The Cigar:
Arturo Fuente
Chateau Fuente
Maduro colored wrapper of Connecticut Broadleaf
Binder/Filler Dominican Republic
Robusto size
Pre-light: The cedar sleeve is enchanting, as is the green footer ribbon. I feel as though it is either over-dressed, or I undercooked. Lunch was, well... If I might, a word to Marie Callender's: please leave the charmingly delicious crappy stews to Dinty Moore. Your TV Dinner version was lacking in all the wrong places. (There are correct places to be lacking, yes.)
I curse at the difficulty level of green ribbon removing, and put aside the cedar sheath to stick in my little ziplock stick tote.
On the eyeballing it looks a bit ragged, to be honest. The band is crookedly affixed, veins run in every direction, and there is a blemish I didn't see (or I would not have purchased) well down by the head.
To the sniffer, there is a creamy coffeeness, a sweetness not of sugar cane, but of heated milk. A light to medium toasty tobacco.
Light: A slight bugaboo upon lighting in the form of a cold spot that refused to become a hot one. There is damage to the wrapper on the side of the cold spot. On the other side of the stogie, the burn is faster. An uneven commencement.
The smoke of the first two pulls is light on the palate, with a slight finish of unsweetened cream that lays nicely enough on the tongue. The frothed milk of a Cappuccino?
On the exhale, there are warm but mild coffee and cream notes. It flirts with something like red clay. Almost a note of honey. I love a mild smoke that calmly boasts complexities in matter of fact fashion.
1/3: We are into the first third and I feel as though I could not have picked a more perfect lunch partner. I pour a cup of tea. Mainly because I'm out of coffee grounds, but it proves a fortuitous Plan B. I slightly sweeten it, but leave the cream to the Fuente.
The smoke cloud is voluminous yet gentle. A clean cream aroma.
The ash packs tight and lilts to the faster side of the uneven burn, which I have corrected somewhat, though not fully.
I play with smoke rings that taste of very good diner coffee, regular (diner-speak for cream and sugar) with a calm backing of white bread toastiness. Someone's side order of two slices? Was that high-falutin Cappuccino really just sweet creamy butter? I do believe.
I flick the ash off at 2" plus, as it warns me with a gentlemanly heads up. The waitress stops to empty my ashtray, I slide a sugar packet toward her, and I tell her that she dropped her name tag. Her giggle is full of jiggle and I watch her sashay away like a pro as I embark on the
2/3: It's the easy continuation of a calm affair. While light, it does not beg for busy-ness, for my puttering. I sit on my porch and lament the downfall of the American Diner. With a pop and gurgle in my gut, I lament my Marie Callender.
The burn is problematic and not indicative of what I'd expect of a fiver. It bulges where it near refuses to burn. The overall burn is rapid and threatens the calm.
I call the waitress over for a slice of peanut butter pie.
The muted red clay leaves me to the creamy and now sweeter coffee. It's for the better, I feel. I'm surrounded by the sweet smoke of nostalgia. This cigar is uniquely American. Only The Fonz hitting the jukebox and a Chubby Checker tune coming to life, could do more.
I want to read an Archie Double Digest. That America. I smile into the
3/3: The burn slows and evens at last. The flavors ease. The stick seems poised to go out like a lamb. Like a poodle. Like a poodle on a skirt.
Even as the Maduro comes in a bit more, all is mild. I like this Madura. Brazen just enough to finish cleanly the creamy sweetness of vanilla. Brazen just enough to flirt back like any good waitress at any good diner. I play with the creaking of my red vinyl stool and gaze thoughtfully at the fake marble designs of the counter.
My fingers heat up and I ask for the check. She writes out her thank you after the total and to my happiness, does not sign it with a happy face. A real pro. With the gams to match. Yowzer!
Its final notes were of earthiness after a light rain dried by sunshine. A Sunday drive through the countryside in the Bel Air that brought me here.
Pairings: A slice or two of buttery toast, a weak and regular coffee of good quality, or lightly sweetened tea, a slice of sweet pie -- if your wallet and belt each abide.
Final grade: C+ (The best chew I've felt in a while, elevates it from a C. A more even burn would call for a B. This Fuente's assembly was shy of the typical Fuente's assembly.)