lordlister
You can observe a lot by just watching
- Joined
- May 28, 2006
- Messages
- 994
Before I start this review, I'd like to begin with a prelude. A while back, I was enjoying a cigar with a certain Cigar Pass member, and we were talking Opus. I told him that I didn't understand the hype. I thought highly of the cigars that I tried, but not highly enough to hoard them and cherish them like many do. I told him that I stumbled on a stash of 6 boxes several years earlier, and picked them up for a song. I held onto them for a year, but sold half of them when I realized that there were better things out there. He urged me to keep what I had left, and told me that they turn into a completely different animal as they age. I was skeptical, and was shy to accept an offer of a ripe and downright elderly specimin. Lo and behold, a package arrives at my house several months later with a few cigars, among them a crusty vintage 2000 Opus X robusto, accompanied by a musical card which sings "That's what friends are for..." (ok so now I'm embelleshing a little).
I stashed the cigar with the rest of my never smoke cigars in my humidor. I thought I'd save it for a special occasion. This cigar has been tempting me ever since. But come on, what kind of special occasion do you need to light something like this up. Since then, I've found a new job, had another child, quite then found another job. The calender today says Friday, and I can't think of a more special occasion to light this beauty up.
I poured myself a tall cold glass of diet Sams Club soda, grabbed my lighter and Xicar, and headed out to the deck. I was surprised at the difficulty of removing the cello, glued to the cigar with the crystalized sweat from the oily wrapper. As the cello broke free, gold specs of plume rained from the cigar and cello onto my fingers and lap. The plume tasted sweet and briny, so good I considered licking the now free cellophane wrapper.The foot smelled like on old leather chair. Scored and lifted the cap (aka "the modified Wilkey"), and prelight draw was absolutely perfect. Taste was again salty and leathery. Toasted the foot, and plumes of thick white smoke billowed luxioursly and with abandon. The first hit was etherial and indescribably complex. Describing the individual components of the flavour would be an injustice. I could taste emotions, and had flashbacks of summer days and walking on the beach in Coney Island with my grandfather as a child. I could taste the sea air, and smell the greasy buttery knishes frying at the packed stalls on the boardwalk. Thick lazy white smoke continued to pour onto my lap and feet. A hint of mint began to build as the cigar progressed, at first peaking through then mingling with the the vapors of my childhood.
I think this cigar affects the olfactory and gustatory senses like LSD affects the mind, as doors of perception crack open then suck you in like a whirlpool. I never bought into the notion that cigars change flavour as they progress, and this experience solidified this idea. Instead, I believe that any given cigar in and of itself has a unique and distinct character. As the smoke progresses, you get a different perspective as the cigar burns. Much like admiring a statue or work of art from different vantage points. The cigar ends as it started, a symphony much like Schéhérazade by Rimsky-Korsakoff, with all the elements coming together in harmony, the complete picture. And then it's done.
I stashed the cigar with the rest of my never smoke cigars in my humidor. I thought I'd save it for a special occasion. This cigar has been tempting me ever since. But come on, what kind of special occasion do you need to light something like this up. Since then, I've found a new job, had another child, quite then found another job. The calender today says Friday, and I can't think of a more special occasion to light this beauty up.
I poured myself a tall cold glass of diet Sams Club soda, grabbed my lighter and Xicar, and headed out to the deck. I was surprised at the difficulty of removing the cello, glued to the cigar with the crystalized sweat from the oily wrapper. As the cello broke free, gold specs of plume rained from the cigar and cello onto my fingers and lap. The plume tasted sweet and briny, so good I considered licking the now free cellophane wrapper.The foot smelled like on old leather chair. Scored and lifted the cap (aka "the modified Wilkey"), and prelight draw was absolutely perfect. Taste was again salty and leathery. Toasted the foot, and plumes of thick white smoke billowed luxioursly and with abandon. The first hit was etherial and indescribably complex. Describing the individual components of the flavour would be an injustice. I could taste emotions, and had flashbacks of summer days and walking on the beach in Coney Island with my grandfather as a child. I could taste the sea air, and smell the greasy buttery knishes frying at the packed stalls on the boardwalk. Thick lazy white smoke continued to pour onto my lap and feet. A hint of mint began to build as the cigar progressed, at first peaking through then mingling with the the vapors of my childhood.
I think this cigar affects the olfactory and gustatory senses like LSD affects the mind, as doors of perception crack open then suck you in like a whirlpool. I never bought into the notion that cigars change flavour as they progress, and this experience solidified this idea. Instead, I believe that any given cigar in and of itself has a unique and distinct character. As the smoke progresses, you get a different perspective as the cigar burns. Much like admiring a statue or work of art from different vantage points. The cigar ends as it started, a symphony much like Schéhérazade by Rimsky-Korsakoff, with all the elements coming together in harmony, the complete picture. And then it's done.
