Wrapper: Ecuadorian Connecticut Candela, Connecticut Broadleaf
Binder: Cameroon
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 5 x 56 Extra Fatty Boy Robusto
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: Unavailable
My cigars have had a few months of naked humidor time plus 5 years of box time.
This was a limited release in 2018 and disappeared quickly.
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
As you can imagine, aromas are very faint…floral, dark chocolate, black pepper, barnyard, cedar, and cinnamon.
It is always such a gamble reviewing a sole cigar from days gone by. But once I start, I’m all in.
My PerfecPunch & Stand cuts through the cap like butter. I’m still getting used to turning the cigar instead of the punch. Old dogs…
Aging shows up immediately. You can’t confuse that taste. Like sipping a 12-year-old bourbon. Nothing replaces organic maturation.
First up are notes of generic sweetness, black pepper, creaminess, and malt.
The strength does not seem to have been tampered with after all these years. I’m getting a knee to the groin that says we are going full tilt…but I reckon the aged smoothness will keep me out of the gutter.
¼” in and I’m kvelling. Holy shit. Now if the blend can keep this up, I’m sending all my readers a $25 Savings Bond for their college education.
Flashback. My grandfather bought me lots of savings bonds as a child. At 19, I needed a car. I was driving my mother’s 1960 Pontiac Bonneville. It died 6 months after my mother passed. I had enough bonds to buy a new 1969 Chevy Impala Custom. $1900 with all the trimmings. I know. I sound like everyone’s grandpa… “Remember sonny, I only paid 25 cents to get into the movie theater and they called joint pain ‘Growing Pains.” Modern medicine.
This is a spicy meat-a-ball.
I home in on the tobacco as it is doing the heavy lifting. At this early juncture, the cigar is going to surprise me like getting two prizes in your Cracker Jack box. A box only cost 15 cents when I was 8 in 1878. My dad had wood dentures.
Flavors pony up at 1” burned…milk chocolate, herbal notes, and mocha java.
The spiciness is relegated to the back seat of my 1957 Buick Roadmaster. You can lay straight in the back seat on top of your girlfriend in those things…same went for my Bonneville. The designers knew exactly what they were doing. You could dry hump like a bunny. Do young’uns still dry hump? I doubt it. They must use pulleys and blocks. No one can dry hump in a Prius.
Very nice balance. Smooth as true love. The strength tempers itself and moves its tushy backwards into medium territory. The black pepper calms itself with Haikus about skinny dipping in the Cement Pond.
I met Jethro (Max Baer) in 1983 at a P.R. party for Allen Hale Jr’s (The Skipper on Gilligan’s Island) seafood restaurant on La Cienega. The man was clearly mentally ill as he had transformed himself into Elvis. He had dyed jet black hair cut like Elvis. He wore an outlandish suit with his unbuttoned shirt showing off a gaggle of gold necklaces. Every finger had a gold ring on it. And he was sporting a gorgeous girl on each arm. Freaked me the fuck out. I also met Rudy Vallée (Google him).
Complexity has been hesitant. I’ve now burned 1-1/2” and the cigar seems ready to expose its blender’s intent.
A balance has planted its flag. A nice cigar. But I’m not sure if the stars meant it to live long and prosper. Some blends flail once they are left alone for years…others shine. I believe the Irish flails.
I only found three written reviews. Which is common for a very limited release. Still, no critic went bat shit crazy. This cigar may fall into the category of limited edition is all hype with no meat on its bones.
There are serious burn issues. I try to ignore them, but they keep pulling at the hem of my gonad stockade.
Don’t get me wrong…it’s a very nice cigar. Just not a showstopper. The reviews I read said the cigar only began to shine in the second half. This may be the blend’s M.O. regardless of age.
It is a slow burn. I always take note of when I start and then I usually forget. Man, I wish I was 60 again.
The chocolate milk shake element soars now. Espresso joins up. Creaminess prevails throughout. Herbal essence. Black pepper. Malt.
Strength quickly uses the transporter and hits full tilt without proper notice.
The halfway point rubs its nose like Johnny Carson did in his monologues. I had a friend who was a stagehand on The Tonight Show in the 1970’s. According to him, Carson would stand ready to bolt onto the stage. Two men stood with him behind the curtain. One would hold a mirror with coke on it. The other would rip the curtain open for Carson’s entrance.
The second half presents the sweet spot. Everything coalesces. Now the cigar is a decent hum job.
It all falls into place. The cigar is spectacular. Not a flavor bomb. The aged tobacco decides this is the time to glisten. I would have expected an equally aged cigar to start this way… comme ci, comme ça.
I’ve found that I have grown out of Roma Craft Tobac blends. I don’t believe they have kept up with the times. So many new boutique blends pushing the envelope. Roma Craft has sidled itself into becoming just another catalog brand.
The burn is abysmal.
Transitions aren’t impressive. The finish is a delegate from Rhode Island. Black pepper nearly overwhelms my palate. The cigar retreats from an even keel balance. Bummer.
I had hoped for an exceptional experience.
Still chocolate, creaminess, espresso, malt, cedar, and spices. One trick pony.
Its smoothness is its redeeming factor.
I met Peter Tork of The Monkees while I was Eddie Munster’s manager back in the day. He was a bitter man back then. He gave me a yellow Monkees tee shirt. But since I didn’t ask him to sign it, it sits in my closet worthless. In a couple years, I’m giving it to one of my grandsons.
“The Beat Goes On” by Sonny & Cher. I took bass lessons from Carol Kaye of The Wrecking Crew in the late 60’s. She wrote and played that bass line on the record. I kept in touch with her right up to the mid 2000’s. But now at 88, she is barely hanging on. She only played bass using a pick. No finger style. Her method was centered around the up and down stroke of that pick. Her music books showed the direction of the pick on every note. It was frustrating as hell. I’d play the riff perfectly but if I fucked up the direction of the pick, she made me do it again. Lessons were $25 per hour at her home in the Hollywood Hills. In today’s money, that was over $200.
The blend is very satisfying with 2” to go. The mocha java is soaring.
I really expected a Wow. Instead, I got a nice cigar with no substantial elements. Big disappointment. Some cigars are meant to live forever. Others are not.
RATING: 92
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Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS
