring and yet coquettish. The over all complexity is singing an aria from In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
In my high school rock band, we played that tune at all the dances. Always made the young crowd crazy. Girls would look at the skinny bassist and think…”No. He is too skinny…maybe second base, but that’s it.”

Red pepper joins up with the army of the devil.
Strength is exceeding medium/full.

I’ve had my sticks a couple months. Tried a couple on the way to this review and I was let down like constantly watching Harry and Meghan on TV telling us they want privacy.

The cigar has crossed the line. I find this baby to be a great smoke. It improves with every puff.

AJ can make great blends, or he can make yawn inducing catalog cigars. Diesel usually falls into the latter category.
The stick is perfectly filled…nice and even without soft or hard spots. And slow as she goes.

My two-year-old grandson can say Poppy…my grandfather substitute name. But he can’t say Daddy or call my wife Oma. She is a kraut so there was no other choice.

Nicotine enters and mires my brain in mud.
Strength slams it home by entering the Xander Zone. Full strength extraordinaire.

I like almond butter. I get this big jar made by Kirkland that I buy from Amazon. My latest acquisition had something decomposing in it. I didn’t dig it up, but I took a photo and sent it to Amazon. The Kirkland people responded with apologies…and hoped I would not stop purchasing their product. I stopped using their product. And the thing is, I ate a couple ounces before I found the remains of something from the Mesozoic Era.

The burn deserves a gold medal.

This cigar ain’t for newbies. Only the sophisticated and the crazy need apply.
Transitions are running amok. I only ran amok during my years in college.
A nice balance of sweet v. savory has taken over.

Even though this is this is one of the strongest cigars I’ve smoked in a while, the subtleties and nuances break through the dizzying strength and have a seat at the table.

As the P.R. describes, there are two more Stubborn Fool blends yet to be released. I look forward to this. It’s AJ gets serious time.

And here they are: spicier than burlesque stripper Jenny Lee. Who doesn’t love pasties? I will try again…brown sugar, beef jerky, graham cracker, creaminess, malt, espresso, cedar, and milk chocolate.

The finish is the star of the exhibit. The flavors are uncontrolled and blatant as they drip down my throat.

The burn line continues without distraction. And moves slowly like smoking a glacier.

My manhood and giblets are being tested due to the nuclear strength.

I’ve got a bunch of expensive cigars that aren’t the bombshell that the Diesel Fool’s Errand Stubborn Fool is.

And for a measly $10, this can be an always great go-to cigar in my humidor.
But next time I smoke one, I’m hooking up a saline I.V.
Intensity is at 10.

Flavors begin to huddle as the overall complexity takes it home.
The spiciness is black pepper, red pepper, and jalapeno pepper.
I suck on a fire extinguisher for a couple seconds and the fire goes out.

The pre-requisite for loving this cigar is the acceptance of smoking a firecracker.

Newbies will volunteer for a quick bullet to the brain pan. The rest of us will find the strength bringing out our ability to sing show tunes.

I change from water to an Atkins protein shake. It calms the nicotine.

Back in the day, I saw legendary guitarist Dick Dale play. My buddy planned an interview with him for his radio show. I sat in. A very strange guy. He managed to work in how great he is every other sentence.

As I finish the cigar, I have thoughts of finding Saddam Hussein in his spider hole.

If you have the cajones to smoke a firebomb to the face, you will love this blend.

They can be purchased at my sponsor Small Batch Cigar. 10% off with promo code katman.
Loved the pain and the great blending equally.

RATING: 94

And now for something completely different…

I dredged the following anecdote out of retirement. It was the very first story I ever added to the end of a cigar review and remains one of my favorites; about the great Eddie Munster Debacle. It occurred on my first web host, Open Salon…about 12 years ago. I switched to WordPress because the platform I used initially just didn’t possess the technical elements I needed.

And mainly, I just love this story…you just can’t make this shit up…

The Eddie (Butch Patrick) Munster Chronicles…Continued:
The Waldorf Astoria charged $18 ($63.52 in 2022 dollars) for a burger and fries in 1983.
Butch and I ordered one burger extravaganza each. The voice on the other end of the phone said it would take approximately 45 minutes.

OK. This would surely be a feast. My God. We were in the famous Waldorf Astoria. I expected a spread that would satisfy Louis XIIII.
Butch headed straight for the courtesy fridge with the ridiculously expensive treats. Items that I was not about to pop for, regardless of how much pot we had smoked.

An hour later, no food. I called room service, and I was assured that it was on its way.
Uh-huh.

I had to pry Butch off of the fridge. I had a brilliant idea. A little toot of Colombian marching powder would assuage our appetites until the Waldorf could manage to deliver the sumptuous dinner to the peasants. I went over to my suitcase where the drugs were stored for the trip. I removed a small brown colored gram bottle containing the white death.

Payola was still in force in the radio industry. Pay to play. Either money or drugs or go fish. It was out in the open. No one even appeared to hide it. They all had their hands out. I spent thousands in cash payments. I spent thousands in handing out the very hip 80’s drug of cocaine. Everyone in the music industry was a heartbeat away from overdosing on the stuff.

The dilemma: Where do we find a smooth surface to lay the drug out in neat little lines? Butch looked at the wall over the massive dresser. He stood up, walked over to the wall, and removed an enormous mirror. This piece of art was at least 36” x 60” with an ornate frame making it even bigger.

Slipping and sliding, he waddled over to the bed and laid it down. It took up the entire double bed. Yes, Rocshire Records actually popped for double rooms.

I placed the bottle on the mirror and got up to get my wallet. Within the wallet would be our means to snort the white death; a $20 bill to be rolled into the shape of a tube. When I came back to the bed, Butch had already dumped the entire contents of the bottle on to the surface of the mirror.

A gram, back then, was worth about $100. An entire gram was too much for a little appetite suppressant. This was essentially a heart attack dose.

I had a good friend that was an ex-con. He made his living dealing. And he got stuff that was as close to pure as anything I had ever tried. Rick liked me a lot because I wasn’t one of the many coke whores that surrounded his business. I turned down his constant offers for toots, and he just couldn’t fathom it. The rest of his clientele never turned down anything. He found in me a friend not dependent on his drug supply.

This was a man, who once you were friends, was loyal to a fault. He had a big heart. And his prison stint had to do with illegal gambling. He was not a violent man. But he was a huge man. I wouldn’t want him mad at me or to confront me. He went on to become part of my Eddie Munster creative team. He was very inventive. Always had good ideas. I lost contact with him in the late 1980’s. I hope he is well. I think about him now and then and worry.

Back to the Waldorf….
I went first, doing a very small amount of coke…. maybe a quarter of an inch. Instant wake up and “What hunger?” As Butch leaned over the mirror, there was a knock at the door. Both of our heads jerked up and stared at the portal and then back at each other.
The food!

Obviously, we could not allow the waiter to see the mirror on the bed and the illegal substance atop. I yelled to Butch, “Get rid of it!”

Butch grabbed the mirror, and just like a scene from the Three Stooges, ran towards the open door to the adjacent suite and slammed into it. The dolt was holding the mirror sideways.

The mirror held sideways, in his hands, overlapped the door by at least two feet on either side.

Rebounding from the jolt, he turned the mirror the other way. But the oversized frame would not allow him through. And he couldn’t turn it on its side, or all the coke would hit the floor.

The knock at the door was louder and sounded impatient. I yelled that I’d be right there. “Hang on!”

Butch threw the mirror back on the bed. Yes! That’s right. Scoop it up and shove it back in the bottle.

Not Butch.
He grabbed the rolled-up bill and proceeded to inhale the entire gram of coke up his nose.
My jaw dropped.

The paramedics would be called. Survival was not an option.

As I waited for him to drop in a heap, twitching and convulsing, the door knock came, for what seemed, one last time. I pulled the comforter over the mirror and opened the door. The food was wheeled in by a disgruntled employee.

Word was out that a pair of Hollywood types wearing T-Shirts was in the prestigious hotel. And no one liked it one bit.

I signed for the food and the waiter left.
Butch’s eyes had no irises left, only pupils. He couldn’t blink. “Still hungry, Butch?”
There was no reply. He had lock jaw.

I was hungry and he did not seem near death…for the moment.

They forgot to deliver one of the burger and fries orders. I shook my head. We waited an hour and a quarter, and they fucked up the order.

I called downstairs and bitched at them. Profuse apologies spewed forth. Yeah, sure. The Californians didn’t get their complete meal of burgers and fries. I’m sure the kitchen was in an uproar.

I was assured that the balance of our meal was on its way.

I cut the burger in half with a butter knife, nearly destroying it.
Expecting a beautiful piece of meat piled high with condiments and veggies, I was extremely disappointed at the fare. It looked like a fast-food burger.

It felt like we were at some greasy diner in Arkansas. The plate was pitiful. But food was food.

Amazingly, Butch wanted to eat. The natural appetite suppressant of the drug did not seem to cause Butch’s desire to feed his face wane. So, we shared a crappy burger.

An hour later, the second burger and fries arrived. A big smile on the waiter’s face with an outstretched hand urging a big tip…as he proclaimed that feeling badly, the kitchen threw in some extra fries! I shoved him out the door without a tip.

Life at the Waldorf was not cherries and cream.

The Don Imus show was waiting for us in the morning.

Butch giving what ho with two lemon crème pies to the puss of his beloved manager…me. Naturally, I have a lighter and cigar in my hands.

Butch wearing an “Eddie and the Monsters” tee shirt I had made for the project in 1983. Next to him is Rob Schneider:



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