Wrapper: Dominican Habano Oscuro (Chateau de la Fuente)
Binder: Dominican (Chateau de la Fuente)
Filler: Dominican (Chateau de la Fuente)
Size: 6.125 X 47
Body: Medium/Full
Price: $40.00

My cigars received 2 years of humidor aging.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
Almost no such thing as a bad Opus X, but I’ve had one now and again. And since these cigars are so expensive, it pissed me off. It makes you wonder if you just had bad luck and got a bad stick, or was the production run tainted by roving marmots using the tobacco leaves for toilet paper for their tiny patooties.

There is barely any aroma emanating from the wrapper. Have I gone nose blind? I force my schnoz into the erect position and find notes of barnyard, rich earthiness, and a touch of fruitiness.

The construction of the cigar is extremely rustic. It looks and feels like a large twig.

My 8mm PerfecPunch works beautifully on this very small cap. The cold draw is on the money, and I get lush notes of dark chocolate, licorice, summer fruit, hazelnuts, malt, vanilla, and mild black pepper.

I love saying nice smoke output. It’s the type of cloudy smoke that fills the area above my bulbous head and then wafts gently to the ceiling forming a likeness of the Shroud of Turn. The president is seen holding a few crypto coins, but is ultimately ignored by JC.

The damn thing is delicious right off the bat. Syrupy, sweet, savory, earthy, and succulent. Shit, it sounds like I described a cactus.

Oh man, I have the biggest godamm smile on my puss. As I wrote this, I remember an anecdote. Back in 2011, I wrote for several online retailers. I can’t mention this specific one and here’s why, I wrote something similar to the above sentence that ended in the simile for face: puss. The owner of the retail outfit called me and gave me a ration of shit for being pornographic. I had no idea what he was talking about. He wouldn’t come out and just say it so instead, he lectured me. Finally, he explained. I can’t believe I had to tell this grownup that ‘puss’, or face, is not the same thing as pussy.

The sweetness reminds me of ripe cherries and sweet pineapple. It’s not out front as it is equally matched by the notes of deep earthiness, vanilla, cinnamon, and hazelnuts. A simple flavor profile but deeply penetrating.

The burn is a bit wonky, but I believe in the kindness of strangers. Arty Fuente will get me through.

The flavors meld into one big lump of fun. The complexity is carrying the load and doing it wonderfully. Strength is medium. The blend is so creamy that I have foam on my lips.

This is not a big cigar due to its slim diameter. But the smoke is so dense that Sammy the Cat seeks other fortunes as he leaves my side for smogless counties.

The errant burn self corrects. Way to go, Arty.

I can’t help it but whenever I have a great time with a cigar, I think back to when the father of jazz fusion guitar, Larry Coryell, invited Curved Air up to his hotel room to smoke his Cuban cigars. We were in Switzerland, so Cubans were plentiful. I was a cigar smoker at that tender age and was excited to try my first Havana. My band members were cigarette smokers and had never had a cigar. Within minutes, they turned Kermit green and one by one, excused themselves. I stayed up all night with Larry smoking his cigars and listening to his stories. Coryell gave a me a couple of his cigars. I should have had him sign them.

This Opus X reminds me of my #1 cigar of 2025: Cuban Romeo y Julieta Wide Churchill. Oh my God, I’m schmeggling all over myself.

I’m reviewing this cigar after a meal of salad and vegetarian chili. I gargled mouthwash and hydrogen peroxide to rinse, and this blend is cutting right through. The cigar is nearing the second half and is accelerating the strength to medium/full.

Instead of huffing and puffing, which is our natural intention when something tastes this good, I’m allowing a couple minutes of rest. Each time I bring the cigar to my mouth, the rich earthiness and subtle sweetness renews.
Caramel shows up with a sidecar of fresh French bread, aged leather, and toasty oak. The finish is a mile long.

The blend is transitional. It’s complex. I got a boner this big.

During the same gigs Curved Air did with Coryell and the Eleventh House, Copeland and Mouzon got into a fight on the side of the stage while their keyboard player did a solo. Alphonse was sweet on our singer who, by then, was living with Stewart. Mouzon was inappropriate and all of a sudden, fists were flying. Sonja tried to stop it but was knocked aside. I jumped in and Copeland nailed me in the eye. I saw stars. The roadies pulled them off each other. The things that happen on the road. Yikes.

The first half was a gorgeous experience. I’m used to reviewing $40+ cigars and being wholly disappointed. If I had Dr. Rod’s dough, I’d buy 10 boxes of these. I’m so locked in that I don’t notice that my Depends has become unlocked.

My first sip of water. The rush is like falling over a steep cliff. Flavors explode. The richness and complexity keep me in a state of relaxation that drugs can’t provide. Maybe statins…or a low-grade beaver tranquilizer. In 1979, just before the 4th of July fireworks, I gave our hyperactive pooch some prescription doggie downers. Nothing worked until the 5th pill. I took him for a walk, and he was merely a puddle on the ground. I dragged him like a limp mop until he came to. The whole time I was working on my alibi for the police. Instead, I should have given the dog some nitrous.

No doubt, this cigar will be in my top 25 for ’26.

The strength is powerful but devoid of nicotine.

After I left Curved Air, I made a living selling stolen wheelchairs.

This cigar is working that pole like a runaway. Skank and musky. Like a Russian immigrant.

Reviews for this cigar are all over the place. It’s a shame because inconsistency kills the cigar’s reputation. But since most reviewers don’t report home humidor time, it is impossible to compare notes. The only time I know how long a reviewer has had his cigars, is when General Cigar sends out samples for review to bloggers. This happens 4-5 times per year. There is a rush to review these cigars within a week or two.

What are the flavors? Fuck if I know. It’s a swirling cacophony of excellence and I’m having a good time. I’d give anything if I can just stop writi….

RATING: 98

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And now for something completely different…A Bizarre Night w/Andy Kaufman (Latka of “TAXI”): True Story.

April 21, 2026: I first chronicled this story 13 years ago. It’s an old chestnut that I haven’t dredged up for 3 years. My regulars are rolling their eyes but I’m always adding new smokers so here goes nuttin’ honey.

Yes. Bizarre is the only way to describe it.

I was smack dab in the middle of my professional musical career. I had attained some peer cred and therefore got to do and see things on the other side of the ropes.

I had come off playing bass with the English band Curved Air. “The Police” drummer Stewart Copeland was my band mate.

I returned to my home in Long Beach, California and opened a recording studio, production company and management company. I took a project to the charts…a novelty single called “Whatever Happened to Eddie?” featuring Butch (Eddie Munster) Patrick. We took the theme from “The Munsters,” Butch wrote the lyrics, I brought together the musicians and produced a song that is horribly stuck in the brains of many.

I also was playing in a band (The Attitude) making the local charts with our version of Elvis’ “Hound Dog.” Little Richard played piano on the cut.

Life was good. These were also the years made famous by the Beverly Hills Diet of Cocaine and Champagne. And I had dough. You can take it from there.

My friend Marshall Thomas was a bona fide, big time, radio disc jockey. He was always a good hang. In the Eddie video, the rockabilly sax player is Marshall who did an amazing job lip syncing to the track laid down by my cousin and iconic session player, Fred Selden.

In December 1981, Marshal got VIP tickets to the release of Hanukkah Rocks by Gefilte Joe & The Fish on RHINO Records.

The release party was at the famous Improv in Hollywood.

That’s where I met him. Andy Kaufman. Latka of the sit com “TAXI.” As the hours burned, there were only 5 of us left in the club sitting together at the same booth. Me. Marshall. Andy. And some guy who was a hanger on along with his girlfriend.

We sat, in the large half-circle booth, with Andy in the middle.

Andy, for some reason, decided his next campaign in the world of improvisational art, would be the world of wrestling. It quickly went from wrestling men to wrestling women. The men were kicking his ass because he made fun of the “sport.” He figured he had a much better chance of being the victor if he picked on women.

So, he would challenge any woman in the audience of his shows. Sometimes, he won. Sometimes, he didn’t. It became a nationwide joke.

We all sat there in the booth, hugging our Hanukkah gifts. Including a record called Hanukkah Rocks shaped like a Star of David, in blue, with 2 songs on each side. It was a very cool trophy (I hung it in my recording studio office, and someone stole it.)

Andy began to weave the history of wrestling to us. Unless you knew him, you really didn’t know what his voice sounded like. Obviously, it wasn’t that of Foreign Man or Latka. And it didn’t sound like Elvis. He had sort of a milque toast voice, a little high, but quiet. When he spoke, you had to lean in.

We listened; we contributed and had a very normal conversation with one of the craziest entertainers in the world. We talked about music, life, and food. Then Marshall asked Andy if he would wrestle the girl sitting with us. He agreed without giving it any thought. Same with the chick. I tried to talk the two out of it because I had a bad feeling. I was ignored.

There was a small dance floor, about 10 feet square, in the middle of the club. Marshall stayed in the booth. The girl’s boyfriend moved to a chair at the corner of the dance floor. I moved to the opposite corner….and then we waited……and waited…while Andy seemed to be meditating with eyes closed.

Then in a rush of energy, he jumped to the top of the booth table and leaped off it like a crazed man. We all screeched, thinking he would fall, but he landed like a cat on the dance floor.

X rated epithets spewed from his mouth as he hunkered into a wrestling hunch and circled the girl. He was so foul mouthed that it made me uncomfortable. He was the complete opposite of earlier.

The chick made her move and threw Andy to the floor. It stunned him. He got up screaming at the girl, “You fucking bitch! You Cunt!” And so on. They got into a stranglehold on each other with neither giving in. Neither falling to their knees.

Then something vicious happened…Andy did a sweep with his leg, knocking the pins out from under the girl. Really nasty and hard, because she hit the floor like she’d been shot! He then leaped into the air and dropped right on top of her to pin her. She was screaming for help. I looked over at her boyfriend and he was laughing.

In only moments, Andy counted, “1-2-3” and jumped off her. He walked the perimeter of the dance floor with both hands in the air showing domination and accomplishment like a peacock. His head was bobbing up and down, enjoying the win.

The girl could not get up. She was hurt. Andy played way too rough. We all shook our heads and Marshall asked Andy, “Why were you so rough?” Andy ignored him.

We gathered our things at the table. It was 2am. We were beyond shocked. And then Andy asked us all up to his place, not far from the club, to hang out the rest of the night. He behaved like nothing had happened. The girl was in obvious pain. We all declined. We were disgusted. Andy kept asking us to reconsider as we walked to the door. The last thing I said was directed to the boyfriend, “You are a dumb shit.” He didn’t respond as he helped his bent over girlfriend to the parking lot.

Never, in my wildest imagination, did I think I’d experience anything like this. The next day, I reported to the crew at my studio, and they sat there with their jaws hanging open. And then we went to work. I never had any appreciation for Kaufman’s stunts again.

Andy died 2-1/2 years later from cancer at the age of 35.

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS