Thursday, June 25, 2015

Casa de Garcia Red - Cigar Review

I should perhaps apologize in advance for a review that might read more as an ode. It has been a long day. A long enough day to require a rare second cigar.

The first was a Baccarat 1871 Dolce Far Niente The Game that literally left so bad a taste in my mouth, I can see the need for a Yea or Nay posting wherein I will both recommend my favorites and warn of the likes of the aforememntioned Camacho endorsed blunder. Look for that a-comin' soon.

Nevertheless, Back to the here and now -- which is my porch and my comfortable slippers-like stick, Casa de Garcia. I have smoked many of these, so I'll have to both reluse myself from this piece and forge ahead, trying to note aloud what's been noted internally for some time.

The Cigar:
Casa de Garcia - Red (My favorite type of my favorite brand)
Connecticut Wrapper
Connecticut Broadleaf binder
Dominican Republic / Honduran filler
Churchill size

Prelight: Sweet notes tickle the ol' schnozolla. Creamy, vanilla. perhaps a backing of honey. The pack is light end of medium and sports a normal amount of veins. I remove the band that seems to say, "Look guy, it is what it is."

A cold draw echoes the sniff and this stick has nothing to hide. All its ingredients seem to know their roles and offer no hints at surprise, nor foolish attempts at swinging above their weight.

Light: The light is easy and welcoming. A summertime screendoor. Kitchen smells spilling out onto the porch...

The first few pulls are warm continuations of the cold draw. A sweetness caresses my palate and lingers nicely until I'm ready to draw once more.

1/3: The honey strengthens and begins to carry the other notes of light toasty tobacco. The stick is a speedy burner but not rushed -- workmanlike. This stogie knows what its like to punch a time clock.

The burn needs no nurturing and is mostly even. I opt to not fidget in search of perfection. The ash doesn't stay long and flakes off unexpectedly. The cat runs from its fall and I'm okay with the cat leaving me be to the

2/3: The warming continues, and a nasal exhale gives a mild nuttiness. Speaking of mild nuttiness, my wife joins me on the porch. "It spells pine-y." She says, "Like cedar." She clarifies. Then goes on to tell me about her day. I think. 

I like my stogies like I like my women: big, sweet, cheap, and mild. The mild is sometimes filtered into existence by my 'selective hearing.'

Now if you'll pardon me, I'll see you in the

3/3: Begins with another unexpected ashalanche. The coned cherry tells me I need to slow down, but also serves to remind me that you simply cannot oversmoke these beauts. I am being greedy in this return to an old favorite. A friend I have missed and hug too hard upon seeing once again.

Notes of cream and cedar are forefront. A lightly toasted flavor holds up the rears. A honey sinks deeply into my palate.

It's 11pm and my street quiets. My drunk neighbor takes in his retarded Jack Russell. I fire up some Northwest Public Radio and breathe. I am not miffed at the pickup truck of screeaming teens that yells by my house. I shift in my resin lawn chair to wake up my left butt-cheek.

A light black pepper serves to cleanse my palate. The radio alerts me of tonight's Scottish theme. I do not know what that means. It sounds nice enough. I listen...

I now know that Scottish music seems complicated, technically speaking. Technically speaking, this stogie is not. Both serve to pull me through another day -- with a harp playing in my ear and honey dancing on my palate, cleaned occasionally away by gentle spices.

I'm alone again on my porch. It's OK. So OK that ... that ... 

I'll let you go now, it's getting quite late.

Pairings: Sure. Lemonade springs to mind.

Final Grade: B+ (only because I would not have at all minded a buzz).