Katman Note: I’m recuperating from a procedure so no cigar smoking for Suzy Creamcheese for a while. It’s only been four days and I’ve got Reverse Peyronies Disease (geometric rhomboid) and I’m jonesing hard for a cigar. On Day 6, I shall be pursing my lips, pop topping my haunches, stiffening my resolve, arching my gonadian curve, girding my loin chops, culling my Montana dental floss ranch, and fondling my desperation. Hang tight…and in a few days, I shall be annoying you in real time.

Quai d’Orsay No. 54
Wrapper: Cuban
Binder: Cuban
Filler: Cuban
Size: 5.3 x 54 Robusto
Strength: Mild/Medium
Price: $27.00

Charlie Schink (Our Man in Zambia) slid this cigar to me under the table while at a litmus test fund raiser in Kangerlussuaq, Iceland. (Not far from Bakersnuuk). The cigar is from a box dated February 2023. Charlie paid $18 at that time but the price has skyrocketed to $27-$38 in 2024-2025, depending on the retailer.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
Cigar Aficionado’s #11 cigar of 2017.

It is a very light cigar. It weighs nothing. Upfront, I’m guessing the cold draw is going to be wide open. I use my PerfecPunch for cap removal and it works flawlessly. It turns out I was wrong. The stick is plugged like a wild boar feasting on cheap Valentine’s chocolate…my PerfecDraw taps in.

It is a gorgeous wrapper. Oily and slick. Burnt umber glistens like the eyes of a daddy ferret upon learning he has 17 new marmot children.

The wrapper’s aroma is your grandma’s spice cabinet. Big memories. Throw in chocolate covered lemon slices and floral escapades and we have a perfect field goal.

The cold draw is stacked with bakery strata that includes a very singular note of clove and then followed by vanilla, fresh sugar doughnuts, cedar, even more floral, and citrus.

Like a flourish from The Amazing Kreskin, the fire of the gods produces flavor notes of butterscotch pudding, serious oak notes, candied lemon, salty butter, and rose water.
Two years of humidor aging has given this blend life after death. This cigar takes not a single prisoner. But can it survive the long and winding road of a two-hour smoke? I’m counting on it.

Speaking of colonoscopies…my last one was in 2016. My 5th stab at it so to speak. I vowed after this one to never, never, never, ever to go through that again. You must drink multiple quarts of the most vile putrid liquid every 30 minutes, for hours. Why? So that your ass can turn into a shit faucet all night long. You arrive at the hospital dehydrated and exhausted…and then they commence with Dr. Torquemada’s technique of healing by sticking a 10-foot diameter hose, with a 19th century Nikon camera attached, up your tiny asshole…mine is tiny: Botox. Add an endoscopy (an examination of the upper GI tract) done at the same time and you have a near trifecta. They use baby wipes to clean the tube used on your colon and shove it down your throat and into your stomach looking for polyps. Get this: The foo foo juice that they injected to knock me out didn’t knock me out. To ease my suffering, they sprayed my throat with lidocaine and snaked that 20-foot-long tube down my gullet. Gagging doesn’t begin to describe the end result…thanks Jesus, they only root around for 30 minutes (?). It brought back fond memories of my time on D Block in Bang Kwang Central Prison, Thailand…thus creating a Mardi Gras moment in time. When your doc advises a colonoscopy accompanied by an endoscopy…just kill yourself.

The worm turns. Steamy oatmeal slathered with maple syrup and fresh cinnamon. Creaminess ups its ante. Minor notes of freshly shaved ginger. Mary Ann shaves to keep solidarity.

Transitionally, this is a carnival ride. Twirling and spinning like a Nebraskan exile. It morphs into a meaty quality. And then Pontefract Cakes. Next up is an earthy taste like sauteed Portabellas. Sweet v. Savory is going Bozo crazy.

I visited the Sacramento State Fair with friends. They had the Budweiser Clydesdale team for all to see. Sacramento is brutally hot in summer. At one point in the day long slog, we passed the horse stables. There was a large group, mostly women, staring into one stall. We went over to see what the hubbub was about. This giant horse had a casual boner that was as long as two Louisville Sluggers and twice the girth. Women stood, stared, clapped their hands, and laughed. Men threw their hands in the air and walked away. It was impossible to have long-awaited coital relations with our partners upon return from that excursion. The disappointment in our partner’s eyes would have been too much to bear.

The meatiness comes from a sensation of smoked brisket. The oak wavers back and forth from mesquite to clean. Caramelized sweet onions. Lemony spicy curry lingers at the back of my throat. Creaminess is a methodical baseline. Malt appears just in time. Brunei hummus mixed with ferret filets make their move. Dope smoking Walt Disney’s frozen head makes an appearance. Light floral notes spin like a dreidel. A hugely complex and mature smoke. I use the word ‘mature’ with hesitation.

Heating the cigar caused expansion that fills the void of what I expected to be a dirigible that was lighter than air. Instead, I admonish myself for being a dufus. We never stop learning. Never. Keep that in mind when you pat yourself on the back next time you feel sated with your own level of intelligence. I’m on the leader board with an I.Q. of 88. Take that, Forrest.

A friend took me as a ride along to pick up his paycheck at Disneyland. Behind the scenes was a sight to see as costumed employees scurried about behind the tall fence that obscured them from the public. I watched in wonder as a guy wearing a Goofy costume stepped into the sanctuary hidden from the world at large…he removed his giant head that exposed a sweat drenched face and plastered hair…then proceeded to puke his guts out missing the trash can he was aiming for. My buddy asked if I needed his help getting a gig since they were hiring for It’s a Small World. I said I was happy at Knott’s Berry Farm where the west was wild, and Walter Knott pumped out John Birch Society brochures to the public like a true white man. Turns out that I was the first Jew that worked at the Farm…it was a secret kept by my boss Bud Hurlbut. I was disappointed that an honorarium plaque was never set on the dock in front of my steamboat.

The burn is glacier. It moves a quarter of an inch every 20 minutes. I have an appointment later for a prune Danish. I will reschedule.

With 1-1/2” burned, the ash configures Mt. Rushmore. And then it crashes missing my naughty bits by a mile.

Flavors feel canonized. But as I approach the second half, my gazillion years of experience says something wonderful awaits.

The balance is textbook. The richness makes my head rear back as I howl…letting out a primal scream. Complex notes smooth their descent into the money cave. I decided not to let Charlie comment. He’s going to wig out.

The Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek cleared the way for my friend Marshal Thomas to do a radio interview with the band X, which he managed. They were the coolest of the cool of punk royalty in L.A. Marshal asked me to tag along. We went to married couple John Doe’s and Exene Cervenka’s modest home in West L.A. It was a shit hole inside. We entered an almost entirely dark living room. It took about 5 seconds before the smell hit me. Decaying food, garbage everywhere, pet feces, and stinky humans who hadn’t showered…ever. I told Marshall I’d be outside in his car with the motor running.

The second half slides like Rickey Henderson. There was calm as the cigar entered this phase. Bedlam is released. I jump up and down in my usual style of attaining inches of air beneath my feet. I miss being limber. So does Charlotte.

I force minutes of rest despite my need to puff like a chimney. Reward is better than disappointment.

Repetitiveness seems fruitless as I’ve exceeded my 12,000-word limit. This is a great cigar that every smoker can enjoy. Strength never outstripped medium. The sheer richness of the blend shows us that when Cubans get it right, they are masters of their domain. Price points of $20 plus are coming at us at Mach 4 speed. Occasionally, it is nice to say damn the torpedoes when a brilliant cigar is in your clenched paws.

RATING: 97

Romeo y Julieta Wide Churchill
Wrapper: Cuban
Binder: Cuban
Filler: Cuban
Size: 5.125 x 55
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $30.00
Box Date: November 2019

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
Rated 96 by Cigar Aficionado.

While I don’t believe there is 100% transparency when CA reviews a cigar approved for American sale, common sense tells us they have no skin in the game when they review a cigar from the verboten isle of Cuba.

Hence, with only one sample for review, my knees are shaking, and my ankles are doing the Locomotion. Will I get it right? There’s always a chance.

The wrapper is a gorgeous chocolate copper color. Dripping with oil like my Uncle Sid who loved eating gefilte fish without a napkin. Aromas are devastatingly floral with sidecar notes of buttered toast, peanut butter, fresh brewing coffee, strong cedar, and grape jelly.

My PerfecPunch works flawlessly as usual. The blow hole is wide open without the added noise of the crunch when using a cutter. The cold draw does me a solid with strong cedar, black pepper, momma’s spice cabinet, black coffee, butterscotch, and a scoche of fruitiness.

I dawdle as I type because the cigar is perched between my lips, and it tastes damn fine. I realize I must eventually put torch to foot, but what’s the hurry? (The Amoxicillin I’m taking is causing vaginal itch. (Second time.)

Down by the bayou….my palate is attacked by wild marmots fleeing as the Best of Credence plays in the background. Soupy creaminess is on the sales floor. The black coffee gets a dollop of dairy. Due to the strong attack of black pepper in the warmup stages of smell, and then cold draw, I am relieved that my fears are without merit…like the worrisome and constant terror that ICE may come through the door and spirit my Irish terrier away to Gitmo.

Strength is just a bit taller than mild while on the edge of solid medium.

I can count on one hand the flavors my palate interprets. But the wonderful rich quality is hopefully a tribute to what is to come. (I wrote ‘cone’ and then had to backtrack).
In the middle of his second tour with Elvis, my cousin Fred Selden (ran the horn section) was taken up to The Man’s suite to meet him. Words were sparse but the praise was real. Nothing was mentioned about Fred’s jazzing up the middle 8 of “Dixie.” The band leader had already threatened him with dismissal if he didn’t play it as written. Fred told me that the parasites around Presley were drunk, amped up on speed, and hovered around the King like mosquitoes. Selden relayed to me how sad he felt. On the upside, my cuz received heaps of women’s panties from the crowd asking that they be delivered to Elvis Presley. There is always a balance. Elvis is dead. So is my cousin. A pattern?

The cigar felt light prior to lighting. Good cigars always plump up as is the case with this RyJ. The burn is a bit uneven but doesn’t cause arrythmia.

The flavors morph into what I would call a great Hendrik Kelner blend…or maybe a Fuente’s OpusX. Faux Nicaraguan influence is nil. The great old blenders try to mimic the Cuban cigars of their past using Dominican, Ecuadorian, Peruvian, and African leaves in order to get them close enough for jazz.

To make a short story long, I taste mild lemon, light spiciness, vanilla, boutique coffee, leather, rich earthiness, cashews, and cinnamon. This is a nice cigar. Sometimes the Cubans rise above the dire conditions of their island and knock it out of the park.

$30 is a hellacious amount of dough to spend on one cigar. Obscene. I can’t believe the gall of some American cigar manufacturers who sell a stick for a C note. And it goes up from there. Rich guys think they’re getting something special if they pay more. But how long does the magic last after you’ve told your herf friends that the stick of dead leaves in your manicured paw set you back a smart $1,000.00? They don’t care. They are not like us. They aren’t married.

The first third comes to an end. Professional critics say the fun is about to begin. There is a transitional quality that reigns supreme when smoking a Romey y Julieta Wide Churchill.

A crack forms. My PerfecRepair is at the ready. A couple of brush strokes and the evil deed is stopped in its tracks. This shit is liquid gold.

The creaminess is dead nuts perfect. Floral notes make a wafting gesture to my massive schnoz. The lemon turns into sweet orange. Harmony and understanding become the blend’s credo. The cinnamon gets a leg up by adding graham cracker. And then the graham cracker gets the nod from a light honey quality. Moon River.

Balance is platinum.

I finish the first half. Manna from the gods. Matzoh from Manischewitz. Moribund responsibility from the vomitorium.

A sip of coffee and it splurges with the suggestion that there are caffeinated notes. The richness is like outrunning a cop.

This fat bastard will be a two-hour dream come true.

It is clear now that the first half was a gentle precursor, the tip of the iceberg, the cone on the nose, as to how my palate receives the second half. It is decimating my sense of good and evil. What a killer cigar.

Is it worth an arm and a leg? Hell yeah. I’ve smoked and reviewed cigars in this range that don’t come close…making it a selfish exhibit of grabbing the ring of corporate greed by the neck and not letting go. Give the Cubans your dough. Give them the money.

Strength has been an easy going medium extant. All those that matter declare it a robust blend with the tendency to hit medium/full.

The last couple of inches must slaughter the beast. If not, all is lost.

I can list the flavor wheel. But then you know it by heart. The blend is about complexity and transitional richness. Depth is that well with little Johnny in it. Do we help him or let Darwin do his thing.

They were correct-a-mundo. The last 30 minutes is about strength. But a delicate wire walker and not a ball peen hammer. This ain’t Stulac strength where the last third has you becoming a puddle on the carpet, asking for your mommy.

I’m ruined for the rest of the day. Color me squashed. The art of the deal is carefully planning my next cigar. Do I attempt to find a match…or go the opposite direction with a full-strength Padrón?

Know the best part of being retired? Never wake up to an alarm clock again. True dat. And the blessed opportunity to smoke multiple cigars.

The Romeo y Julieta Wide Churchill deserves every bit of the 100 I will rate it. They don’t get better than this.

RATING: 100

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS

Tags: cigar reviews, cigar reviews by the katman, cigars, katman, Katman Rekap ~ 2 Cubans: Quai d’Orsay No. 54 & Romeo y Julieta Wide Churchill | Cigar Reviews by the Katman, phil kohn