Wrapper: Cuban ~ Aged 2 Years
Binder: Cuban ~ Aged 2 Years
Filler: Cuban ~ Aged 2 Years
Size: 6.5 x 54 Toro
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $50.00
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
This Habano feels good in the hand. A stout delivery boy of temptress tobacco from far off lands. Actually, just one land. Aromas are faint but this aged nose picks up notes of floral, barnyard, chocolate, and spicy peppers.
The cigar is plugged like my Aunt Zadie after schmearing chicken schmaltz on numerous slices of challah. My PerfecDraw comes to the rescue. I try again. I go in from the foot this time…and I pierce the toast. Just a slight nick so I summon my PerfecRepair. I hear the clip clop of its tiny hooves. It’s still not providing clear airflow so I say fuck it and light it up.
The heat from the flame psychically rearranges the tobacco so I’m able to puff. Just like Uncle Reuben while theatrically whining that he must hold Aunt Zadie’s red rubber enema bag while she disturbs the offending blockage.
I forgot to do the cold draw. Will you be OK?
Earthy shmirfy start. Richness kicks in immediately. Baking spices emit a death throe. A bit of lemony tartness. And the flavor no reviewer can do without, coffee.
There is a lovely fruity sweetness. And there is my probation officer who thinks I’m fruity with zero sweetness. Badda boom…
And the cigar goes out. Cuban cigars are infamous for lousy construction. I’m sure that the cigar will self-correct in 5-10 years, but I don’t have that long.
Speaking of coffee, I’m not fully caffeinated yet. Long cool womanly sip and my eyes bug out like my Uncle Larry who had Proptosis. His huge bulging eyes terrified me as a kid. Where was I? The shit that comes out of me…
The expected flavors according to the experts are the same ones you read ad nauseum from all of us reviewers. Luckily, this blend is all about the refinement and elegance.
A saucy cigar. A minx. How common has it become that $25 sticks are here, there, and everywhere. I hear from you and suggest that I review, once again, the inexpensive catalog brands. The truth is my palate has evolved so much over the last 5 years that I find those blends boring. They are just barely one trick ponies. I get that most of you don’t have the dough, or possess an understanding wife, to spend like the idle rich. I spent most of my life lying to my wife. I must mull this over. Don’t wait for me…serpentine.
The burn is wonky. I refuse to torch it because constant fixes will char the tobacco and ruin your smoke.
This Cuban is a bit generic in the flavor categories. Then caramel erupts, the coffee continues, the earthiness is popular, and a nutty essence pops.
I didn’t know that Hampstead Heath was home for the rich and famous. Sonja lived in large flat with American writer Norma Tager. The middle Copeland brother, Ian, lived in Hampstead as well. He owned a large home with a guest house. Country Joe McDonald made his digs there because of Ian’s generosity. Wishbone Ash guitarist Ted Turner hung out at Ian’s a lot. He had spent a year vacationing in Colombia and on his return, he was mostly fried from his coca leaf consumption. He would sit on Ian’s couch and just stare. Freaked me out. Stewart and I spent a lot of time together when we were off the road. Ian was a great hang. Our guitarist didn’t spend a lot of down time with us. The reason? He had a mature Canadian girlfriend who didn’t do drugs.
Ian was a year older than me but was an older soul from serving in Vietnam. Ian died from cancer at 57. He wrote about the music biz and he reached out to tell me that he was kind to me in his book. It was Ian who fired me from Curved Air. My cowardly bandmates sent a nice guy to do their dirty work.
The first third reminds me of the Cuban I loved long time…the Romeo y Julieta Wide Churchill. I rated that baby a perfect 100. Consistency is always an issue with Cuban cigars. I’ve heard from you and it’s 50/50 about your experience with Montecristo sticks.
The second third steps up. Strength in that first couple of inches was medium. Now an explosion of power that has me reeling in the years. Full power. This is tough on an empty stomach. But if you don’t clean your palate, and there are a million ways to do so, a cigar just doesn’t taste as good as that first bare bones cigar.
The burn mellows.
Our 7-year-old grandson had his tonsils removed two days ago. He’s not feeling well. Charlotte is beside herself. I try to soothe her but nothing sticks. Dementia is an evil disease.
Miles Copeland asked me to deliver some contracts to writer Norma Tager at her shared flat with Sonja. Norma was a brash and sassy woman who was several years older than me. I waited in the living room with Sonja while Norma was in the shower. Miles was emphatic I put the papers in her hands. I heard Tager invite me into her bedroom. She stood in an open and sheer silk kimono. She sexily toweled her hair while I tried not to stare. You can still be shy and be a rock star. I handed the contracts to her but they slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. I stammered. Clicks and whistles. She moved against me and rubbed her naked body against me. Sonja was in the next room. So was Norma’s teenage son…and here she was making her move. Like a 1930’s rom com flick, she chased me around the bed several times. I was spry and could move like a young ferret in training. It turns out she had her way with the entire band…and I mean the entire band. She didn’t like me after that…our good-natured relationship was harmed by her drunken moves. She’s dead too.
The cigar leaves its first half in an ash heap. Excellent cigar rich with finesse and maturity. This blend is about subtleties. If you don’t mind being shoved back on your hind legs from its power, this is a fun cigar.
The burn returns to form. A bad seed.
My lack of being able to foretell the future is something I’m paying for. I should have bought a lot of Cubans 10 years ago when I was a kid of 65. Instead, I depend on the kindness of strangers to donate aged Cubans to the cause. I’m grateful but I feel dumb as a lamp post.
Flavors are canonized: earthy, dark chocolate, coffee, caramel, lemon, black pepper, and nutty.
Imagine my surprise when Jeff Beck, Jean Luc Ponty, and Jerry Goodman were in the audience. During an encore, they got up and jammed with us. I was smitten.
The funky burn becomes a pain. I’m sure with another 5-8 years of humidor time, this will be suspended in animation. I’ll wait. Please proceed.
I’m craving a prune Danish.
When I was 12, my dad took me to a finished construction project at a Hunts food factory. We walked high above the killing floor on a catwalk. Massive vats of boiling water were filled with spinach offerings. Despite being in love with Olive Oyl and Bluto, I hated spinach. But the wonderful aroma was intoxicating. In the school cafeteria stood a soup Nazi who would not let you leave unless you finished all your food. Kids would pass plates down the long table, their uneaten spinach for Mikey to eat. I cleaned up with bribes of Good & Plenty.
Such a pleasant cigar. But not first thing in the morning. I got my swoon on.
The last couple of inches begins the beguine. Strength is making a fool of me but I schnorr me some Naloxone and I’m OK.
The cigar is beautifully transitional. Complex to the core. The finish is lovely. Richly rewarding.
I decided to let A.I. take a run at writing a review just like me. It took A.I. 43 seconds perusing my 3,000 reviews and came up with this: “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cigar. Bass guitar. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cigar. Chocolate, espresso, malt, caramel, lemon, black pepper, cinnamon. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Cigar. Rating: 96.” It seems to work beautifully.
Next time you are at your rich friend’s house, steal a couple of his Montecristos. This blend is much better than the popular No. 2 and the Edmundo series.
RATING: 96
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Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS
Current prices are $150 -$175 per stick. Excellent smokes.
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