Gran Habano 20th Anniversario | Cigar Reviews by the Katman

Wrapper: Nicaraguan Corojo Shade Grown (Aged 4 Years)
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan, Colombian, Peruvian
Size: 5 x 52 Robusto
Strength: Full
Price: $14.00

My cigars have rested naked for 4 months.
The cigars have been aged an additional 2 years after rolling.

The cigar feels very light in the hand. I clip the cap using an autopsy knife and discover that the draw is as wide open as the first divorcee I dated who had 4 kids. There was definitely an echo down there. No need for my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool today.

The cigar delivers notes of freshly baked bread, creaminess, caramel, cedar, heavy on the malt, a touch of black pepper, milk chocolate, your cabinet of baking spices, a slight touch of citrus, and very nutty.

This baby is pouring smoke from its tiny mouth like two dragsters burning rubber on the green light. Huge billowy clouds surround me till I disappear from sight.

Strength is medium.

The nuttiness becomes smoked almonds. The lemon tartness is demanding attention…I give it a Tootsie Pop and it shuts up.

I have my music playlist tasked to play 70’s classic rock. I might start twitching during this, so I hold other choices as options.

The cigar is burning quickly. I burned an inch in 7 minutes. Times 5 means a 30–35-minute cigar. A little quick for a Robusto.

Complexity is hiding in the shadows. The blend is as smooth as a Wuhan spokesman, but it needs a kick in the arse to start this show.

Construction is doing fine. And the char line is on point. Although it seems to be burning like a cigarette. The cigar disappears whether I’m puffing on it or not. Bummer. I thought this would be an excellent cigar.

To be honest, it seems apparent I’ve wasted my time, and yours. The cigar tastes like an anonymous unbanded cigar lounge deal of the month…for $6.

A third of the cigar has burned away in 12 minutes. This is nuts.
Strictly a linear blend. No passion apparent in the blending process. I don’t care how many different leaves they used, it lacks direction and depth.

I loved the Gran Habano Blue in Green, but GH has some sort of deficiency when it comes to attracting seasoned smokers.

Zero complexity. Transitions are absent. And the finish is mostly stale leather, creaminess, cedar, and malt. The spiciness hangs in the background afraid of joining the cult.

It’s only Tuesday the 27th of December. I have more cigars in my kit bag. The Gran Habano 20th Anniversario is a dud. But at least it ain’t cheap.

At 2” burned, mustiness appears. Been there, done that. A sure sign that the cigar leaves died a horrible death during the I don’t give a shit aging process.

Following the mustiness is just enough bitterness to make this a fait accompli.

With the aging described by GH, I should have been able to review this cigar upon receipt and at least discovered the blender’s intent. I believe someone left the oven on too long. Crispy.

The burn slows down a bit.

The char line does not behave and should be put in the dunce corner, stupid hat and all.

This is a limited production stick. Thank goodness. I get a cigar like this and all I think about is what kind of palate the blenders possess? Did they know that the cigar is a stinkeroo? Or did it taste good to them? I am flummoxed.

Perfect song to smoke along to: “Old Man” by Neil Young.

The halfway point arrives at the 27-minute mark. Apparently, the leaves are not evenly distributed causing different burn speeds. This is rank amateur stuff.
The quick burn is a self-immolation technique used by monks everywhere.

I smoked one stick a month in and now three months later, nothing has changed.
Not a lick of anything redeeming is occurring.

Oh lord…Jim Croce. Schmaltz music.

This cigar does not have any personality. Nothing that pulls it from the depths of hell.

The playlist is torturing me. “A Horse with No Name” by America. I hate that song. I believe there are at least two chords in the song, but I’m not sure. I never understood why Beatles’ producer George Martin chose to produce one or more of their albums. He actually blew off producing a Jeff Beck album to produce America.

The char line absolutely refuses to burn correctly.

The bulk of the tobacco is in the second half allowing the cigar to put the brakes on so I’m not smoking a 30-minute Robusto. Too bad…elongating this experience is not a gift.

I believe I found a single review and the esteemed reviewer gave this cigar a 91. I wish I got his cigars.

Amazing how a cigar can start with some promise and then breaks its bond with reality.
To rectify this waste of time, I added a terrible story for after my review.

With 1-1/2” to go, I cast the cigar into the recycle bin.

A terrible cigar. Even though this is a limited production, it is going to hang around for some time. And most probably, you will see lots of online cigar store sales for this thing.


And now for something completely different:

Everyone I knew was doing coke. This was the heyday of abusive cocaine use. The early 80’s. It was everywhere. The movie, “Blow” was right on.
I worked with a lot of professionals in my recording studio. Everyone had a vial of coke on them at all times. It was a given.

One of my close friends had a lifelong friend named Allan who was married with 3 little girls. We were deep into the Eddie Munster project. So, I always remembered to invite him and his girls to any PR thing we did where we got George Barris to loan us the Munster Koach or the Munstermobile. And when Eddie and the Monsters were in full makeup.

Allan had a great job with the railroad. But Allan wasn’t a bright man. Not Forrest Gump but discussing life was just not his jam.

He would always return my call when I wanted to let him know about an upcoming PR event. This is exactly how it started every time:
Allan: “Hello.”
Phil: “Hi Allan.”
Allan: “This is Allan.”

He had made money in property but refused to move out of the urban neighborhood in the City of Bell.

As his money grew, he kept adding on to his house until it was ridiculous. It looked like a mansion amongst very old and grungy houses on the block.

His high-flying flag telling the world he had dough ended in something terrible.

One night, they had a home invasion. Two guys with guns.
They forced Allan and his wife into the bedroom where Allan had a safe and was ordered to open it.

And this part gives me the chills. His wife (I can’t remember her name) was about to open the safe when Allan said, “Don’t bother. They are going to kill me.”

And just like that. They did. One shotgun blast to the mid-section and Allan was dead.

The wife ran for it but one of the guys found a baseball bat and beat the shit out of her aiming primarily at her head.

They left the house without getting a single dime or drugs.

This shocked the hell out of our community. No one had a clue. We knew that Allan sold coke in small quantities to his friends. But how could this happen?

It took over a week before the funeral was held. They waited for his wife to get out of the hospital.

She showed up all banged up with bandages covering her head. And her three girls in shock. She was also sky high on pain killers.

During the service, the pastor gave a beautiful eulogy. And then he said that his family wanted to play two of Allan’s favorite songs.

There was a boom box on the floor. One of Allan’s brothers went up on the stage and turned it on. The pastor sat on a chair next to the boom box.
The first song was an Elvis spiritual song. Very appropriate.

The next song ejected the pastor in a straight trajectory to the ceiling and then ran from the stage.
Yep. Rod Stewart’s “Hot Legs.” The 7-minute live version.
Everyone was very uncomfortable. This was beyond absurd and embarrassing for all. The guy was murdered.

At the cemetery, we all stood in observance as the pastor spoke.
We stood in line to place a flower on Allan’s coffin. And then we were moved on to where the wife sat and gave her our condolences. I told her if there was anything I could do…and before I could finish that sentence, she winked at me with a smile. Oh shit. She was hitting on me at her husband’s funeral.

There were two plain clothes cops taking pictures of everyone there. We all did drugs and were scared shitless. No one had a clue as to what happened. All of us were afraid we would be implicated…and we all wondered if the killer was at the funeral.

We all placed our sunglasses on and looked at our shoes.

As it turned out, they caught the guys while the service was going on.
It was an inside job. None of his friends knew the perps.

They had been hired by Allan’s housekeeper. All three were arrested that day and charged with first degree murder.

I saw Allan’s wife once more at my friend Marshall’s home. She was a zombie. Her kids were out of control and hung on her like baby chimps…pulling her hair and screaming like crazies. It freaked me out as she sat there and let the circus happen.

Everyone I knew was relieved the bad guys were caught. Coke makes you paranoid. And we all thought we were suspects even though we had nothing to do with this heinous crime.

Poor Allan. He was only 32. I still called, thinking I could help, to let Allan’s wife know there was something happening that the girls might love to see as the Eddie Munster projected continued. I left messages but she never returned my calls.

To this day, I wonder how those girls are. And I pray for their healing.

Cocaine can be an evil drug.
Another friend, John B., that was a couple years younger than me was hooked on the stuff. He was way out of control. He had one of the most horrible cases of addictive personality of anyone I had known.

During this time, John had married a beautiful, sweet, and kind young lady of 25. The marriage only lasted a year. She couldn’t take John’s addiction.

John was beside himself over the divorce. Sometimes a raging lunatic.
While the divorce was in progress, Cindy started dating some guy that no one in our group knew. One of his passions was body building and cocaine was not part of his regimen.

One night, Cindy agreed to pick the guy up at a gym in North Long Beach…a rundown area and scary at night.

She sat in her car waiting when someone approached her on the driver’s side and shot once through the glass. The bullet entered her left arm and then her heart. She supposedly died instantly. Another funeral.

While John was being investigated, he joined the Army and disappeared forever.

That period, for me, was sheer joy due to my ability in making a living in the music business. But it was marred by the horror of a street drug that everyone was using without guardrails.
A very schizophrenic time in everyone’s lives.


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