Wrapper: USA Connecticut Broadleaf
Binder: Mexican San Andrés
Filler: Honduran (Jamastran), Nicaraguan (Jalapa, Estelí)
Size: 6 x 48 Short Churchill
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $15.60
Quantity Released: 100 Boxes of 50 (Yearly)
Factory: Fábrica Centroamericana de Tabaco S.A. in Honduras

My cigars received 2 months of naked humidor time.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
It’s hard not to see the ghost of Liberace past when viewing the Gold Lamé britches above the cigar band. The sheiks of Araby love this adornment on their $1000 cigars. The rest of us must suffice with owning a Xikar cutter and a PerfecDraw in a pear tree.

It’s pretty ballsy selling cigars in boxes of 50.

Chocolate, cherries, baking spices, toasted English muffin, Dolby segues, and pungent toffee are a few of my favorite things emanating from the wrapper. Almost no barnyard.
I grasp my PerfecPunch like I know what I’m doing. With a searing scream, the blade does a boat slide into the cap. Barely any scrunching noises. Just the sound of bone spurs in ancient hands.

The cold draw. The cigar dangles from my lips as I suck in the most desperate of manners. The wrapper’s aromas were more definitive as the usual laundry list of flavors appear: Chocolate, black pepper, fruit, espresso, nuts, earthy peat, and caramel. There is only so much performance derived from an unlit cigar.

A good cigar must do a delicate dance once lit. A bad cigar shows itself immediately. But the teeter tot effect of is it good or is it just ordinary can be shielded by a decent start. This Cavalier begins decently. A hopeful portent of good things to come. I slide back into my chair covered in electrodes and bunny wax. I scooch the music into relaxation mode with Iggy Pop. Richness is an immediate temptress. Shame upon thee, I bellow to no one in particular…if thy cigar blend whimpers and so dies, a pox upon thy family and brethren. My spirit animal is a Pilgrim wench from 1683.

I tried surfing once.

Chocolate is heaped upon more chocolate. Deep coffee notes. Oodles of salted caramel, spicy red and black peppers, a chagrin worth of maltiness, lemony crème, pinto beans, and a 1972 Ford Pinto’s leather interior.

Using my apothecary skills, I can tell this cigar will soar with 6 months of humidor time. It has legs. It has a soul in arrears. It has a civil servant job. And a place in line on World Sword Swallowers Day.

Very smooth and elegant. At around $15, this is now an average priced cigar. The cigar is not run of the mill. Sometimes I truly enjoy a Cavalier blend and sometimes I do not. If this blend can muster staying power along with substantial growth in the second half, I shall place the relish tray before you.

In the 60’s, cover bands were everywhere in SoCal. Missing were bands reenacting Beach Boys tunes. If you are in, or have played in, many bands you know finding just one good singer is an uphill battle. But 5? Lawdy, Miss Clawdy. You had a better chance accurately covering The Rolling Stones or The Beatles.

Strength in the first inch and a half was a very easy-going medium. Now, the cigar hits medium/full with a warning. LED lights underneath the gold band signal Danger Will Robinson.

As inch 3 begins, a citrus tartness verges on the overwhelming. Chocolate sweetness is diminished. The balance swings towards savory. Will it swing back? Or will it live in infamy in the derogatory lyrics of Neil Young? And just like that, it swings back. But leaving trace elements of a citrus…which is where it belongs. Two months is insufficient to track a cigar correctly. Why do I do this? I can’t answer with certainty. But I like it.

In 2021, I spent a year working at a cigar lounge. Every smoker that bought a gold lamé adorned cigar asked me how it tasted. I never gave the same answer twice. Yes, I abused my sweeping authority. And every time, the smoker would nod his head and agree with me. We are lovely lemmings. Would you be surprised if you found out that reviewers take an oath to repeat the same flavors over and over again no matter their truthfulness? Nod your head.

Construction is excellent. The char line is pontifically correct. I am not anatomically correct despite my begging.

Isn’t this a pretty cigar?

The first half was pleasant and fulfilling. Never a dull boy. Flavors kick in: Dried fig, chocolate, creaminess, espresso, burnt almonds, black pepper, toffee, malted milk, and spicy cinnamon. Look at that list. See, you can do this. A thesaurus and a whac-a-mole.

The balance is even steven. I’ve reviewed only four Cavalier blends. One hit it out of the park and the other three drowned in their own effluence. So why did I buy a fiver? I have deep seated irregularities. But it seems that this time I have been rewarded with a Cavalier out of character…a damn excellent offering. Every manufacturer looks for a gimmick. Look at the back stories. Or silliness. They gotta keep people employed.

The chocolate morphs into more of a dusting. Delicate and just sweet enough. The malt gives it depth. The creaminess agrees with the palate. The fruitiness gives it litheness. And being old gives me something to complain about.

Our moods dictate what we need. Sometimes it’s a kick in the arse as we want to relish each fraction. Other times, we just need a smooth and burpless ride. The Skywalker is the latter. I’m diggin’ it, laddies.

The rollers used for this blend were top notch. Not a single error in momentary judgment. Makes thing go smoother for the consumer…allowing us to focus on the character and not the extraneous things that make us nuts.

I brought out the summertime quilt and the cat immediately puked on it. Oy.

The mean average of this cigar is quality to the high hilt. While the strength was upped earlier, it has not gotten in the way. I’m maintaining an even keel. My nipples are hard but that could be attributed to the stewed prunes at my side.

I love a smooth journey. And the Skywalker provided one. No sudden jerks. No uprising of indigent peoples. A charming and silver-tongued display of blending mastery. Sure, smoke one during the Let’s See period…but after that, let ‘em sleep for 3-5 months…longer if you can stand it. This is a righteous buy.

You can purchase the Cavalier Genève Project Broadleaf Skywalker from sponsor Small Batch Cigar. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.

RATING: 96

And now for something completely different:

There is a lot to be said about following your dreams when you are young; and most importantly, being in the right place at the right time. It started with me following my dream of making music my life’s work. Thank goodness a lot of luck followed. The magic is putting yourself out there, taking big chances, and be ready to deliver the goods. I was always scared shitless making those giant leaps…but I did them anyway. I was young. I lived and breathed music and I was a serious bassist.

Back in the early 80’s, I had a lot of fair-weather friends because I owned a recording studio in Long Beach, CA. One of those friends was an L.A. disc jockey on a major rock station. 50,000 watts. His name is Marshall. He used to get me into to the cool places, private parties, and the hard to get into clubs in Hollywood.

I was always jealous of those good DJ guys that had such great pipes. What a gift. Of course, there is a reason none of them made it to TV or the movies. They all had faces perfectly suited for radio.

We used to hang out at this one club that is long gone…don’t remember the name and was very small and off the beaten path. I met Ray Manzarek of “The Doors” there. He was very laid back and we saw him there the couple times we visited the club each week. It was a very cool hang out and seemed to attract a lot of musicians. Of course, the cool days to hang out was during the week; not the weekend. The real hipsters stayed away from the throngs. Better chance of meeting people like yourself.

We got friendly with Manzarek, and I explained how I made my bones by playing bass in Curved Air. So, we talked music…we traded road stories. It had only been 4 years since I left CA and The Police were huge so my association with drummer Stewart Copeland was a big deal.

And we tooted nose candy together. Right there on the table.

The Fabulous Thunderbirds used to play at this club often. And this was when Jimmie Vaughan was in the band…that’s Stevie Ray’s brother for those of you who are under 50.

The club had two floors with a DJ playing music downstairs that held a lot of folks. But upstairs was the place to hang. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen tables, a bar and no bandstand. The band played on the floor in the corner.

The Fab T-Birds were getting airplay and since Marshall was a big shot DJ, the boys of the band would always visit with us for a while.

Bands knew that if Marshall liked them, they might get some serious airplay on a major station. Although, at a big station, song choices always had to go through the radio chief or programmer.

One night, Jimmie suggested I bring my bass with me next time they played there. I was thrilled that he asked. What was shocking was that this band of stunning talent only filled half the room of a dozen tables. We sat maybe 6’ from the floor/bandstand. And would kibitz with the band between songs. We turned into good natured hecklers. Manzarek would join us in the heckling. The FT’s would flip us off and say shit about us. But not when Manzarek heckled. We drank, fed our heads, and laughed a lot.

The very next time we visited the club I brought my 1980 Schecter fretless bass. I studied some of their songs at home so I wouldn’t make an ass of myself. I was ready.

Sure as shit, the boys asked me up to jam on their fourth set when there was basically no one left in the club. It was hard for them to ignore me as my giant guitar case sat next to me at the table. I was allowed to play 4 songs and I didn’t shame myself. No clams. It was disconcerting having the legendary Ray Manzarek watching you play.

After the gig, the band sat at our table along with Manzarek and shot the shit while the roadies packed their gear. We sat there until 5am.

These boys were hard drinking fellas. No way could I keep up with them. I had to do a fair amount of toot to stay conscious…which I spread around the table…in fact, everyone shared their stashes. So, we talked all over each other and laughed all night…of course, with the club closed, out came the herb. So, it was crazy nuts.

Jimmie would tell stories about his brother. Manzarek told stories about The Doors that had us all rapt with wonder…the pure chaos of Jim Morrison.

Jimmie told us how a roadie would super glue the tips of Stevie’s fingers back on during concerts. None of us could fathom that and wondered if he was pulling our leg.
The night ended and it wasn’t till that afternoon that I was calm enough to go to bed.

Marshall and I continued to visit that club, but I never took my bass back. I figured it would be presumptuous of me to bring it without being asked. They did suggest it a couple of times but I had my thrill on blueberry hill, so I was sated.

The Thunderbirds disappeared into the night playing much bigger gigs…but Ray Manzarek was always there. We eventually began to feel sorry for him. He always seemed to be sad. He took a big fall from grace as he segued from the 1960’s to the 1980’s. He got involved in the L.A. punk scene producing and managing…and doing keys sessions. It was not until the early 2000’s that a fuller musical life came to him via the right-place, right-name situations.

Strange but true…my buddy, Stephen Hodges is a great drummer. I mentioned to the T Birds that I had a great percussionist friend who was perfect for them if the need arose. Stephen played with Tom Waite and John Hammond. Their ears perked up. Almost 20 years later, Hodges toured with the boys for a couple years and recorded a live double album with the band. In high school and for a few years after that, I played with Stephen when he’d call and tell me this band or that band needed a temp bassist. Hodges went on to become the regular drummer for Mavis Staples.

Yeah, doing the drugs was not a good idea…but when you are young, you feel immortal. Unfortunately, I lost friends to that devilish drug during that time (3 friends murdered) and over the years there were friends who didn’t know when to stop. You can’t do that shit when you are in your 50’s. You die. One great friend was in his mid-50’s and had a heart attack. But I was smart about it. In 1985, I met the love of my life while on tour, married her, and gave up full time music and all the drugs that went with the lifestyle. Went back to work making a decent buck and lived happily ever after…and the final result is that now I’m here bothering you.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS

Tags: Cavalier Genève Project Broadleaf Skywalker | Cigar Reviews by the Katman, cigar reviews, cigar reviews by the katman, cigars, katman, phil kohn