Chesapeake Smoke

My wife and I vacationed this past week in a rented RV. We’re checking out the mobile lifestyle which may, if we can keep from killing each other in these close confines, may become a big part of retirement.
So here we are at the Nemacolin Resort in southwestern Pennsylvania. In the middle of friggin’ nowhere. We came to the area for some white-water rafting on the lower Youghiogheny River, affectionately known to the local as the Yough (pronounced “Yuck”). Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?
But I digress. We’ve got the RV parked in the RV ghetto, where it won’t offend the sensibilities of the resort crowd trying to get in 18 holes. In looking at a map of the resort, my wife points out the Cigar Bar! She’s a keeper, no question about it.
After a very opulent dinner at their flagship restaurant (there are at least ten different eateries here), we adjourned to the cigar bar. Even though it’s smack in the middle of a hotel/resort complex, it is alive and well. Apparently, Pennsylvania lawmakers aren’t anti-tobacco Nazis like the clowns we have to endure in the DC-Maryland-Virginia part of the world.
Walking in, there’s a smallish cigar shop with wall humidors encased by glass doors. I checked out the selection briefly … a lot of the usual suspects. But I was dismayed to find a Hemingway Short Story box filled instead with regular Fuente Robustos. I didn’t look closely enough to see if they were charging Short Story prices.
On into the bar area. A bartender was there to take our orders … Drambuie and an Oban. Thence to the lounge. Very nicely appointed, with a variety of couches, chairs and tables. No TV, thank God! Especially given that this resort is centered on its golf course, I really had no desire to watch yet another golf tournament on the tube.
Now the answer to the question on everybody’s lips … what did I smoke? I grabbed a Diamond Crown zip-lock bag with some sticks in it as we loaded up last Monday, wasn’t really sure what was in there. Imagine my surprise when I opened it yesterday to find a half-dozen Fuente Añejos and a Cuban Montecristo! So, rather than plunk down resort prices for a commonly-available stick, I parked myself across from my bride and fired up that Añejo. A rare treat indeed. Rich, robust, and spicy, yet oh so smooth. My indulging bride managed to enjoy her drink along with me, courtesy of a silent yet highly efficient exhaust/ventilation system.
And then, when it was over, time to find a shuttle bus and head back to the RV.