The Perfect Place to Smoke a Cigar.

I miss New York more and more each day.  I was there in 2019, just before the pandemic hit, with my wife, E, and Miles, my son.  Lately, I can’t get my mind away from that trip.  So occasionally I pick out one of the photos that I took while there and post it on Facebook’s My Story.  Each glimpse of the photos, and the crystal clear memory of the moment I took it, mesmerizes my nervous system transporting me back to that exact second in time.

(Cigar fanatics please stay with me – this is what you call “a buildup.” )

Why do I adore the city so much?  Partially it’s an unknown, subconscious emotional attachment that I’ve had since I was a small boy.  Sometimes my Dad would bring me the “real” New York Times from the newsstand downstairs at the train station in Chicago.  As I held it in my hands, I could imagine myself picking up the evening edition at Grand Central because this paper was flown in that day and was the same one that was available in New York City – that day.  My emotions run high because my heart warms to its highest temperature each time I visit The Big Apple or even anticipate an upcoming visit.

The city is the quintessential concatenation of cultural chaos that no other famous metropolis can compare to.  None.  Of course, many cities offer various attractions, but New York City IS the attraction!  

I write this article to cheer me up as I slosh through this crazy, bizarre, fragmented world WE have unknowingly created.  As mentioned in the paragraph above, every time I see a photo of that trip I post one of them on My Story on Facebook thus “. . . releasing in my body oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin . . . often referred to as our ‘happy hormones.’”  (Google)  The end result is a solid recollection of a particular sound, aroma, or shivering experience (like seeing Billy Joel live at Madison Square Garden).

(Okay, cigar freaks, this is for you!) 

There’s only one thing that – for me,  makes New York absolutely perfect.  And that is walking down a crowded street with Miles, smoking a free Martinez handmade cigar (gifted to me by José), fresh from the factory located at 171 W 29th St. while heading back to Sassoon’s to see how a hairdresser can make a beautiful woman even more beautiful.

Two Pet Peeves.

Two things that really tick me off are a cigar that has a tight draw, and a used book with writing or underlining of any kind on the pages. 

Case in point:  I just received “Kafka Was the Rage: A Greenwich Village Memoir,” by Anatole Broyard.  It’s a paperback and with my cash credits, I paid only 99 cents (for shipping) – the actual cost of the book was $4.79 (the exact amount of my credit).   

Now, this is the first time this has ever happened to me.  As a book collector, I trust the seller’s general description of the book that’s for sale.  It’s important to be exact.  Strike that.  No.  Condition is critical to me as a collector and crucial to my enjoying the read.

Why?  Lines under sentences (and this former book owner went gonzo) or blots of ink, smudges, or even bent pages are all distractions to the flow when I read the book because my eyes are drawn to these imperfections.  But do I throw the book out?  Absolutely not.  (I’ll explain below.)

Same with a cigar that has a kink in it so the draw isn’t velvety smooth – it obliterates the experience.  In fact, see that cigar in the photo above?  I can get more air out of a dry chicken bone that has been encased in plumber’s putty than I can from that stopped-up cigar.  Do I throw it away?  Absolutely not.

I’ll tell you what I do.  I fiddle with it for just a few minutes.  But, as a cigar broker (and one with very little patience), I have the advantage of going back downstairs and reopening the box or unzipping the bag and picking out a new one.  Once my choice is made, and after snipping off the end, I toast the foot and try it again.  Nine times out of ten the second one is fine.  Rarely do I find more than one bad cigar in a lot.

How long did that take me?  I have a small house.  So in a few minutes, I’m sitting back in the garage enjoying the cigar – and staring at the f#@king book that’s been zebra-ed to death wondering what to do with it.

So what do I do?  I would ordinarily bring up the website I purchased the book from and fill out the order form to return the book and ask for a credit on my account.  But this particular company will not pay for the return postage.  So will I send it back?  No.  It becomes a cost situation concatenated with common sense.  (Forget the 99 cents – it’s the principle here.) 

What I will do is go back to the same website where I bought the tagged book from, find another copy that’s in better condition and order it again (often a small note with the reorder about the damaged book will shame the bookseller to use the money I paid for the new one as a “credit courtesy” for being a discounter douchebag – no guarantee, however).

Point of all this?  Time and level of angst.  Time lost from the plugged cigar – a mere few minutes.  Level of angst in waiting for the book in better condition to arrive – approximately a week.  

What’s the point of all this? 

A fine smoke, and I did get the credit – without having to return the book.  

Smoke it for yourself.

Normally I’ll read a book before I comment on any portion of it, but in this case, I have to mention a most revealing quote from the review (TLS 2.26.21), that when paraphrased, will raise a red flag to all those who write and read cigar reviews, or attempt to predict to like or dislike a particular blend without lighting up.

The book is by Guy Davenport, a well-known American writer, and was originally published by Harper Collins in 1989.  Its title, “A Balthus Notebook,” is about the oft-misunderstood Polish-French artist, Balthasar Klosowski de Rola – known as Balthus.

It’s a short book of only 112 pages but covers an enormous amount of material about the painter.  

At one point the reviewer, Harry Strawson, quotes Davenport, “The ‘arrogance of insisting’ (on an artwork’s meaning) ‘closes off curiosity, perception, the adventure of discovery.’”

This latter paragraph can easily be paraphrased to read: “The arrogance of suggesting or meticulously attempting to describe a cigar blend’s flavor closes off ‘curiosity, perception, and the adventure of discovery.’”

And to wit – it’s the bloody truth.

So try ‘em all for yourself.  Otherwise, you’ll never really know.