Wrapper: Mexican San Andrés Rosado ~ Aged 3-1/2 years
Binder: Dominican
Filler: Dominican, Nicaraguan, Colombian Cubita
Size: 5.75 x 52 Toro
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $50.00
Date Released: November 2024
Quantity Released: 200 Boxes of 10
Factory: Tabacalera William Ventura

My cigars received 4 months of naked humidor time.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
A $50 Caldwell cigar.

The cigar was released a year ago and not a single review since. The good news is that the cigars have a year of box aging. I will begin with reverence and then it either pleasantly surprises…or I become a raving lunatic. I’m an amalgam of Grandpa Munster, a blind proctologist, and owner of 3-string basses.

For $50, I expect a glorious looking cigar. It’s not happening. A very ordinary looking wrapper with a bit of oil and a lot of 1930’s horror movie veins.

My PerfecPunch slices through the cap like a rabbi on his 1000th bris. Without my PP, I’d be lost, bequeathed, alone, disjointed, and fornicated. Dr. Rod’s mission on earth is to provide solid dental care and provide an end to cigar smokers’ anxiousness throughout the northern hemisphere.

I sniff the didgeridoo while it awaits extermination. It’s devoid of external aromata. I guess that this leaf having 4 years of age discriminates against the average schnoz. So, I go in for the cold draw: baking spices, malt, chocolate, espresso, nocturnal emissions, and a dirigible worth of cream.

Time to gas it up.

Now, my dears, we’re schmoozing like the king of Greenland. Big fatty notes of earthiness, sublime creamed corn, leather goods, chocolate, café au lait, black pepper, and brown sugar.

This is my third stick. So, I know what I’m talking about. (I heard you shake your head).

There is a nice cocoa powder taste on my tongue and lips. There’s something special going on. Like the time in 1973 when I found a lid of weed in the heating vent that the previous tenant forgot about.

I love cigars that don’t fuck around and get down to business immediately. As we all should with a cigar ringing in at half a C note. It’s complex, it feels nurtured, and words slide off my tongue like a newly elected politician.

The skipper plumps like the Wienermobile with too many Little Oscars aboard. But the burn gets wonky and I am displeased. I try not to be displeased too often but I’m Jewish and there is no resolve. That’s all I have to say about that.

I’m waiting on a small grocery delivery so if I have to stop, I will raise two fingers. When I’m back, I’ll raise one finger. Just so you know.

The cigar is pretty damn good but either I’m having another aneurysm or I have lost the ability to discern distinct party favors. A rich earthy blend that defies description. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Skip and I loved to spend time at the tide pools and ecosystems at Cabrillo Beach in San Pedro. We could spend hours watching fish, indigenous beings, and plant life weaving to and fro. He once wanted to show me what a sea anemone’s tentacle sting was like. He picked one up from the clear water and stuck his tongue in its vagina. I watched in horror. He smiled for a minute, maybe less, and then his tongue began to swell. Another minute passed and his face was red, panic set in, and I couldn’t help but laugh. We spent the next 6 hours in the emergency room.

The first two inches were good but all I can think of is that adventure cost me $17. I could have gotten laid for that in 1973. Meanwhile, in 2026, my bone whistle lay at parade rest.

Are reviewers afraid of cigar manufacturers? Sure. Most don’t want to diss someone that might, in 20 years, send them a free fiver. Especially if they have podcasts and want Steve Saka as a guest. If I have to listen to one more guy ask, “So, Mr. Saka, how did you start in the cigar biz,” I’m going to plotz all over the floor. Even worse, “How did you come up with the name of the cigar?” Oy.

Disappointment is looming large. I’m smoking this lovely Fortaleza on a clean palate. I should be advancing the propaganda nicely. I’m finishing the first half, and I can’t help but wonder gently, “I fucking spent what on this cigar???” Blimey.

If this cigar lived at the going rate of $15 in 2026 for a decent cigar, I would still be unhappy. It started off with such promise and now it is devolving into huge regret and dissemination of improper thoughts. I may want to butt fuck my accountant who suggested this as a great fiver. Or I may just wait to see how the second half does.

Skip was so much smarter than me. But I was shocked when he threw his chances at a master’s degree away after discovering that his science experiment failed. Instead of illuminating the wrong turns, his research in molecular biology went unanswered. Skip was also a consummate artist. A kid with possibilities…but his demons would eventually win. His brothers and sister all had their demons. All succeeded in life until they didn’t. Skippy was a dashing good-looking sod but had nothing up his sleeve with the women. A divorce at the age of 26…and then a 30-year marriage to a woman from hell. A deeply disturbed woman that made his life miserable…a woman that turned him so insane, that he would have her jailed, bat her around, and listen to her nonstop claims of foreboding suicide. Skip found a way out. He allowed his treatable health issues to end his life. He was only 70.
This is Skip in his London flat while we jam in the key of E ♭.

I still like the cocoa powder influence. And the creamy earthiness. But there are no transitions. The complexity has stalled. It’s depth of field lay bare. Fuck me. $50.

I’ve reviewed a lot of good Caldwell designs. The Crafted & Curated Savages Mal Caida took the #17 position on my top 25 of 2025. A $16 stick. Take a look here.

Despite my anger, the second half improves. I still want my money back, but it’s better and I calm the fuck down.

Removing the tiny little secondary band causes a rip in the wrapper. Damn my no good for shit arthritic fingers. I enjoyed the first stick. I enjoyed the second stick which was the prompt for reviewing the third one this morning. I don’t know what’s wrong with me…or better yet, what’s wrong with this blend?
There is enough decency that I’m going to stick it out as long as the good lord, who visits me at night during my sleep apnea interruptions, allows me to do so. If the cigar doesn’t show some sign of life, I’m converting to Catholicism. My Catholic wife is Jewish by injection.

The cigar ain’t bad. But we have choices. I’m pretty sure that Caldwell is very happy that he only released 2,000 cigars into the wild. That’s $100,000 in cash flow so he ain’t all that unhappy. Many are still sitting on retailer’s shelves. This is the best place for them to reside.

RATING: 84

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