Wrapper: Mexican San Andrés Maduro
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 6 x 54 Toro Box Pressed
Strength: Full
Price: $12.00
Released: May 2025
Quantity Released: 200 boxes of 30

My cigars received 2 months of naked humidor time.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
A beautiful oily cigar. I took another photo that I hope gets across the beauty of the wrapper.

The wrapper aromas are intoxicating. The darkest of chocolate, bright honeysuckle, sweet tangerines, floral notes of roses and lavender, tamarind, black pepper, cinnamon, coffee toffee, cedar, and rich earth. It will be difficult for this cigar’s flavors to compete with its aromas.

The cigar is as dense as the Baby Ruth in ‘Caddyshack.’ The draw is dead in the water. All test cigars were plugged like Aunt Rhoda after consuming an entire noodle kugel. I’m trusting the mysterious Greek cigar god, Neuroseses Bergenfeldfark to see me through the hunt for my PerfecDraw. It stands at the ready, with its uncircumcised head and runny nose, to dive in and give its life for God and Country. I say, ‘Well done, inanimate seppuku tool.’

The cold draw is black cherries, fudge brownies, black walnuts, black baking spices, black pepper, and rich black espresso.

Fireworks as the debris and bits of fiery entrails cover my mink bathrobe. I can tell you the truth, from my age standpoint…excessive masturbation will affect your sight later in life, so hence my double cataract surgery last year. Thankfully, I’ve never had to shave my palms. Having Nixon stubble ain’t cool when you do the secret handshake with a fellow Jew.

Smooth as a sea otter’s tushy.

Damn smoke is everywhere. Gets in my eyes and I breakdown like a girlish Colleen. I forget I’m on camera so I volley with a sullen look at the ceiling while I choose to make up flavors I can’t find from the cigar. Nice smoke output.

Strength is a medium. I love the earthy quality that brings out flavors of more black cherries, heavy on the dark cocoa, espresso, nuts, black pepper, and burnt oak. On the surface, these are the flavors of every cigar you’ve smoked. The early complexity enhances those notes with a wide-open range of depth that has me tempted to huff and puff. That practice ruins the flavor portion of any cigar.

Inch two begins with some struggle to keep the cigar lit. I use my Humidimeter and discover that the internal humidity is 72%. A little high. It is hot and humid this July and it is nearly impossible to dry box my cigars. But it explains why I must relight every few minutes. What it does not explain is why the cigar is packed so heavily. It is jam packed. No quality control for the rollers. I see this often with Viaje cigars.

Transitionally, there isn’t much happening. It’s very much like any cigar blend of this ilk. This is one reason that the cigar is affordable. Andre Farkas knows this as he cranks out new blends several times per month. It can cause overload for the smoking public.

The first half was OK. Extended humidor time will help. But honestly, this tastes like every other Farkas blend. The man is not known for a broad sweep of creativity. For the longest time, like you, I would buy up every new blend. It causes buyer fatigue. Farkas should concentrate on blending unique blends…but he doesn’t.

Strength jumps the shark from medium to full tilt. Projectile vomiting is on pause.
Dark chocolate, creaminess, black pepper, espresso, cinnamon, fried lard, Fruit Loops, and fresh blackberries.

A term needs to be invented for way past full strength. Delirium? Extreme Fervor? Engorged?

My office chair is lifted a few inches off the ground and then drops. Supposedly, Maynard G. Krebbs murdered a Proboscis Monkey with the misconception that it was Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Now and again, late at night, visions of Dobie Gilis covered in chains roams our apartment at exactly 1:17am. You can’t make this shit up.

A baby Jesus miracle. The strength pulls me into a black hole and my taste buds are enhanced and virtual reality smoothness joins the disjointed flavor profile.

I take another sip of Ipecac and my palate embraces the cappuccino.

I’ve got my swoon on. This is not an empty stomach blend.

My uvula can’t find its way home. But my bowels reconstruct into the shape of an onion bialy.

I’m pretty sure that Viajes get the minimum of 6 weeks of rest after rolling making them unfit to smoke upon receipt. With 6 months of home humidor time, they are much better.
The cigar reaches its climax at 2-1/2 hours. “Reefer Madness” is on Netflix. I gotta go.

Before I do, if you can’t find this cigar due to its limited availability, get yourself a better cigar from Paul Stulac called Red Screaming Sun. It is very much what I think Farkas is trying to do and it’s a regular production cigar. After promo code, it is a very affordable $10 per stick. Go to Small Batch Cigar. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.

Sponsor Small Batch Cigar has a huge array of Viaje blends. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.

RATING: 92

And now for something completely different:

Management got us first class seating for the train from London to Manchester. All that meant was that instead of chairs ala airplane seating, you get a nice big table with two chairs on either side and special attention from the bailiffs appointed to bow to your every need.

Stewart C. made sure we didn’t sit with the band. He had been demoted from drummer to road manager. He lasted exactly one gig because Darryl W. treated him in the most subservient manner. Way was so full of himself. I mentioned this once before but I will do it again…he asked me to teach him to be clever and funny. I tried. It didn’t take.

Apparently, Stew forgot to get refills of Sonja’s methadone at the pharmacy. So now she would have to go without it for the 8-hour train ride. I was told she would be going through withdrawal as she was shooting the stuff three times per day.

The rest of the band sat in the second first-class car ahead of us. They spent most of their time in the bar car getting smashed. So as they passed Sonja and me on the way to the bar car, they didn’t notice her bizarre behavior.

Of course to top it off with the fait accompli, we sat across from a stuffy Member of Parliament and his wife. Both in their 60’s. I swear the guy looked exactly like Commander Whitehead. In fact, most people in that car were elderly.

When Sonja began her withdrawal, everyone pretended not to notice.

First her eyes rolled up and made her appear to be the star in a zombie horror movie. Then she began clawing at her arms with her fingernails causing long streaks of blood.
Then she started making animal sounds. Sounds of an animal in distress. Finishing the symphony, she began to wave her arms uncontrollably. She became very strong belying her demure stature. I sat there holding her arms as still as possible. A real shit show. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I was 24.

All I had on me was Dramamine. I started shoveling them down her gullet like Skittles. After a while, they did their job, and she fell asleep.

I took that time to go pee. When I got back, she was awake and screaming…and trying to crawl on top of the table.

Our esteemed table companions just turned away. Never said a fucking word. Not one person in that car asked about her welfare. This is why the rich eat their young.

We finally got to our destination in Northern England. Instead of checking into our hotel, I dragged her to the nearest pharmacy. The chemist saw how bad off she was and hurriedly got her methadone and needles. I ran her back to our hotel.

Meanwhile, the band had no idea. I was on my own. Stewart had disappeared with the band to have some Spinal Tap rock n roll fun.

Miles Copeland put Sonja and I in the same hotel room so I could look after her. And of course, I couldn’t say a word to the band about this or they might quit the tour and I’d be out of a gig. This had happened before and they swore that if she was getting high again, there would be no reunion of Curved Air.

I managed to get her needles and her ampules out and prep them. I had no experience with drugs and needles. She was in and out of consciousness. I placed her on the bed and sat on her belly…and I began to gently smack her face so she could prep the needle and tie herself off. I was exhausted. This wasn’t working. She was completely out of it. I tied her off. I looked for a vein. I had never done anything like this. I was shitting my pants. God’s honest truth…I kept seeing the next morning’s newspaper with the headline: ‘Filthy Jew Bass Player Kills Beloved Singer with Hot Dose!’

She wouldn’t hold her arm still and I couldn’t get the needle into a vein. I started slapping her harder. It worked.

Sonja came around enough to inject the needle into one of many fucked up veins. Moments later, she came to. And behaved like nothing had happened.
“Are we there already?”

I just rolled off her and on to the floor next to the bed. I was drenched in my own sweat.

She got up and said she was going to meet up with the rest of the band. ‘Ooh. The roadies have a poker game. Do you want to come along?’ I nearly laughed as I declined her kind offer. She had absolutely no memory of the last 10 hours.

I spent 20 minutes in the shower. I veered from the norm and put some hash into my pipe and puffed on it till the little rock was gone. I began to feel better.

I thought about how we had 6 weeks of this bullshit. I’d never make it. I led a safe middle class life and now I was thrown into the underbelly of the drug world.

The rest of the tour was a nightmare. I was relegated to keep this a secret from the band. I had hit the big time. I was naïve so I stupidly thought it was worth it. I would discover that I was masterful at disguising Sonja’s constant stunts. I saved her life countless times as she tried to commit suicide two or three times per week. The killer afterwards was she never showed any gratitude. None. She was the one that told me on the phone that I was no longer a member of Curved Air.
To be continued….

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS

Tags: andre farkas, cigar reviews, cigar reviews by the katman, cigars, katman, phil kohn, viaje cigars, Viaje WLP Path of Totality | Cigar Reviews by the Katman