The Lancero Exposed.

When asked what kind of customer buys a lancero, Michael Herklots, general manager of the Davidoff shop in Columbus Circle in New York City (2008) answered, “An educated one. A confident one. A lancero smoker is the same type of customer who buys a Schrader RBS Cabernet—he doesn’t need a trophy that other people recognize as great. He or she knows it’s great, and that’s enough.” *

Ta!

Schrader for of us who don’t rank our societal hierarchy by how much we do or don’t know about wine is apparently a tony cabernet sauvignon wine brand.  High priced, too. A 2004 bottle can cost as much as $470.

In short, to some the lancero size is the pip of cigars.  And if you don’t know that then you might as well go back to reading your issue of “Cigar Snob”, continue picking between your toes and, for gosh sake, take your boots off the couch –  ‘cause you ain’t one!

I read stuff like this all the time.  Even at the beginning of the Shanken Cigar Revolution, there was and continues to be an air of haughtiness when it comes to smoking cigars, and the lancero in particular.

Knave!  Where doth this cometh from?  I did a little research. And to be honest – I don’t know.  Or better yet, I can’t figure it out. Historically, yes the “long panatela vitola” (7½ x 38) was made specifically for Fidel Castro.  But, if he is your role model, I have a place you can go to.

One thing is for sure, the wrapper is believed to contain the most flavor.  However, this latter statement has its detractors and is a somewhat apocryphal summation.  

But we still haven’t gotten to the panache, the perceived prestige of the size.  I quote the 2008 issue of Cigar Aficionado,  “If the slender cigar does not threaten one’s masculinity, it could threaten the wallet. Because of the skill required to roll a lancero properly, and the need for large, pristine, high-quality wrapper leaves, the cost can be higher than that of fatter cigars of similar length.”

Ah, that must be it.  Aw. It seems to always come down to the appearance of wealth. When in fact, it is one of the more unpopular cigars available, not only due to its expense, but it has a plethora of draw complaints against it that can be traced to its skill (or lack thereof) in rolling – and that alone will keep the true cigar aficionado at a distance.

So for all practical purposes, try one.  I’m smoking one right now and it is doing just fine. But please – to put your nose in the air and compare it with an expensive wine is a bit on the arrogant side.  It’s just another cigar size.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMewtlmkV6c

* (CA 7/8 2008, Greg Mottola & Kevin Costner)

 

Think.

The disconnection between the love of two people and the constant changing of brands of cigars is omnipresent.  What is it? A perfect fit on the outset. Only to be devastatingly separated by the lust for something new. What causes it?  The unwillingness (perhaps) of working through the difficult times? Or is it the unconscious psychological acceptance of a “devil may care” attitude that morphs into the eventual assimilation of this lust into what was once a working relationship/marriage – or the taste and enjoyment of the perfect cigar?

May I quote the first paragraph of the introduction to Diane Middlebrook’s book (2004) “Her Husband: Ted Hughes & Sylvia Plath. A marriage.” (Penguin)

“Ted Hughes met Sylvia Plath at a wild party in February 1956 and married her four months later.  He was English, twenty-five years old; she was twenty-three, an American. For six years they worked side by side at becoming artists (poets).  Ted Hughes initiated an affair with another woman, and the marriage collapsed. Hughes moved out and exactly four months later, Plath committed suicide, leaving behind their two very young children.”

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Not only one of the most concise and beautifully written pieces of summation prose I’ve ever read – in my opinion, but I believe it’s prescient because it begs the question, “WHY!”  Why do we date, get married, wed certain cigars onto our palate and then after a time, dismiss them as if they had become slimy, pukish, reeking trash? There is no simple answer. Not even after 361 pages of Middlebrook’s research are we exactly sure why Sylvia and Ted’s relationship unraveled so quickly or why I, you, we and all the other pronouns end up doing certain things.

If I may climb this slippery slope of intellectual intuition sans tethering – is it simply the instinctive ardor for something new like, say, a boyfriend, a more attractive woman, a different brand of hairspray, or a more popular cigar sound too simple?  It could be.  

I mean, with all the simultaneous stimulus surrounding us 24/7, how can anyone not be attracted to someone arrestingly beautiful/handsome, or smoke a cigar that adds more spice and flavor to our favorite habit.  We do it all the time with food. Yet today it’s impossible not to – or worse, expected. The question is do we get so transfixed, do we get off on the perceived enjoyment of being swept up into the invisible swirling vortex of the constant collusion of the insatiable appetite for, “Ahhhh. the grass is always greener on the other side” syndrome? 

Well, that depends on the person and of course, the situation.  Yes?

Am I saying to become stagnant and avoid trying something you’ve never tried before is purely a negative?  No. Risk it if you so desire. (Of course, some risks are greater than others.) What I’m saying is, as John Lennon and Yoko Ono pleaded in “Give Peace a Chance.” Allow the relationship, the man, the woman, differing personalities – yes, even the cigar, time so that we can form a deeper understanding of our inner passions as to why we are desiring this change, which is a critical component to the gravitational pull towards eventual acceptance of our decision or the inevitability of rejection.  Pain. An indicator of life.

Have we become such a throw-away, almost numb society that relationships and cigar brands cannot be epoxied solidly together because we have lost our ability for the natural passage of time and discipline to nurture our existing needs and habits rather than let gradual or abrupt change envelope our decision making?  Newton postulated that “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The statement means that in every interaction, there is a pair of forces acting on the two interacting objects.” Two. Name them.

Unfortunately, with the saturation of modernity and the apparent full acceptance of any and all actions today, plus the partial inclusion of the proliferation of mixed interactive media, we are inundated to the susceptibility of being pulled into a whirling vortex of detachment making it easy to change on a dime without any repercussions – societal or cultural.

So why did that first introductory paragraph resonate such thoughts for me?  Because it is a superb summary and commentary on life – all in four succinct sentences.  Read it again:

“Ted Hughes met Sylvia Plath at a wild party in February 1956 and married her four months later.  He was English, twenty-five years old; she was twenty-three, an American. For six years they worked side by side at becoming artists (poets).  Ted Hughes initiated an affair with another woman, and the marriage collapsed. Hughes moved out and exactly four months later, Plath committed suicide, leaving behind their two very young children.”

. . . and then decide for yourself.  Where am I? Is reading perfect prose describing others’ lives the only way we can detect a disruption in our own decisions rather than to pay closer attention to what we do or don’t do to avoid momentary reflection only in someone else’s perfect prose?

Yes, I am smoking a cigar trying to figure this all out – and a new one at that.

So did I fail?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vet6AHmq3_s

 

By Chance. A Rothschild. A Masterpiece.

“It’s so easy to fall in love.  It’s so easy to fall in love. People tell me love’s for fools.  Here I go breaking all the rules . . .” *

That first shy glance, the heart begins to pound, a slight wave of heat on your skin, a perfume’s subtle scent, a tingling touch – a void is overflowing.

“ . . . And I knew our joy would fill the earth And last till the end of time . . .” ☨

Joaquín Blanco – Rothschild.  Made with fervor, and as they would say in Spanish – created “con amor y devoción,” with love and devotion.  

How can a  58 x 4½ cigar cloaked in a rich, dark espresso brown Habano Maduro, a Criollo 98 binder and lovingly filled with Jalapa Nicaraguan Seco, oily Jamastran Honduran Viso Corojo Ligero extrude such fervid emotions?   

Honestly, I don’t know, but this boutique Rothschild from Honduras did despite the frigid temperature occasionally pierced by the warmth of the glowing wires of a heater in the garage when I had the time to smoke it after I returned from Honduras.  I only dwelled on the thought of nothing but sheer, scintillating pleasure as I drew in the smoke, tasted the rich flavors, and felt the sensation of pure and utter satisfaction.  Tasting tobacco flavor this deep was putting me in the plot of a passionate paroxysm of erotic ecstasy.  True. D. H. Lawrence’s “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” or “The Tropic of Cancer” by Henry Miller may be the only other contenders for arousing such thoughts and desires.

Indeed, Ana Joaquina Rodriguez, who I met simply by chance on FB, introduced me to her brand.  In fact, while in Honduras, as perhaps “Mission Impossible’s” Ethan Hunt would be passed his next mission, I was given a sample six-count brought to the hotel by her courier on a bike with only a card that had on the back, handwritten in ink, “To: Paul Schuett.  Enjoy”

Ana was teasing me, of course.  In essence, she was persuading me to make a choice: Your Mission, should you decide to accept it, will be to introduce the Rothschild, as well as the Robusto, Toro, Torpedo, Corona, and Churchill of the Joaquíin Blanco brand to the Midwest.  There can be no disavowal of any knowledge of the brand.  Luckily there was nothing that would self-destruct in five to ten seconds – not even my decision.

I took the opaque plastic bag and discovered that I had been given six different blends/vitolas that they would seduce me to take on the assignment.  And as you can see – the Rothschild did.

 

* Buddy Holly “It’s So Easy to Fall in Love”(1957)

☨Roberta Flack (1972) “The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face.”

Cringing cigar commentaries continue.

“I abandon books easily,” the Chilean novelist, story writer, poet, and essayist, (and former smoker) Alejandro Zambra said in an interview with the Peruvian novelist Daniel Alarcón.”  He goes on to say, “Before, especially when I wrote literary criticism, I had the urge to read books from cover to cover. If I was writing about them, I’d read them twice over. I didn’t enjoy that, in part due to the obligation to say something beyond the obvious. I don’t do that anymore; I became more impulsive—there are just too many books I want to read.” (The New York Review of Books March 7, 2019.  From the review written by Andrew Martin of the book “Not to Read” by Zambra.)

I thought about this for a while and went on to write a different post.  But in the back of my mind, I kept this review earmarked because of what Zambra said and how it relates directly to the cigar industry.

Break it down.  “I abandon books easily” is exactly what I do.  I, too, abandon cigars easily.  I smoke them for a time – off with their caps.  And I’ll smoke them until I get as tired of them as I did when I was single and ate french toast every morning for months. But eventually, I tired of the slippery mess and went onto to something else. (Can’t recall what. That’s 40 years ago.)

And at times, I’ll know the consumer of cigars does the exact same thing.  There are a lot of guys who refuse to give up their “go to” cigar. In short, they have the same habit a cigarette smoker has – a parched and plain palate.   Pardon this truth but no cigar manufacturer has the market forever with any, one blend. The consumer dictates what will or won’t be popular. So if you think you won’t change, I can guarantee that you will. You want proof? Examine the rest of this excerpt from the review . . .

“Before, especially when I (Zambra) wrote literary criticism,” or in this context when I smoked a cigar, “I had the urge to read books from cover to cover.” Or I had the urge to smoke the cigar from cap to foot.  “If I was writing about them,” or let’s be kind and site reviewing the cigar . . . “I’d read them twice over.”  In other words, I would smoke them over and over and over and over again.

“I didn’t enjoy that, in part due to the obligation to say something beyond the obvious. The changeup.  In short, I’ve stopped that insane practice of smoking the same brand and possibly size perhaps out of boredom.  And further, “ I didn’t enjoy that anymore; I became more impulsive. Ha! In short, my comments about the cigar were met with rolling eyes and derision.

“I don’t do that anymore; I became more impulsive—there are just too many books I want to read.”   The eventual challenge. In short, I started to try other cigars and went parading, if you will, down the humidor aisles with an open mind.

Which all makes common sense more reliable than taste or commitment.  If that is even possible. One is a book. The other a cigar. But the fact remains, apathy will set in and the excitement of change, even if it’s writing a book review or smoking a cigar.  Paid or salaried. It matters not.

But reading and smoking cigars are obsessions.  Cultivating the skill to know when to quit writing, talking or smoking and just experience the moment now, that’s the difficult part.  Be it the book or the cigar. “It is rare,” writes Martin, “Zambra has emerged as one of the most perceptive and generous writers on literature currently at work.”

To extend this accolade to our industry especially smokers and reviewers, “It is rare, however, to find one who is able to articulate that obsession with as little pretense and as much élan as Zambra.”  Stretching this a bit, it is rare, or has yet to happen to be quite frank, to find a cigar lover or reviewer who is able to truly critique or write coherent analyses without the bane of committing acts of comedic literature – or shall we say credibility, without shooting bourbon out our noses as we giggle and read what the author, or listen to what the smoker truly believes is an honest and reliable review.

Indeed, not to stick another dagger into the hearts of some smokers, reviewers, and readers, “ . . . in his essays and reviews Zambra captures them with a combination of (seemingly) offhand casualness and authority.”  A blessing most cigar critics do not possess.  Yet.

In short, the cigar industry needs our own Alejandro Zambra to swoosh what is written and said about a product we love and adore to the upper stratosphere of gravitas (and clarity?) so we can truly be seen as a reliable, trustworthy and realistic entity.

No Sympathy for the Business.

There are many aspects of the cigar broker business that I prefer to farm out. Unfortunately, I am the sole owner and I have the grand responsibility to do it all.  And I do. But I have to shine the light on the one thing we work for – money.  Anyone who tells you otherwise is, in my opinion – a liar.

Yes, we are a Capitalistic society.  But we also have become a very unaccountable society. I will say with impunity that today’s businesses are broken as regards to reputation and respect. Not all of them, to paraphrase John Travolta’s character in Phenomenon when asked if he learned every word of the entire Portuguese language in about an hour he says, “Not all of it!”  But the numbers are high.

Why this lackadaisical attitude has attached itself to paying bills on time has morphed into the “way we do business” happened is difficult to pinpoint. But I do know from personal experience that the grasp of cash is a tight grip and to have it loosened is sometimes as difficult to understand as to the way our species reacts or doesn’t react (worse?) to violence, poverty, murder, and the general treatment between human beings.

Napoleon Hill, the author of “Think and Grow Rich,” once wrote that it is a mystery why man is so “indifferent” toward one another.  He couldn’t figure it out in 1937, and we cannot understand why nothing has changed by 2019.

And by indifferent I mean precisely that – mankind seems to have “no particular interest or sympathy or concern” for their own kind.  Synonyms include apathy, offhandedness, lack of involvement, nonchalance, not caring and being blasé.

Not paying an invoice on time is the apex of insouciance.  Yet, the practice reigns supreme in business in general and particularly in the cigar industry.  Sorry dreamers, but that is the harsh reality we brokers deal with.

Fact is, there seems to be no penalty for ignoring a bill in the cigar business – just excuses.  Why?  Don’t even think the credit card company won’t add a late fee to your bill.  Try being a month late on your mortgage?  Give your car loan payment a 90-day hiatus.  Bag your groceries and tell them that you’ll pay for them in a couple of months. See how that flies.  Not to mention what such arrogance does to your credit score.

I’m not a bill collector!  I don’t want to be an independent cigar banker.  The manufacturer makes cigars, not loans. Yet, lateness will continue.  Why? Well, if Napoleon Hill couldn’t figure it out, I certainly don’t have a concise answer.  Speculative truth be known, it’s probably simply part of the accepted permanent human condition.

Imagine that.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqK-J9S2GXs

The Joy of Cigar.

I concentrated on the joy I was experiencing and didn’t give a whit about the cigar’s country of origin, its construction, the types of tobacco used, the wrapper, the filler, the binder, what factory produced it, or who blended it.  I just threw my head back as if waiting for the inevitable to occur. My eyes were closed, the space I occupied was serene. The smoke’s aroma aroused my senses aching to reach that point that all men and women seek. I was completely submerged in pure, prurient, pleasure.  I can only relate this moment to the physical gratification that would cause my body to tingle with tangible trembling eventually coming down to total relaxation. No flavor fallacies, no essence explanations, no dental comparisons – nothing but the sheer erotic exploration of ecstasy.  Isn’t this what we all want? Isn’t this what we all want to feel? Isn’t this what we all what to achieve throughout life? Engorged pleasure? Then when we find it, don’t derail the amorous affair with harsh reality using nonsensical nonessential notations but fly into the amusing phantasmagorical fantasy as one would if we were able to meet our heart’s desire daily.  Cigar scriveners take note.  Stay grounded. Your oval is off center causing your critiques to wobble into the hellish hilarity of humor desperately trying to impress the reader rather than just telling us how you feel.  It’s that human gnawing at life as we seek contentment while smoking our cigars not detecting, ergo, trying desperately to describe lemon tang, wormy wood, creamy custard, or the remnants of a dung beetle’s dinner.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqcsDz0nJic

It is NOT about you. It IS about the cigar.

IrvCigarBroker

(This article was written only days before Karl Otto Lagerfeld passed (9.10 1933 – 2.19.2019) I decided to publish it not only as a tribute to one of the greatest designers to live but to also bring home my point of cigar celebrity through the subtle practices of a fashion genius.)

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Look in any cigar magazine and whose face (or entire body) might you see in an ad? Pete Johnson?  Carlito Fuente?  Christian Eiroa?  Alan Rubin?  Litto Gomez?  Rocky Patel?  Plus maybe a photo of the cigar their fame rests.  These tobacco luminaries are not in every magazine, but they are in your face enough times that some cigar smokers consider them “celebrities.”  Let’s put this into perspective.  

In a recent photo spread in “Elle Magazine,” 95 percent of the photos are of models wearing perfectly-fitted ensembles designed by the great Karl Otto Lagerfeld.  But what is unusual is the…

View original post 880 more words

Some cigars might surprise you.

What do I do when I’m in a hurry and I know Flo needs to go out to relieve herself and I want a cigar to smoke while I’m walking her, and I’m just too damn lazy to go downstairs to the box and pick one out?  

Well, as luck would have it I saw one on my desk under some papers.  Lord knows how long it had been there. But it happens now and then when I finish the day, I empty my shirt pocket and place everything, including a single cigar wherever I can find a clear spot on my desk.  But this time I forget about this one. Obviously, it hadn’t been humidified. I may have even dropped it a few times.  Who knows.

Anyway, I grabbed it, stripped the cello, it had no band, clipped the cap and rushed to put Flo’s sweater on and head for the back door.  Once I was outside I took my lighter and gave the cigar life! Not easy when it’s in the single digits and the snow is pelting down making petite pecking sounds on my hood.  But the flame licked the foot. I took a few draws and I was on my way.

While I’m walking I’m smoking this remnant of a day’s work and it’s got a great draw.  It’s burning straight like the laser between James Bond’s legs in “Goldfinger.”  Luckily this had nothing to do with imminent pain, especially in the genital area. (Watch the movie if you’re lost.)  And I’m just walking like I always do, boots crunching the newly fallen snow with occasional scapes of rubber on patches of dry sidewalk.

But what I’m noticing is that this cigar is performing as if it had just been taken out of the perfect environment.  Huge clouds of smoke were filling the cold air and it was as tasty as pure tobacco can get. I’m not trying to place any descriptions of what the smoke reminded me of, all I can think about is when Flo is gonna drop you know what, and this cigar.  

It never began to crack or unravel.  It was one of the best cigars I’ve smoked in ages. Sure. Something is bound to happen. I’m pessimistic. My walk is usually half an hour, snow or no snow.  Above zero or below. Frigid blowing wind or the calmness of a Spring’s breeze.

But nothing negative happened.  It was satisfying my jones for a cigar.  I’ve had this brand before that was pulled out from sublime conditions.  But here I was smoking at least a week-old, dry cigar and enjoying every minute of it.  

When I returned home, Flo was let in.  I placed the still smoldering cigar on a ledge of the back porch’s framing.  I wiped the fresh, loose snow off Flo’s paws and let her in. I went back down the stairs and retrieved my cigar and went about taking out the garbage and the recyclables.  I dragged the full container with the cigar still clenched between my teeth puffing away. I was slightly out of breath because I had to semi lift the container on top of the snow.  Cigar?  Still In good shape.

It was in such good shape that I decided to go into the garage and sit down and finish it.  I didn’t even turn the heater on. I just vegetated there feeling my breathing and heart rate slowing down and began to read a magazine that was on the table.

I looked at the cigar and it was still burning even and the flavors were beginning to mix in the close quarters.  The bouquet was intoxicating. The damn thing just kept right on pleasing.

“Now this is some kind of cigar,” I thought to myself.  Not that I’m going to abuse all my cigars, but a performance like this can only mean one thing – this orphaned cigar, turned out to be a great, great smoke. 

Now if I could only identify it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MSVTOMkJdqs

 

Too many cigar brands are numbing the market and confusing the customer.

As I pulled the thin blanket over my head, I could feel my body going completely numb as if Novocaine had been injected into every vein of my body.  “Judas Priest, another cigar?!”  (This, despite apocryphal and unproven spotty reports to the contrary.)

What is going on in the heads of cigar manufacturers?  Have they lost all sense of sales science? Have they ever heard of the process of liquefaction a derivative occurrence of supersaturation?  I know we aren’t studying geology, but the principles hold true in cigar manufacturing. To whit:

Saturation is the state or process that occurs when no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added.  If more of this something is still (supersaturation) added then the process of Liquefaction begins which is in geological terms “loose sand (or more cigars) and silt that is saturated with water can behave like a liquid when shaken by an earthquake.”  (https://geomaps.wr.usgs.gov/)

Let me explain.  Stay with me.  Stay with me.  Don’t jump off the ledge.

“Three factors are required for liquefaction to occur: loose, granular sediment — typically “made” land and beach and stream deposits that are young enough (late Holocene) to be loose.  (Even more cigars.)

Saturation of the sediment by groundwater (water fills the spaces between sand and silt grains).  In much of the San Francisco Bay region, the groundwater is closest to the surface (saturating the younger (New Cigars) sediment in the Winter/Spring, during and following the “wet season.” In 1906, the Bay region was fortunate that the previous wet season had been relatively dry.  (Fewer new cigars.)  In 1989, the Loma Prieta earthquake occurred at the end of the dry season in October, when groundwater levels are relatively deep beneath the ground surface — still, there was considerable liquefaction-related damage!

Finally, strong shaking — all parts of the San Francisco Bay region have the potential to be shaken hard enough for susceptible sediment to liquefy. (All cigars!)

In essence, the very base of land (the marketplace) is disturbed to the point of ultimate deterioration (or confusion begets apathy).  This due first to supersaturation or “the state or process that occurs when (absolutely) no more of something can be absorbed, combined with, or added to.” (Google)

Getting clearer?

This begs the question: Are cigar manufacturers at the point of supersaturation right now? Damn straight they are? Here I am held up in the fetal position with absolutely no nerve impulses feeling anything!  Some boutique manufacturers without a wisp of a footprint on the shelves of humidors are actually coming out with new blends.  Why? Why? Why?

Without a doubt, the next phase is inevitable.  

Take this to the bank, the ground will shake, the steadiness of the foundation you are trying to build (a brand name) will shatter and the sluice of liquefaction will begin to run down the marketplace aisles and shelves unnoticed to the detriment of your dreams.  (Unless your marketing plans include becoming a de facto expatriate manufacturer and damn the USA.)

Hold off.  Stop.  For Pete’s Sake. WAIT!  Even Neil Armstrong hesitated!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXYiU_JCYtU