Wrapper: Nicaraguan
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Honduran, Nicaraguan
Size: 6 x 52 Toro
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $10.00
Date Released: 2024
Quantity Released: Regular Production
Factory: Flor de Copán, Honduras

My cigars received 4 months of naked humidor time.

BACKGROUND:
Cigar Aficionado rated this cigar 92.
From Cigar Aficionado:
“The Saint Luis Rey Carenas Ultramar is made in Honduras at the Flor de Copan factory using an “extra-aged blend of tobaccos,” Altadis says, while not specifying exactly how much older these tobaccos are than the ones used in the Carenas line. There’s another difference in the blend besides the age; Ultramar’s wrapper and binder are both from Nicaragua, and the filler is a combination of Honduran and Nicaraguan leaf, compared to the original Carenas blend, which consists of Honduran filler and binder and Nicaraguan wrapper.

“The transport of tobacco in the ships destined for Spain from the New World, was the first known form of tobacco fermentation and aging,” says Gabe Diaz, brand manager for Altadis U.S.A. “The original Saint Luis Rey Carenas parallels how the tobacco would have tasted in the New World. The Saint Luis Rey Carenas Ultramar represents the extra-aged tobacco that would have been smoked upon the shipment’s arrival in Spain.”

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
This cigar gets very positive reviews from across the universe of cigar reviewers.

The wrapper’s aroma throws me off as I expected the usual heavy barnyard and chocolate. Instead, it is sweet with notes of floral, cinnamon graham cracker, and roasted pistachios.

I pierce the toast with my toady aka the PerfecPunch. After a successful penetration, the airhole is open and the damn PP grabs my ankle and uses the PerfecSwifty hinges to gnaw at my Achilles. My eyes roll, I let out a sigh, and I crush it with my Dutch clog. It jumps up in a reiteration of ball banging and clitoris bumping and runs towards the exit of my domicile. I rear my giant bald head back and let out a guffaw. I love the smell of Kurthy’s design in the morning.

The cold draw is spicy like cinnamon Red Hots, rich earthiness, dark chocolate, black pepper, and fried turmeric.

The opening salvo is earth, wind, and leather (I haven’t used this in a year), aged leather, caramel, and chocolate.

I like a cigar that starts with a bit of panache. I hate waiting an inch to see a blend kick in. Just like I hate the question: “Is that the first inch, or the last?”

Cigar Aficionado described: “Notes of saffron, leather and roasted nuts appear.” A touch of spice precedes the sweet, butterscotch finish.” Thanks to having a soft brain and a flat attitude, it’s what I taste, but in phases. I sometimes read other reviewers when I light up a cigar. I like a leg up. Descriptions help a lot in aiding and abetting the mysterious palate.
Strength is medium. Easy going. Smooth. The first inch, while mildly tasty, is merely the transporter. Better things to come.

The citrus component can always go sideways. A slightly sour lemon taste can easily overwhelm the entire blend. As the first half is near completion, a sweetly sour tastes appears and nails the balance. It burrows into the nuttiness and CA’s ‘saffron’ suggestion materializes.

The burn is sharp. The sweet and sour twirls. Smooth, rich, and earthy. If the blend can sustain its boner in the second half, this cigar will prove it is fighting above its weight class as a $10 stick.

I’m going to remind you at the end of this review, but I need to emphasize that this cigar, while having undisclosed aging, does really well with at least 2 months of rest. Smoking it the day of, or a week after, receipt will just waste a cigar. Ask any expert why cigars do better with rest, and you’ll get different answers each time.

Every review commented that while the manufacturer describes this cigar as medium/full, it takes nearly the entire three hour tour before that happens. I concur. I feel like the first half was a great morning smoke with medium power, but full body. It’s the aging that smooths the rough edges. Plus, there ain’t no ligero present.

Apocalypse Now. The scenes that Marlon Brando was in…he couldn’t remember any of his lines. Coppola got frustrated and changed the angle of the shots so that one ear was hidden from view. An earbud was used to feed Brando his lines. But then Brando kept changing the words that he and Coppola worked on for hours the night before. Another pain in the ass for Coppola was Dennis Hopper. His performance was brilliant despite being high on LSD most of the time.

While the first half was mildly complex with soft transitions, it is the second half that sees the flavor profile power up. Almost like a light switch, the blend jumps into high gear.

I don’t drink. I want to. But it knocks me silly after a couple sips. The dichotomy is I love the flavor of spirits and beer. This blend would pair beautifully with a good bourbon. So, since it is 5pm somewhere, I take a couple sips of Jack.

It has no effect. Wedl,ddl.,et: fol.;llllpaawern. It assol ;wonk for tips & 9 timess.
An hour later.

I love this cigar. I love you, man. I really love my readers. The blend gives me pepper, citrus, and… I might’ve stood up too fast.

You ever notice your cigars winking at you? I love it. I love you. I really do. I text my humidors to see if they love me. The cigar becomes impotent. I speak directly into the cap: Listen, buddy, I’m trying to review you, not fight you. Are you lookin’ at me?

I’m fine. I can drive. What? I think I can fix this with a couple more sips.
How do I know if I left the garage door open? Why don’t you go check, smartass.

The cigar shifts in my hand. It’s planning something. What? It says I dropped it earlier. I didn’t drop it. I KNOW I didn’t drop it. ?? I will NOT watch my tone! What do you mean you wish Cigar Coop was reviewing you? No, there’s no meeting at midnight. You think I’m stupid? What? It whispers, ‘I saw what you did with that cutter.’ I don’t even know what that means.

Am I sure? About what? I need a couple more sips.

I rotate the cigar slightly to see if it reacts. It does…holy shit, the burn line shifts just enough to say, “Nice try.” A secret cabal? Yes! Fucking cigar secret network. What is your mission? Fuck, yeah, I have clearance. What? I love you too.

Structural weaknesses in my last review? You bastard! You can’t read. I ever tell you that that hole in your cap makes you look like a penis?? Yeah, yeah, I’m predictable.

That was a really good cigar. I loved it. I love you, man. I really do.
The ash stares at me. I’m afraid to tap it. I’m afraid not to tap it. The cigar has me exactly where it wants me.

As the cigar finishes, I realize the cigar isn’t trying to hurt me. It’s trying to teach me something. Something profound. Something ancient. Something smoky. I lean in, ready to hear the fucking truth. The cigar whispers, “You’re out of bourbon.” I check the glass. It’s empty. The cigar was right. It always knew. It always knows.

You can purchase the Saint Luis Rey Carenas Ultramar from my sponsor Sigar Page on the Krazy Katman’s Bargain Basement page. Two sizes are available: Robust (5 x 50) and the Toro (6 x 52). The discount is 37%.

This is a good deal. GO TO KRAZY KATMAN’S BARGAIN BASEMENT HERE.

RATING: 93

And now for something completely different:

Now this is a really bizarre event in my life…yes, it’s about drugs; but nonexistent drugs.

Let me take you back….1979. I was 29 and the project engineer for a large mall renovation in Orange, CA.

The job was soon coming to a close and the 7 or 8 people still on the job were pretty close as a group.

One Monday, Sheila the 52 year old project accountant, told me she had gone sky diving. Based on what I knew about her, I was shocked. She became the impetus and introduction for me to begin jumping too. I couldn’t let a woman do something crazy without me trying it too. Yeah, not exactly forward thinking.

Her husband was the CFO for Tishman Construction California. An arrogant fuck of a man. Every time I needed to discuss something with Sheila, I’d end up as her psychiatrist as she pumped out the woes of her life. Initially, the conversations were normal, but then it sunk into unsavory issues. She whined…she pissed and moaned and it never ended. She complained about her marriage. Her husband was a good-looking man, 10 years her junior, and Sheila….well, was Sheila.

I visited her husband in the hospital after some minor surgery on his arm. He started doing the same thing. Oh lord. Did I look like a priest? (I still had my fro).

I had had it. I made a big effort to stay away from them. But one morning, Sheila called me into her office, crying.

I plopped myself on the chair opposing her desk. I could feel my eyes roll up and air evacuating from my lungs.

All I heard was blah, blah, blah. Complaining about her marriage ad nauseum. She kept asking me if she should seek out therapy, or meds.

I finally blurted out, “Well maybe you should just go out and buy some heroin or get good therapy and anti-depressants…I don’t care which!”
And with that, I got up and left.

Never underestimate the fury of a pissed off woman.

She called her husband, who was still in the hospital under the influence of pain killers; and told him that I tried to sell her heroin. What?

A couple days later, I noticed my boss looking at me strangely. Watching me. A day or so after that, the BIG boss came out from the main office to talk to me.

The boss was an old family friend and he questioned me without ever telling me what the fuck he was talking about. Never mentioned drugs or that I might be suspected as the dealer on the site.

I was confused over that hour of interrogation. I didn’t know what he wanted from me.

He finally ended it and said he was satisfied, “Phil. I don’t want to ever catch you doing this again!!”

“Do WHAT again?” He turned around and headed for his car.

I sauntered into my boss’ office in the job trailer. My chin hit my chest and told him I thought my career was over, but I didn’t know why.
So he told me why.
I exploded.
HEROIN!!??

I ran over to the construction office and began yelling at Sheila. I got on the phone and began yelling at her husband.

It was sorted out quickly. They took the blame. Everyone apologized to me. But I told them all to go take a hike. After that episode, they constantly tried to make it up to me, but I would have none of it. I was a kid.

I guess it was karma on my part. Everyone was embarrassed in my presence because of the horrible accusation started by an unstable woman and passed on to a man full of pain killers and then to the Big Cheese of the company.
I learned then, that your co-workers are not your friends no matter how it may seem. At some inevitable time in the future, they will turn on you and use your own words against you. Never fails. I wanted to be a rock star again.

And now for something completely different Part 2:

I had a large group of friends back in the early 80’s. Why? I owned one of only two recording studios in Long Beach, Ca. Population 350,000.

We did well. While we recorded hundreds upon hundreds of bands, we specialized in doing radio commercials. My partner engineered and I produced. I always had the last word on the mix. And I worked with the talent to get the most out of them.

We were young and had vibrant souls. Age had not taken us down yet. I was in my early 30’s.

All genres of bands recorded with us…but there is one that sticks out: a radical punk band whose name I cannot remember.

They were always high on meth. And they insisted on recording at 8am on Sunday mornings…. probably to keep the buzz going from staying up all night and partying. They always made me nervous.

None of their songs lasted more than one minute. And they insisted we record them directly to two tracks instead of the 16 tracks we offered.
This meant no overdubs. No mixing. Everything was recorded live and the levels were locked in.

They would come in and lay down 20 songs in 4 hours. It was exhausting. They brought an entourage with them so I brought in extra security when they were recording because they had a tendency to steal things.

One Saturday night, they decided to rent our rehearsal studio next door. It wasn’t so much a rehearsal as it was a massive party with hundreds of their friends showing up.

An hour or so into the party, they were ruining our P.A. system we provided with the rental. If it didn’t work right, they had a tendency to bang on it and kick it. And they’d over amp the speaker towers.

We had a nice lounge outside the actual rehearsal space and it was full. And there was a big crowd outside on the sidewalk because there wasn’t enough room inside.

I saw with my own eyes as men and women vomited on the outside and inside walls of the studio. I saw one guy actually peeing in the corner of the lounge. That was enough. I called 911.

The cops heard the words ‘punk band’ and they showed up in droves. They completely blocked the 4-lane road outside our studio which was near the Pacific Ocean. Two K-9 units cars arrived. And the biggest cops I had ever seen arrived with their batons at the ready.

They began arresting people as they were caught unaware smoking doobies.

The head cop asked what I wanted? I told him to get them out of my studio. Fast!

About 15 cops began rounding up everyone and shooed them outside, frisking most of them; discovering drug paraphernalia.

The band had trashed my studio. They started screaming they wanted their money back. $10 an hour…or they wouldn’t leave. Wrong thing to say. One big cop laughed as he held me back.

Cops dragged people out of the studio by their tri-colored mohawks. It was a beautiful sight.

Several news crews showed up. And then a riot began. More cops showed up and with them came a SWAT truck.

I stood very close to the largest cop there. He had his arm around me to make sure the idiots noticed that I was under protection.

It took almost an hour for things to calm down and for the bums to be removed by their own volition or by being arrested.

One of the band members threatened to kill me right in front of my big cop. So that cop drew his club from his belt and beat the living shit out of him, the whole time asking, “Who are you going to kill?”

When it was all over, and the cops left, I perused the damage done. It looked like Hurricane Katrina had moved through there. I sat on a pee-stained couch in the lounge and put my head in my hands.

The expensive PA was ruined. And it would take us several days to clean up the disgusting flotsam and jetsam left behind.

Needless to say, the punk band was not allowed to return and I always kept my .38 cal revolver nearby. Every time I walked from the recording studio to the rehearsal studio, I carefully looked out the door first. When it seemed safe, I made the 20 foot journey. I just knew I was going to be shot in a punk band drive by. How can you not love the music business?

I found this photo a couple years ago of the two buildings my studio and rehearsal hall were housed in. The studio was the bottom floor of an apartment building. Follow the yellow arrow. The rehearsal studio and our offices were in the building next door.

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