Wrapper: Ecuadorian Habano Maduro
Binder: Nicaraguan Criollo
Filler: Nicaraguan Seco Viso And Ligero
Size: 5 x 54
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $9.90

My cigars received two months of naked humidor time.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
I’ve reviewed 19 Paul Stulac blends going as far back as 2012. I am a fanboy of all things Stulac. He wrings every juicy bit from his blends and does it for $10 before promo codes. Paul is a unicorn towering above the greedy manufacturers who go for your nuts. There is no guess work how this review will end but it is always fun getting there.

Smells good like a doughnut burger should. The wrapper is a pleasure dome of the darkest of cocoas, mildest of spicy peppers, slight floral, nutbobs, and fresh berries.

Resistance to the open maw of this cigar is on the money. The tobacco is evenly distributed like Tootsie Roll KishkaPops on Halloween. I hear the toilet flushing. I can’t find my PerfecDraw. Oh no. It heard me and committed seppuku. I must be more woke in understanding the emotional distress of sentient and non-sentient beings.

The cold draw is a symphonic cacophony of sweet black cherry, fresh brioche bun, banana nut muffin, and dark chocolate that has an espresso tang…like what the astronauts drink.

The natural maduro sweetness puts a smile on my lips. Just so good. Stulac blends don’t need months or years to get bad to the bone. A couple months and they are rarin’ back like Trigger stomping the stuffed body of Roy Rogers.

Rarely does a cigar take off immediately. In my experience, most cigars take half or a whole inch to start cooking with gas. Paul’s blends don their cap and gowns while you’re lighting the cherry.

Industry reviewers vary on their assessments of Stulac and his cigars. Some are everyman and others are boner fide snobs. Reviewers get to smoke the best of the best and that habit can fuck you up. We can become elitists. It’s a natural course of events. But I don’t know shit about cigars. I know how they taste and I can convey in real time what I experience. That’s good enough for most. So, I smoke the out-of-the-spotlight cigars like you. But I also get to have close encounters with the really good stuff. I’ve been writing 3-5 times per week, every week, every month, for 15 years. I earned it. Don’t you forget it.

Strength begins at medium but after an inch or so, daylight dims and me wan’ go home…and the cigar strengthens.

Black pepper gets a sidekick of creamy black licorice. I loved licorice since I was a kid. I was a kid in a toy store when I lived in Europe. The onslaught of availability of gorgeous and limber licorice. I had the shits for two years.

The wow factor settles down and a multi-level refinement hits go. My tongue begins to involuntarily dart in and out of my mouth while licking my lips on its retreat. This is a good sign. Turning into a friendly doggie do is my favorite thing…next to drinking MD 20/20 on non-Jewish holidays.

The cherries become jubilant and are set afire. Construction is excellent as the cigar fattens from the heat like a Vienna sausage on Jordan Hudson.

Savory hurries to catch up. The first couple of inches are sweet heavy. Now, it wrestles with a change of direction. Notes of toasty bagel, smoky oak, a hint of basil, newtonless fig, black almonds, and just the right tone of black pepper.

And…I’m relaxed. This is what cigar smoking is all about. We light up. We shift our attention to the blend at hand. Our pulse settles. Our breathing adjudicates to a worryless state. The shit in our head begins to disappear. And we are sated. It is impossible to explain to a non-cigar smoker. To them, it’s a stinky filthy habit. To us, it is a stinky filthy habit but one that brings on a nirvana-like state. We romanticize. This is why we are on a constant journey to experience everything…whether in a lounge or online or in the school cafeteria.

The first half was delicious as steam punk art on someone else’s wall. The second half begins and my blood comes to the surface. I genuflect like a white dope on punk.

Serious complexity turns on. The blend hits refined notes that ooze with richness. It is wild and exciting. Stulac blends are perfect for after dinner. They burst through the day’s travails along with a palate inundated by the distractions of food and drink.

Strength is full tilt. If you’re a wuss, keep walking. At my extinct distinct age, I enjoy the kinder and gentler blends; but I still love the full-frontal attack. I don’t know why.

The flavor wheel goes albino crazy, simbas on parade, and dopey punks on crosstabs.

I don’t want to dissect each flavor. None of us do that when we are in enjoyment mood. Like all the kids on X and TikTok, it is about the journey. There is no better way to explain the Classic blend. An intense experience enjoyed best with friends and booze. Everyone can take turns putting the mezcal worm in each other’s nose while retrohaling the Classic Angel. The one who sneezes pays the tab.

This is a stellar blend. I can’t believe you can snag these for only $9. This is crazy.

Sweet v. Savory are so tight that I use my Stanley level and it’s a dead nuts draw.

Transitionally, this is killer. It never stops moving. Like Canadians throwing out American Tennessee whiskey…well, not all of it.

The strength is gonzo.

I endeavor to review the good stuff that I believe you’ll like. I don’t want to critique cigars that no one wants. I don’t see the point. At 75, I am turning into a very old man. Mime is money.

You can purchase Classic Angel by Paul Stulac as well as other Stulac blends from sponsor Small Batch Cigar. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.

RATING: 96

And now for something completely different:

The Dot Com bubble of the late 90’s and early 2000’s caused splendor and havoc within the construction industry. I know how to pick ‘em. We moved to the SF bay area in 2000 because of a great job offer. I was paid almost twice what I was paid at my Phoenix gig. In 2025 dollars, I got over $350,000 per annum…plus bonuses. I had an Audi A8 for my company car. A little over a year later, it all came crumbling down. I was project managing 23 jobs. I was getting to work at 5:00am. Staying till 6 or 7pm…six days per week and sometimes on Sunday.

The construction projects were for the biggest software companies and the computer industry in general. I put up massive red iron buildings full of servers with a footprint larger than 20 football fields. One after another. Plus campuses in Silicon Valley with 25 buildings on each one. And this ain’t no bullshit, we didn’t have a single signed contract while doing this work…only letters of intent. The company had such strong affiliations with the general contractors that we proceeded without a signed deal. We got huge advances and told to go, go, go.

When it came tumbling down, my job turned into being a lawyer and figuring out how much money was owed to us by compiling massive lists of proof so we could get paid for the material, labor, and erection for the work completed. Twenty-three jobs. I’d never experienced anything like this.

My betters reveled in excesses. The owner had a fleet of 30 Italian and British autos. He let me drive his James Bond Aston Martin DB6. Once. His Maserati was off limits, but I did get to sit in it. The owner and his wife both got facial plastic surgery at the same time. The guy was only 50 years old. Afterwards, he looked like a bad version of Burt Reynolds. The man paid for an all-expense paid three days of partying in Napa Valley for his employees. He bought out an entire KOA and gave a cabin to each family.

There must have been 100 people having too much fun. He had live Maine lobsters flown in on a private jet. He had steaks delivered from Texas. He bought the most expensive bourbons and scotches. Spirits that were over $1000 a bottle and he just handed them out like they were Cracker Jack boxes. And this is the place and time where I dove, on my 80th jump, from a small aircraft and nearly killed myself. Sort of a chicken shit way of avoiding my responsibilities.

A few years later, I heard from the general manager that layoffs happened daily. Silicon Valley emptied out like a successful colonic. It was a blast while it lasted. The funny thing is that my boss and the owner both forbade me on that day from jumping. I laughed at them.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS

Tags: cigar reviews, cigar reviews by the katman, cigars, Classic Angel Maduro by Paul Stulac | Cigar Reviews by the Katman, katman, paul stulac cigars, phil kohn