He went on, "I think we only have one, but not the Fuente." (I had asked after the Fuente double claro I reviewed here.) "Have you tried Illusione? They're out of Reno. Weird, huh?"
"No more weird than the fact I'm outta Oregon." I mumble and embark upon this Illusione 88, a stick with a price tag that would cover a near 3 days of my beloved House of Gary (Casa de Garcia). Let's not hold that against it. Until I factor that into the final grade, at least.
Now, my friends, my Romans, my Countrymen --
The Cigar:
Illusione 88
Candela wrapper
Nicaraguan Puro (binder/filler)
Robusto size
Pre-light:
Fantastic material yet an apparent dinky handling thereof. Let me 'splain. The cigar band, though minimalist, classy, and reminiscent of Yankee pinstripes -- is affixed crookedly and needs a fix. The Candela is like buttah in my fingahs. Buttah, I say -- but the roll has left a large enough lack of filler to have sunk inward to the point it's almost a flute. I place the stick in my mouth and put my finger over the dip, and blow through the cap. I laugh. I stop laughing when I think of the price. This, however, is not the final grade portion, as promised above -- and I shall digress, replete with fleuron.
The pack is loose and uneven, the dip, man. The divot. There is two, a smaller one an inch away from the momma one. Potholes. I notice a tiny third...
To the nose, I get the grassy floral of the Candela. Too, the sweet darkness of the Nicaraguan. This will need to be a deftly crafted balancing act, methinks. For Illusione to handle. My part is easy to handle. All's I do is -- cold draw first -- salty notes prevail. All I do, is...
Light:
The light is easy and the first pull is predominantly salty with a flint nose and tinny mouth. The second and third pulls add macadamia to the mix and we are off onto the
1/3:
It's macadamia nut jumping to the lead out of the gate. Some toasty nose is also in the race, and I've decided that's enough with the horse racing schtick. The cigar feels warmed already and has loosened up its already loose self.
The burn is uneven and does not lend itself to correction. The ash, feathery. I look at the stogie the wrong way and it clumps off at a half inch.
New notes of cardamom and honey join in the macadamia nut farm. A hint of white chocolate I attribute to the Nicaraguan guts begins to rear. My word, I'm a sucker for a green stick. There's a saltiness that comes on at the very end of the medium-length finish. It drops from the nose to palate and cleanses both quite nicely.
The burn remains incorrigible and I'm attempting now to see it as charming rapscallion-ry. It's a fast and warm burn. The warms plays at white chocolate yet seems to want to deepen to cocoa.
2/3:
The nose is salty. The taste is an unlying white chocolate with a touch of honey that lingers in a finish of nice length and is whisked away when the salty nose drops to the palate. There is a coming and going, too, of floral notes. That is my definitive right now update, as the second third begins.
Also, the burn has slowed and has learned to see the reason in my Djeep retouchings.
All is the same as we head into the final third, although honey peeks through a tad more.
3/3:
Starts with a crack in the wrapper as if the Nicaraguan machismo is more than the somewhat fagalah Candela cares to grapple to confinement.
"From limestone earth, the grass grows." The green stick tells me in its best Yoda.
Still at the start of 3/3, there is whatever the heck Yoda said, and there is salt. I would like more tobacco in the form of the hinted at Wonder bread-in-toaster, but I'm okay with this experience. The honey finish is nice and it is nice because of the salt not allowing it to linger too long.
The tear grows and more sprout and I've decided to pull until I can'ts pulls no mo'. The end is nigh. Carpe diem. #YOLO
"Old and frail, I may be. A strength I hide," foreshadows the stogie. The sun is setting behind a tulip tree, I slump in my resin porch chair, relaxed but poised. I sip, not gulp, at my chamomile tea. my body says relaxed, my eyes say crazy.
The danger never comes. Yoda falls asleep drooling, I don't even know why I bother making mention of him. I decide that some Piedmont Blues would go well with the remainder. The cracking candela will limit that remainder.
The ending comes warm and floral, each brought on nicely by the chamomile pairing. The salt leaves with the honey at the last couple of pulls.
Pairings:
Piedmont Blues, Chamomile, a white rum would have been good to have around. My after smoke peanut butter sandwich was strangely dee-lish.
Final Grade: B-
My wife sticks her head out onto the porch. "Did you get into my chamomile?"
"Yes. I'm also wearing your panties." I say.
"Candela?" She asks.
"Candela." I say.
"Why two mugs?" She asks.
"Wanted my own, I did." A mostly unconscious Yoda explains.