Wrapper: Nicaraguan Habano Sun Grown
Binder: Nicaraguan Criollo ’98
Filler: Nicaraguan (Condega and Esteli)
Size: 5.5 x 60 Gordito
Price: $12.60 (Can be bought for $11.40 online)
These cigars have gotten 2 months of naked humidor time.
The cigars are disappearing quickly, so I wanted to review them before they were no longer available. Clearly, AJ didn’t care about pre-release P.R. as there is zero info on whether this is a limited edition or regular production. AJ’s website makes no mention but says it welcomes this blend to the family so it may mean that this is a regular production cigar. Spitballin’ here.
According to Cigar Aficionado (7-8-2022):
“In what could be considered an estate cigar of sorts, A.J. Fernandez will soon be releasing the New World Dorado, a cigar line that consists primarily of tobacco from his Dorado farm in Estelí, Nicaragua. According to Fernandez, the soil on that farm has a golden hue, which is unusual as most of the dirt in Estelí tends to be an ashen shade of dark gray. This golden appearance inspired the name. (The word dorado means “golden” in Spanish.)
“The Dorado farm is fairly new for Fernandez, only five years old, and the New World Dorado brand represents tobacco from its first harvest.
“Dorado’s all-Nicaraguan blend is made up of a sun-grown, Cuban-seed wrapper and Criollo ’98 binder, both from the Dorado farm. And while there’s some tobacco in the filler from two other tobacco fields—one in Condega and a different farm in Estelí—the rest of the filler blend also incorporates leaf from the Dorado plantation.
“All the sizes are box pressed and come in 10-count boxes. Made in Nicaragua at Fernandez’s San Lotano factory, New World Dorado is offered in four sizes: Robusto, at 5 1/2 inches by 52 ring gauge; Toro, measuring 6 by 54; Gordito at 5 1/2 by 60, and a double-tapered, 6-by-56 Figurado. They have suggested retail prices ranging from $11 to $12.80.”
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
A nice hefty cigar with some decent weight. Not under filled. Good start.
The draw, considering that the cigar is seriously dense, is on the money. My poor little PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool tugs at the hem of my skirt looking up at me with sad eyes. I had it a Kleenex and it limps back to its hiding place.
Smoke fills the room and my cat’s eyes, so he boogies the hell out of here. Ever been in a house fire? Yeah, twice. A bummer. Especially when you and your family are inside when it starts…more later.
Graham cracker, heavy black pepper, creaminess, generic sweetness, malt, café au lait, and cinnamon.
Immediately, the balance is in queue. When I was 15, I remember being at the London Palladium seeing a show. During the intermission, a woman stood at the foot of the stage selling goodies. The line was more of a mosh pit. I walked up to her, and she bellowed, “Queue up!” I had no idea what that meant. She said it again even louder when I didn’t move. I told her I had no idea what she was talking about. She said, “Great…a Yank. Get in the line!!” So, I did.
There is a sweet veggie flavor…maybe like pumpkin pie or sweet potato pie. Yeah, I know…nutsy coo coo.
The black pepper backs off and I determine that the strength is a potent medium. The cinnamon is having a field day with my aging palate. Hot and spicy.
The burn is on track. Ever wish you could tie your wife to a railroad track and…wait…I’ve said this in a previous review. I’m sure it’s not Freudian.
The first sweet spot appears after 1-1/4” burned. The warm blankey coats my throat and tongue with disparate notes of imagined flavors such that I don’t try to matriculate, but rather, my brain softens appropriately and allows the feeling to go undissected. Just enjoyment.
I’m an AJ fan. I like the New World line, but this baby is something else. It has more intriguing depth and character. A serious cigar. Savory v. Sweet is poifect.
Strength hits medium/full quickly.
There is no mention of the tobacco aging anywhere. Yet, after only two months, the cigar shines its Batman light into the dark skies of Gotham.
Sweet spot #2 hits before the first one is finished with supper. Overlapping sweet spots…that’s a new one.
The depth, nuances, and subtleties are going bat shit crazy. The cigar’s character is expanding like a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon. Fat and sassy.
I smoked a couple a month in, and I wasted two good cigars.
A few more months of humidor time would be fitting and rewarding.
The flavor wheel aspect dissolves. The blend stretches its arms and legs becoming a great cigar that doesn’t require a smoker to have a palate that can taste ferret droppings and peppermint tampons. The whole envelops the castaways and takes off.
The billboard sign band comes off with ease leaving the wrapper in place.
This will be a 90-minute smoke…it slows and slows until time stops.
Notes of very complex innuendos slap the shit out of my palate. The lip-smacking drill begins as I try to capture every bit of its finish.
I could never do a video review. I’d look like a complete ass. I did a video interview a year ago with no sleep for nearly 3 months due to a health issue. I came off as a befuddled old man as I thought it would be a 30-minute ordeal. Instead, it was nearly 2-1/2 hours, and I looked like death warmed over.
And doing a podcast would like being William Wallaced. I just don’t have the patience to listen to two hours of smokers talking. Maybe because I’m a grumpy old man. Listening to Millennials ramble on is painful. Just as bad as reading a really old man’s cigar review.
The New World Dorado is an amazing cigar. Hard to believe that AJ’s Dorado farm is only 5 years old. He did something right.
Sure, it’s a Nic puro but it stands apart from the regular details you expect. There is no heavy chocolate or coffee presence. Not particularly nutty. The savory is meaty like a wild game sausage. The cinnamon and creaminess just kick the hell out of the flavor.
I always have burn issues with box pressed sticks. Not today. Perfect construction and hence, a lovely intact burn.
Time begins to move at a breakneck pace. A good cigar will do that to you.
Sweet spot #3. Holy shit. The blend is now a professional chef on steroids. Transitions fly by like the Concorde taking off…without crashing. The finish is all consuming.
If another sweet spot is waiting, I will plotz like an old woman carrying too many challahs on her head to market.
I met Stevie Wonder once. He didn’t recognize me.
I bet, with more humidor time, the first half will be monumental. Which is exactly where the second half resides.
I have no words that make sense for what I am experiencing now. Ain’t no New World blend that can touch the Dorado.
I need more.
The only sponsor that carries this cigar in all 4 sizes is Atlantic Cigar. My other sponsors are sold out.
I truly hope this will become a regular production cigar.
Strength is now full tilt. Vision is fading. Involuntary breathing seems to disappear.
Clearly, this might not be a cigar for newbies. Old hands at this, this is your cigar.
I read on some online store websites that the strength is medium. Obviously, they wrote this before smoking one.
Flavor points become subservient to the huge impact of the tobacco. Once again, best New World of the line.
Of course, I need to figure out how I’m going to get through the last 2-1/2” without swooning or fainting. But as written in the official Cigar Reviewer’s Mandates, I’m not allowed to wuss out and must finish the cigar regardless of the possibilities of a coma.
The current sweet spot is canonized.
And I’ve got diamonds on the soles of my shoes. I know this because I am laying on the floor trying to stay conscious.
The incredible flavor outweighs the health issues. I’m Roald Amundsen discovering the South Pole. AJ must have slipped some blotter into the cigar.
I drink an Atkins shake to get something into my belly. The dystopian effect on my brain lessens. I can see the laptop screen again.
Naturally, I now taste chocolate.
This is one of the best cigars I’ve tasted in 2022.
While you were wasting time reading my testimonial, I snagged five singles from Atlantic Cigar. If you’re not a member of the Atlantic Cigar VIP Club, you should join up. The price drops considerably.
I grab my bong and place the husk of the cigar in the bowl.
If you don’t already have these cigars in your humidor, now is the time to grab some.
And now for something completely different:
We were living just outside London in Edgeware. We had a modern apartment. Prior to this, I lived in one of those several hundred-year-old buildings. Winter required space heaters in every room.
I was taking a bubble bath. My girlfriend was preparing dinner. She was prepping the hot oil for making some chips. She left and came into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet to kibitz.
And then I noticed a fast-moving stream of black smoke racing across the ceiling outside the bathroom. I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. There was a circular column of fire from the pot of oil all the way up the ceiling.
I grabbed the pot’s lid and sloppily placed it on the pot stopping the fire. Unfortunately, the entire ceiling was on fire.
I ran into the bedroom and called the operator. There was no emergency number in London yet, so I spoke to a woman who kept responding with “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
I started yelling at her to get the fire department out here.
I got my girlfriend and her little girl out of the apartment. You couldn’t breathe inside.
Meanwhile, I was stark naked. I dropped to the floor and found a pair of pants. I speedily put them on and make a beeline for the outdoors.
Then I hear the fire fighters arriving. At the time, the siren was merely a soft “Ding, ding, ding.” It was almost comical.
A bunch of them entered the apartment and put out the fire.
I was standing outside coughing up a lung. One firefighter asked if I’m OK. I couldn’t talk. He slapped me on the back and said, “Alright my good chap.” And runs away. I could have used some oxygen but never got it.
They did show some impressions of seeing me as a mini hero for getting the lid back on top of the fiery pot with oil. Never got a plaque or citation.
The second fire was at a rental home in San Pedro. We had just moved in that day. We were busy with moving boxes into the home.
A plumber was there who moved the hot water heater to an outside enclosure. What the schmuck didn’t realize was that the use of his torch had set fire to the inside of the walls.
I heard a car honking like crazy.
I went outside and the driver pointed at our roof. It was totally in flames.
I grabbed the woman and her kid. Grabbed my basses and stood outside with the new neighbors. The fire department was there in minutes.
Fire fighters were climbing the roof with axes and one of them actually fell through the roof. He ran out the front door moments later.
The fire chief stood next to me with his arm around my shoulders.
When the fire was put out, he guided me into the house. Everything was destroyed. The entire back half of the house’s roof was gone.
It took a month to rebuild it.
I sued the plumber. Unfortunately, I got Judge Roy Bean. He took one look at my giant afro and sniffed.
I had the fire department reports that the plumber was to blame. The judge wouldn’t even look at them.
He found in the plumber’s behalf. I got an evil smile from the asshole as he walked past me in the courtroom.
Fires are a scary thing. Seeing how fast a fire expands was mind blowing. We were very lucky in both situations. No one was hurt.
And my basses were fine.
Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS