I do like to look back fondly, gentlepersons, on my most memorable cigar smoking experiences. I also... I... I... forget where I was going with this. I do recall greatly admiring the marketing and design behind --
THE CIGAR
Gurkha Cigars
Black Ops Rubicon Torpedo
w. Pennsylvania Broadleaf Maduro
b. Brazilian
f. Dominican Republic, Panama, and Honduran
Courtesy of Cigars City (prior to FDA Option 1)
Black Ops Rubicon Torpedo
w. Pennsylvania Broadleaf Maduro
b. Brazilian
f. Dominican Republic, Panama, and Honduran
Courtesy of Cigars City (prior to FDA Option 1)
PRE-LIGHT
Sophisticated peach-fuzzy hand-feel on an even-complected Maduro canvas. Rich, dark and luscious.
I step outside to light this well-packed and hefty stick -- my wife says, "Kap, why smoke outside?" Places an ashtray on our coffee table and continues, "Come, sit here on the couch and put on the ballgame." She leans across me to fluff a pillow for under my arm and her plump pale ample bosom peaks out...
An up-front richly brewed espresso is held high as her breasts by deeply toasted caramel under-tones -- nary a blemish is on neither heavenly breast nor cigar. A heavy sheen healthily rests atop the Rubicon. Seams are invisible. Cap is beautifully and expertly affixed, tobacco at the foot is three distinct shades of lively and deep auburn. Looks like a perfect medium+ and evenly distributed density. A Charmin squeeze is actively springy and not at all spongy in the least. Zilch insofar as soft/hard spots. Terrific attention to detail.
Schnoz! A ripened tobacco (natch) with a compost note of inherent and juicy dark fruits -- a lush compote. At the foot, it's sweet spices and darker, dense gourmet espresso. Sinful chocolate with a heavy creaminess just underneath. I Old Timer off the cap and a cold pull is cherry and compost with a sweet latte finish. I sense the work of an expert chocolatier. The draw resistance is a smooth and even perfectamundo.
Schnoz! A ripened tobacco (natch) with a compost note of inherent and juicy dark fruits -- a lush compote. At the foot, it's sweet spices and darker, dense gourmet espresso. Sinful chocolate with a heavy creaminess just underneath. I Old Timer off the cap and a cold pull is cherry and compost with a sweet latte finish. I sense the work of an expert chocolatier. The draw resistance is a smooth and even perfectamundo.
LIGHT
Rich compost comes at me off toasting the foot. It's backed by an intricate array of perfectly blended woods. The draw is easy and its result is a fully satiated bittersweet palate of intense complexities. A ripe cherry, picked fresh just for me, enters into the layered profile. Second hot draw is retro-haled to give a lovely pepper addition which is kind in nature, and not coarse. Silky smooth. A third hot pull is a lotta black cherry and compost and brilliant espresso. My wife, in the absence of my attentions, has donned a French maid's outfit as she feather dusts our baby grand piano. Later, I shall tickle the ivory, if you catch my playful drift.
Ash is a beautiful white sheath that seems to glow silver in the light of the TV, as the Mets take a 17 run lead in the deciding game of the World Series. Burn-line is razor sharp. Draw resistance is a static perfection, which yields a delightfully chewy meaty mouth-feel of perfect moisture levels. Packing holds. My wife remarks as to the delightful room-note.
Ash is a beautiful white sheath that seems to glow silver in the light of the TV, as the Mets take a 17 run lead in the deciding game of the World Series. Burn-line is razor sharp. Draw resistance is a static perfection, which yields a delightfully chewy meaty mouth-feel of perfect moisture levels. Packing holds. My wife remarks as to the delightful room-note.
ACT I
Absolutely no bite. Cap remains firm.
The cherry note amazes me, gentlepersons. Retro-hale shows a bump-up of white to red peppers sauteed in clarified butter. Startlingly delineated nutmeg and cinnamon spices. Creamy cedar and seasoned oak dial up in perfected balance. A latte which places me in an upscale Parisian cafe, too infatuated with the offering to hear the cosmopolitan bustle. This is an artisan blend for the ages, surely. A mature offering to be enjoyed by the utmost of connoisseurs.
Remarkable construction and combustion, with neither budging an inch. Finish must simply be experienced, as mere words cannot do it justice. My wife calls to me from the kitchen, where she is preparing for me, my favorite cut of steak. "The room-note is getting even more delicious!" Exclaims she, "I just love when you smoke in our home!"
Remarkable construction and combustion, with neither budging an inch. Finish must simply be experienced, as mere words cannot do it justice. My wife calls to me from the kitchen, where she is preparing for me, my favorite cut of steak. "The room-note is getting even more delicious!" Exclaims she, "I just love when you smoke in our home!"
ACT II
Not even so much as a hint of a dalliance into the chemical, this Black Ops. I look at the shaft and how pristinely presented it doth remain. There is a gentle rising of strength, I swoon easily at its arrival. Kick off my shoes and put my feet up on the coffee table. My wife comes to clear out my marble ashtray of thick dense and oily burnt offerings. She kisses my forehead. I cheer as my Mets get four insurance runs off a 500' grand slam. At the end of act two, a dark molasses joins in. That molasses brings up a vanilla bean which finds the cherry. Supple leathers come on to brace the under-belly.
The steak is rather delicious, as well.
The steak is rather delicious, as well.
ACT III
Compost is even richer now as leathery oils cascade into it. A black bread note is pulled from a wooden oven. All flavors are aboard still, and finding even greater nuances. I can barely keep up! Such a lively yet comfortable blend, my smoke-hole cries for more. Well-appointed and dreamy aromas drift out my window and down the hill-top to the valley below.
The Mets get the final out and repeat as champions yet again. Is this four straight years, or five? I settle back into my couch from my raucous celebrationing. My wife lays her head back in my lap. The children are, of course, not home. For we have no children.
The Mets get the final out and repeat as champions yet again. Is this four straight years, or five? I settle back into my couch from my raucous celebrationing. My wife lays her head back in my lap. The children are, of course, not home. For we have no children.
"Shall I start a fire?" She asks.
I laugh. "This Rubicon hath already!"
"Have your way with me." She purrs.
"After the post-game wrap-up," says I, through perfect teeth and unswollen gums.
EDITOR'S NOTE
The preceding was a satirical piece, gentlepersons. Please to read the too legit to quit review HERE, prior to purchase.
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L'shalom
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L'shalom