B"H
THE CIGAR
My Father CigarsLe Bijou 1922
6 1/8 x 52 torpedo box-press
w. Nicaraguan Habano Oscuro (Pelo De Oro)
b./f. Nicaraguan
A K A P L O W I T Z Scale review can be read HERE.
All 18 Sabbaths (& more re: the project) can eventually be read HERE.
This offering and the remaining seventeen are courtesy of Cigars City and my mad March Madness skills.
I
Sharp peppery blast on a cloud of cream. Earthy under-belly is pushing up high all the way into the secondary primary of chocolate Dove bar. So Chewy that it's still upset about the whole Han Solo thing. Lotsa softening of pack in the 2/3. Even medium draw and satiating smoke out-put. Bakery next door to cigar shoppe room-note. Burn gets a freebie retouch off out-door light. Body is -full on cream, cocoa cream, and a burgeoning cherry syrup. Flavors are pushing their medium+ boundary as earth settles and gravity pulls flavors to it. Strength ain't there yet. Finish sweet leathery earth and long-legged. Espresso begins to steer earth. Burn is corrected and the burnt offering is palest grey/silver with a tick of flake in a singular spot. Sweet/bitter complex one another. As do salty/sour. Umami savoriness is on the up at an inch in... a roasting meat. Smooth textured, heavy smoke. Very rich. Balanced in tiers that escape the linear nicely. Black bread holds meat on its shoulder and umami, my dear gentlepersons. Strength is knocking on the door. An exquisite opening act!
My father (not My Father) singing as he washed dishes:
"[Falsetto] Who's that knocking at my door, who's that knocking at my door, who's that kno- ooo-cking at my door?" Said the fair young maiden.
"[Baritone] Open the door and lay on the floor." Said Barnaby the Sailor.
[Narrated in normal speaking voice]
II
I might be laying on the floor soon. Earth spikes again and I feel as though I am watching a Shakespearean production held in a bounce house. I roll off an inch plus of ash and suddenly a tunneling threat is the now. Flavors and body wisp down and a chemical diesel sharply enters draw. I rest the Le Bijou in the Stay Littt cigar holder I was gifted by brand owner Allat Ti Shafoy. (See picture up-top.) It don't stay littt (through no fault of the holder. I re-lighttt. Prior to outtt (OK I'll stop) there was a heightening of espresso with a very nice crema addition. On re-light, I get smacked with darkly roasted walnut. Tunneling threat seems side-stepped. Lotsa sharpness on the profile now. There is more tooth here in the 2/3 but those oils aren't on the draw so much -- altho they are attempting to be. "To be, or not to be!" is shouted by the bounce house player... Leathery oils now. A tobacco muscled with coarse black pepper is in my throat. Tongue is a-tingle. Mouth-feel is spitty.
There's now, at the end of the middle act, a settling back to the first, with a sharpened note coming from espresso's crema. A fruitiness flits in -- dark and with a heavy and equally dark floral attachment. Wood, a toasted cedar accompanies it, and I get a zetz of wine cask. Very nice nuances there. Smoke pours, room-note sweetens. Ash is jagged some. Secondary band hath some excess glue, but removes sans tsuris. Strength is up to a medium+ and just call me a "fair young maiden."
III
Canoeing, running, and blistering? Oy vey iz mir, gentlepersons. All this sharpens draw and I'mma let this set a bit again, fully expecting at most a largess re-touch. Flavors are all aboard plus a fizzy root beer, but too, all aspects of a dark nigh composted earthiness. Fercockt a bissell. Perhaps we are now sans floral bits. Seams loosen and press is but a memory. Still, interesting flavors which are staving (altho lesser) the always the Bijou flirtation with a linear delivery. I cut the blister-lagging top-leaf and re-light. Diesel and charcoal are heavy on the first couple pulls thereafter. Purge.
Purge. Chocolate rebounds nigh sinfully and on the back of roasting walnuts. Balance seems off and strength hits me in the gut with a telegraphed blow I can't block. The lovely primary band removes easily even though my brain ain't talking to my fingers in the same language. Burn is wavering again. The actors seem confused as to how to perform a curtain-call in a bounce house. The audience is drunkenly motion-sick from watching. I clap and it hurts my head. Oh. I seem to be smacking my ear.
Smoke pours. Earth... it's all earth. Richly composted and dark. Espresso, cocoa, pepper, and some wood are left but all sorta haunt in and out in a helter-skelter way. Body heavies up and flavors drop. Strength is up again. I'm schvitzing and mixing metaphors here gentlepersons, but am waiting for my corner to throw in the towel. Too much! Too much off good, too much of bad -- and I can't see either coming for the smoke. Peek-a-boo. Damn your hide, Cus D'Amato and yer "bad intentions."
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| Photo: Snack Tray |
EDITOR'S NOTE
Written prior to the Sabbath. Gut Shabbos, gentlepersons... happy Saturday, goyim.
L'Shalom