Chesapeake Smoke

My bride and I had dinner last night at a trendy little place called Bin 909, which is about a two-minute walk from our house.  It had opened while I was deployed, and my wife wanted to wait until my return before trying the place out.  Last night was our first experience there.

“Trendy” is usually a bad word for me.  I’m not into fads and current styles, be it clothing or food or music.  But a wine-focused restaurant within easy staggering distance from the house had a certain appeal.  And, sure enough, they have a very extensive wine list, available by the glass or bottle.  And a few microbrews to boot.  Very nice small plates menu as well, along with some very good pizzas.  The down side – it was packed with hipsters.  I’d call them “annoying hipsters,” but is there really any other kind?

So after a very enjoyable meal and a couple glasses of cabernet, we got the check.  Not cheap, but about what I expected.  What I didn’t expect, however, showed up at the very bottom.  Incorporated into the total was a Maryland Alcohol Tax.  Regular sales tax isn’t enough for the Democratic Peoples’ Republic of Maryland; they’ve got to pile on with an additional “sin tax.”

Which finally brings me to my true starting point – tobacco taxes.  A couple years ago, we had to deal with the price boosts caused by S-CHIP, which passed in a flurry of “Tax Smokers to Save the Children!” hysteria.  Individual cities and states are singling out smokers for repressive taxation and marginalization, trying to outlaw such things as smoking in public spaces or even in cigar shops!

The worst offender is the Food & Drug Administration.  We’ve got people across the country getting sick and dying from eating tainted cantaloupes, but what are the newest storm troopers of the Nanny State setting their sights on?

You guessed it – cigars.

The FDA is, quite simply, out of control.  According to Cigar Rights of America (see their link to the right), “April 26, 2010, December 20, 2010, and July 7, 2011 the U.S. Food & Drug Administration publicly posted their intent to regulate cigars in the Federal Register.”  Based on a review of similar legislative efforts in the U.S. and elsewhere, CRA believes that the FDA might attempt some of the following measures:

Some of the measures FDA could consider, as we believe they are, include:

• Ban on walk-in humidors, self serve cigar displays, and mail-order cigar sales;
• Ban on all flavored cigars, that are enjoyed by legal-age adults;
• Deface ornate, decorative cigar boxes, often considered an art form with grotesque images;
• Ban on cigar events where free cigars (samples) could be available to legal-age adults;
• Limits on cigar marketing and advertising;
• Imposition of new ‘user fees’ [tax] on cigars, to finance regulations;
• Limits on special release and small-batch cigars, due to mandates that cigar blends be submitted to FDA for pre-approval before release;
• Limits on nicotine levels on cigars to near zero, severely impacting the flavor of cigars;
• Ban on marketing cigar merchandise.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel.  Again according to information from CRA, “House Resolution 1639 has been filed in the U.S. House of Representatives; and a companion bill, Senate Bill 1461, has been filed in the Senate.  Both are filed under the banner of the Traditional Cigar Manufacturing and Small Business Jobs Preservation Act.  This bi-partisan legislation would decree that premium/traditional cigars should be off limits to FDA regulation and, ‘to clarify the Food & Drug Administration’s jurisdiction’ in the ‘sale, manufacturing and distribution of traditional and premium cigars.’”

I urge each of you to go to the CRA web site, follow the links provided, and write your representatives on the Hill to support these bills.  I’ve already done so, and believe me, congressmen and senators are looking for ways to make their constituents happy these days.  I’ve gotten positive response across the board.  Stand up for your rights now, before the Nanny State takes them away.

Seems to be the story of my life lately.  Whether I’m sleeping through my alarm or taking my sweet time banging out a post for this blog, I seem to be perpetually like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland … “I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date!”

So here it is, the middle of the week, and I’m only now getting to writing about Draper’s Little Puff, which took place last Friday.  Perhaps my tardiness is caused by the fact that there was no earth-shattering news to talk about.  The Twelfth Annual Little Puff was, as expected, a top-notch, primo event.  The cigar selection was great, the food and drink abundant and delectable, and the eye candy was everywhere.  With cleavage like they were showing, who really cared if some of them were a bit wobbly on their 5-inch stiletto heels?

The usual cast of characters joined us on the vendor side.  Litto Gomez was there from La Flor Domenicana, Andrea Pingle ably represented Davidoff, Wayne Suarez was handing out Arturo Fuente Double Chateaus, and Jorge Padron had the stack of traditional Padron 2000s.  And how could I possibly skip over Pete Johnson, owner of Tatuaje Cigars and all-around industry enfant terrible.

I also had the opportunity to get reacquainted with old friends from the other side of the Potomac, including Big Neal and OVTC owner Gary Pesh.  Gary, like so many others, didn’t recognize me at first;  I guess I really DO look different.

The auction once again was great.  Lots of cigar and non-cigar items up for bid.  And, once again, I don’t think the premium cigar crowd is much affected by the recession, economic downturn, or whatever the term du jour is.  Auction prices started around $500 for most lots and quickly escalated.  The lot I most regret not getting in on was the Padron Family Pack, with a box each of their 44, 45, 46 and yet-to-be released 85s.  I think that lot fetched $2,400, and it was far from the most expensive item.  My guess is that they got close to last year’s $55,000.  The auction proceeds were to be split among three educational charities, including a fund set up for the daughter of Navy SEAL LT Erik Kristensen, who was killed in action in Afghanistan.  According to Draper’s LinkedIn page, the “newest beneficiary is Share Our Strength’s No Kid Hungry Campaign, a movement of people committed to making sure that no child in America is hungry.”  Smoke up, boys!

It’s been quite a while since I last posted here on a regular basis.  I can make lots of excuses, ranging from my back issues to surgery to my recently-completed deployment to Afghanistan.  And I know what they say about excuses being like assholes.  The bottom line is that I’m back in the saddle with a plan to

Since I signed up to deploy to Afghanistan in support of the Department of Defense, I’ve done quite a bit of posting on my deployment blog, http://wireheadjack.blogspot.com/.  And I’ve written a bit about being able to enjoy stogies in this moonscape of a medieval land.  But you’re here to read about cigars, not Operation Enduring Freedom, right?  Now that my deployment is over, I plan to get back into the local cigar scene in a big way.  And that means resuscitating this blog.

We’ll be exploring all things tobacco here (premium tobacco, that is … cigarettes, hookahs and dip have no place here).  Topics will range from talking about our local brick & mortar tobacconists on through cigar reviews, cigar-related legislation, and pipes and pipe tobacco.  You can also look for some posts from guest contributors.

But first, very briefly, let me tell you about Afghanistan.  We lived in what might be called “austere” conditions.  It IS a war zone, after all.  There are cigars to be had and, depending on whether you’re on a U.S. or NATO base, there might be Cubans.  That’s the upside.  The downside is that cigars are sold in PXs, and the people running those operations have no clue about humidors.  So while you can buy fistfuls of Habanos, they’re also likely to be dried out, often past the point of smokeability.  Anticipating a cigar drought over there, I made arrangement for cigar deliveries.  Bruce at Davidus of Annapolis and John Anderson at Draper’s in DC have helped keep my travel-dor fully stocked.

And, although you may have to search them out, there are vibrant cigar communities scattered across the theater.  While I was stationed in Kabul, some BOTLs from the 29^th Infantry Division (Virginia and Maryland National Guard) had a regular Thursday night herf going up at KAIA.  I’m told there’s a cigar club at the U.S. Embassy inside the Green Zone in Kabul (and I’m working my sources to get me a t-shirt from the club).

Up at Bagram, where I spent the last four months of my deployment, I’d heard rumors of a cigar club, but nothing of substance ever materialized.  I started my own herf on Area 82, home of the Intelligence Community folks at BAF, and we would routinely draw a dozen or so folks on Saturday nights.  A couple orders from Cigars International (I know, abandoning my B&M shops for the mail order guys, shame on me) kept me well-stocked in tasty yet not-too-expensive sticks, among them Bahia red-band maduros and La Perla Morados.

Enough about that God-forsaken land.  On to smokin’ on the Chesapeake!

You may have noticed that this blog has been quiet lately.  I’ve been distracted.  In early February, I set off for a six-month deployment to Afghanistan with the Department of Defense.  Pre-deployment preparations, then the process of deploying and getting settled into my jobs here have limited my time relaxing with a stogie.  But as things settle out here, I’m finding more opportunities to fire up a stick with colleagues here.

You may want to check out my other blog, Wirehead Jack, which details my adventures here:

http://wireheadjack.blogspot.com/

More to follow.  Soon, very soon.

Happy Smoking, my friends!

My neighbor and I headed to downtown Key West yesterday to smoke some locally rolled cigars.  The city’s former mayor had whispered to us earlier in the week that a local was trying to save his grandfather’s dying business and was putting out a quality product at a fair price.

We were greeted as we exited the bright midday sun into the cool brown tiled shop confines by a tall lanky 20 something.  He had the old provincial map of Cuba stamped on his face.  His voice was pure 21^st century Facebook.

We told him of our mission and were invited to sit down by the roller’s desk behind the counter.  After a brief discussion of our smoking preferences, he v-clipped two ligero-filled robustos.  While he set about to make us some Cuban coffee, we fired up these two month old sticks.  We were amazed at their consistent power.

As we sipped and puffed, he revealed the back story of his grandfather’s long legacy in the leaf.  Owner of his own cigar company and tobacco farm, the senior Senor Rodriguez had employed three full time rollers through the Bautista era.

Fidel changed all that, forcing him to flee the country with his young wife and children.  He found his way to Key West and rolled for the small shops while his children grew and prospered.  By 1984 at the age of 61, senior felt secure enough to open his own shop.  He procured his leaf and filler from long time friends from Cuba who had relocated to Calle Ocho in Miami’s little Havana.

He rented a narrow space from the Kino Sandal factory owners and next door neighbors.  They were fellow refugees from Cuba.  He had much success.  As the 21^st century turned its first few pages, this octogenarian was still rolling 60-90 sticks a day.

Sadly with mass tourism, he was unable to keep up with demand and started outsourcing his production to the mainland.  Quality fell and locals started taking advantage of the kind and generous old man.

That was when our host, his grandson, stepped in.  He updated the business plan, started designing new wrappers and boxes, initiated a web presence, all the while running the store’s retail operations.

After two Cuban coffees apiece and delightfully buzz lipped and minded by the spicy smokes, we bought some more for our home humidors.  There they will season and relax their power.  They should be ready for my mainland readers’ island return.

His papa’s papi still opens the shop daily at 7 AM and is ready for his breakfast at 930 sharp, having rolled 60-75 sticks.  When the tourist cruise ships start belching out their brightly clad pale bodies, his grandson slides in to handle the crowds.

We shall return to visit with the old man in the morning and to sip cognac with the grandson in the afternoon.

Copyright © 2011 From My Isle Seat

Who here shook his head ruefully a couple weeks ago when the Surgeon General came out with the report that smoking even a single cigarette has immediate and irrevocable effects on the smoker’s health?  Amazing bunch of crap, isn’t it?

Well, our friends at Cigar Rights of America (www.cigarrights.org) put it much more eloquently, and with a lot more factual detail in their rebuttal.  Check it out here:

http://campaign.r20.constantcontact.com/render?llr=h7qmyscab&v=001PxvKDHU1N4rkYcKVUBS7-Eq5Kw68xwUq3-I_5ye8_ib2Fmf0YN95MABzB3sN_gMEWJMfUGKlxKTk2zJZBPgEqNu_irgIPDTsrQVkVw9L51s%3D

I once again urge you to support CRA’s efforts.

Happy smoking!

From our rear balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, one can see the torpedo cigar shaped Fleming Key and its formerly super secret Special Forces Underwater Operations School.  Yesterday afternoon while on that perch I smoked a special cigar from a long-ago purchased box, I reflexively thought, “Still Alive and Well.”

Special Forces Underwater Operations School on Fleming Key after 2005’s Hurricane Wilma

The little-known Combat Diver Qualification Course on Fleming Key is a harsh six-week curriculum in scuba and stealthy war-zone infiltration techniques for the U.S. Army’s Green Berets.  The six-week course culminates in a test that requires students to sky-dive miles offshore and navigate under water using closed-circuit, re-breather scuba systems before storming the beaches at Fort Zachary Taylor Historic State Park, and rendezvousing with a “friendly” force to accomplish a classified “mission.”

U.S. Army Special Forces Diver badge

Many of the men who attend the school fail to complete the final test.  Many of the instructors, as well as students, are combat veterans of Iraq, Afghanistan and other conflicts.

As I toasted the eight-year-old aged stogie’s business end with a three-flame torch, my mind drifted to that charity auction where I had bought it and its brothers.  100% of the money raised at those pre-bank crash events went to charity.  Hosted by the W. Curtis Draper Tobacconist in Washington DC, this one was no different.  In its 11 years, Draper’s Little Puff has raised close to $500,000 to benefit the children of military families and women and families at risk.

These sticks were the second lot that was offered that night. First lot bidding had been desultory.  The proceeds from these smokes were going to a scholarship fund for the children of a Navy SEAL Team warrior who had recently given his all in the far away hills of Afghanistan.

When my Courvoisier-fogged brain registered what these sticks’ sale was supporting, I had my assigned mission for the evening.

Bidding started off slow, so I doubled the existing bid twice in quick succession.  This perked up the place.  Sensing a rocket auction, John Anderson, the auctioneer, paused to repeat the provenance of the smokes – two of only fifty 150^th Partagas anniversary boxes made and the only two signed by the maker and his rollers.

The barker then softly read without the aid of the microphone through the increasingly thick blue haze of legit and illegit cigar smoke the sanitized and unclassified story of the warrior.  The place went stone silent.  Stifling a tear and a hitch in my throat, I tried to act nonchalant and paid little attention.  I knew the real story from my pal and Key West next door neighbor – a SEAL team member who had been there.

After the story was finished, bidding became electric.

I won but just barely.  I put these prized cigars away, only to forget them for years.  They were only recently uncovered earlier this spring.

As the robusto’s smoke curled into the Key West tropical air, I saw a pair of Special Forces helos commence a dangerous dance in the distance over the Fleming Key channel.  As observed many times before, little black fly specs exited these rotary-winged assassins as they beat their way silently towards my position.  These specs quickly became gray chute poofs several hundred feet above the water’s surface.  I counted them again, wanting to assure myself that all the chutes had popped.  A chute-less fall would be fatal.

Later, as these swimmers made their way into the rubber boats, I counted them again through my field glasses.  The channel in which they were bobbing about had a swift 4 knot current at slack tide and 5-6 knots when things really got moving.

Only five years before during a night graduation jump, one Green Beret had been swept away and died presumably dragged under when attacked by sharks.

By my count, they were all “still alive and well.”

Copyright © 2010 From My Isle Seat

I know I haven’t written a review for some time now, but I have read your e-mails and listened to the comments from those I have spoken with.  2010 has been a hectic year, leaving me precious little time for some of the things I enjoy most; so to all the readers, web-sites, magazines, and newsletters I write for, I apologize.  That being said, on to the good stuff.

The topic of this review is the Tatuaje – Private Reserve Black Tubo.  You may notice that as the background for the photos I used my chopper (another of those things I haven’t had much time for).  I did this as a tribute to Pete Johnson, owner of Tatuaje, because the first time we met I had been out on it and Pete and I spent some time talking about our shared enjoyment of riding.  Pete said the inspiration for the Black Tubo came from a trip he took to, “an island famous for its cigars”, which one can only assume is Cuba.  While there he was given an un-banded, very rustic looking cigar by a man who had it in his shirt pocket.  He later learned that among many of the local cigar lovers is a tradition of rolling their own blends for themselves to suit their personal taste, hence Private Reserve in the name of this cigar.  Pete never forgot how much he enjoyed that cigar and the Black Tubo is his tribute to it.

Released in 2009 the Black Tubo in my opinion is a Pyramid, even though it doesn’t flare outward at the foot.  Some have called it a Torpedo but by definition a Torpedo tapers at the head and foot which this does not.  Made in Nicaragua and distributed only in a 6-1/8″ x 52 vitolla in boxes of 10 each, it has a Belicoso style head and unfinished foot, and is a Nicaraguan puro with a Criollo ’98 capa.  The capa, which I put between colorado and colorado rosado in color, was rugged in appearance with plenty of teeth and veins present, although surprisingly soft to the touch.  It passed the squeeze test with flying colors being very firm but not hard and had no flaws or soft spots.  The pre-light aroma was very sweet with strong woody and earth notes.  I thought I detected a cedar influence; however, it had been in one of my humidors for nearly a year so that has to be taken into consideration.  I have to say though that I spent many minutes just enjoying and trying to define the complexity of the aroma.

Finally I made a straight cut with scissors which was perfectly clean and never frayed or produced any debris all the way through to the end of the smoke; evidence of quality rolling and tobacco.  The pre-light taste was woody, like the aroma, and the draw was almost effortless.  It lit easily and evenly, even with the unfinished foot and produced plenty of smooth, light grey smoke.  The first puff was filled with pepper and had perhaps a slight woody finish.  Throughout the first 1/2″, pepper was the dominant taste but then began to mellow and the slightest tingle started around the tip of the tongue.  Even in the first 1/3 this cigar was showing strongly bi-phasic qualities, coming right off the blocks with good strength which was followed by an extremely relaxed feeling even though I hadn’t eaten in some time.  Retro-exhalation was a bit hot but that’s expected from a strong cigar and the spice could be pleasantly felt throughout the sinuses.  The ash didn’t drop off until almost a solid 2″ in and was firm and crisp feeling, following which a slight touch-up was required.  Around mid-way mellow, woody notes were the dominant and consistent taste but as it progressed into the final 1/3, pepper and spice began to re-emerge but didn’t overwhelm.  A slight tingle as well as what was perhaps a “roasty” taste also spread along the middle of the tongue and a second slight touch-up was needed.  It finished nicely and the taste lingered a little while but not at all in an unpleasant way.

I give the Tatuaje – Private Reserve Black Tubo very high over-all marks.  It was a very enjoyable cigar that you’ll want to sit back and enjoy.  In fact, it was one of those cigars that you debate with yourself about when to let the nub go, probably right about the time that it burns your fingers because there isn’t enough left to hold on to.  The bad thing about the Black Tubo is they are no longer in production, so if you see some at your tobacconist, grab them.

As always,
I wish you Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.
The Cap’n

Draper’s held their 11th annual Little Puff last night, as usual on the rooftop above Charlie Palmer’s Steakhouse in the District.  And, as usual, the place was packed with cigar smokers, along with what looked like a few women of, shall we say, casual morals.

The selection of cigars handed out by the vendors seemed a bit more upscale than usual.  Of the two dozen sticks handed out by the various manufacturers, highlights included one of Ernesto Carillo’s new line, an Ashton VSG pyramid, a Davidoff Puro Dominicano (presented by the always lovely Andrea), a Tatuaje Reserva robusto, Oliva Serie V Churchill, a Coronado Churchill from La Flor (with Litto Gomez attending for the eleventh year), and a La Gloria Cubana Artesanos Belicoso, with its signature dual Ecuadorian Sumatra and Connecticut shade wrappers.  Aside from the Acid Kuba Maduro dog rocket, the selection of sticks was singularly top-notch.

The auction was over the top.  Bids escalated wildly, with $1000 reached very fast for almost every lot.  as I watched the bidding wars escalate, I mentally compared the bidding with what I observed two years ago, when the economy was in the dumper.  Bids were similarly depressed.  Last night, though, I saw very little restraint, with the final auction item, 100 sticks from Pete Johnson of Tatuaje, selling for $5000.  Yes, that was three zeroes.  Five thousand dollars.  But the money went to a good cause.  Or two.  For the past several years, all proceeds from the Little Puff have been donated to a fund for the daughter of LT Eric Kristensen, a Navy SEAL who was killed in action in Afghanistan in 2005.  Last night, the Wounded Warrior Foundation was added to the list of beneficiaries.

I can’t think of a better way to spend my money.

The opening weeks of 2010 found this correspondent accompanying his wife as she meandered amongst the stalls of our island’s 25^th annual street craft show.  I had brought along a nice Dominican torpedo that I had bought at an Islamorada shop to smoke while she looked for something we did not know we needed until she saw it.  We had just passed another bizarre booth in this land of the mega-weird, when I felt the need to begin my smoke.

Yup, they were selling clothes for our tropical dogs

After fishing in my pockets for my torch lighter, I discovered that it was out of butane gas.  My disappointment did not last long.  Less than two minutes later I spotted another cigar aficionado about to light up.  This tourist’s stick was a fine hecho en Habana Churchill.  His torch was cooperative in the bright noonday sun.  As we fired our smokes up, we heard several women behind us exclaim disapprovingly “Ewwww, they stink.  Ugh!”

My confrere without missing a beat turned to these ladies and instantly rejoined “You’re off the Christmas card list.”  As my stogie’s nicotine kicked my cerebral cortex into overdrive, I felt myself channeling Lewis Carroll’s hookah-smoking caterpillar.  Thus inhabited, I supported my new best smoking friend by blowing three large smoke rings in our detractors’ general direction while hissing, “You’re . . . outta . . . da will!”

We should never forget that the smoke from a fine cigar possesses the power to release one’s inner smartass.

Reporting live from my chair in America’s Caribbean wonderland

-Southernmost Smoker

Copyright © 2010 From My Isle Seat