A bit ago I put out feelers for questions. These questions (cigar & pipe related) are currently being collected and answered by yours truly. They will eventually be formulated into a chapbook from Kaplowitz Media. Books. Along the way to print, I've decided to publish some here on the blog.
Being that I am still collecting your queries, maybe this little stunt will serve as an impetus to receive more such fodder from readers. You can send that my way via the methods of correspondence noted on the right side of your screen. You can scroll both up and down to find said info. Thanks. Now let's get to one of those already asked.
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Is texture something you can see? Perhaps. It is most definitely, of course, something you can feel. Can you feel with your nose? Probably. Can you feel with your mouth? Sure--that mouthfeel is called 'body' in the parlance of smoking and reviewing premium tobacco. Let's get further into these things just mentioned.
Arid smoke. Sounds dry. Edgy. Likely wispy if not wimpy. Maybe it's more of a grey-blue hue. I'd have to wonder as to the ash; I'd be surprised if it weren't dark and clumpy, not white and smooth. That sort of charcoal-y ash tends to give a rather pungent flavorscape. White smooth ash seems much more prone to letting loose billows and pillows of white creamy smoke. One could imagine how different and exactly how so these smokes would feel in one's smoke hole.
"A cigar is a delight for all the senses," to paraphrase a famous someone I cannot recall who is most likely a victim of wrong attribution in the first place. But more than that, it's a place where our senses converge and over-lap in a symphonic synesthesia... if all goes well. It's a feast for the ears, hands, nose, eyes, and mouth. The final three listed are all easily and often affected or effected (I never know which) by the texture of smoke.
All that said, I should too say this. A better way to discuss the texture of smoke would be by describing its symptoms. A mild or thin body, naturally replete with flavor notes and descriptors. A kindly or sharp olfactory. Irritated or dreamily sated eyes. But hey, that's just me and everyone has their own them. Sometimes though, just sometimes, it's all about the visual aesthetic of the smoke itself.
The jailbird lowers the harmonica from his cracked lips. Smiles and shows his cracked teeth. "What are you in here for?" asks a fellow con. "Ambience."
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