No band. Rolled in a cone of newspaper. From Miami via Nicaragua. I don’t know the wrapper, the filler, or the binder. But I do know one thing – these are excellent cigars. Samples were sent to me recently. Never met the owner of the company.
This is the third one I’ve smoked (look at the picture). The first was a box-pressed wrapped in cello. Non-descript visually but tasted like a donum ex Deo.
The second was a 6 x 54 barber pole. A palatal expander.
But regardless of the lack of tobacco specifics, all three were heavenly. Two more to go. No purgatorial waiting for the flavor to reach the retro-hale firmament – even on a dry draw. All three went to the nib.
This one, (the one above?) – its draw was a bit on the frozen, slushy side at first. But what that did was accentuate the eventual explosion of bursting flavors (such a cliché, but it works) on my palate and enriching the spacial bouquet of the resultant smoke – best described as “woodsy.” It was like taking a hike on a humid day in an overgrown forest and breathing in a deep gulp of air that was filled with a fungous aroma made up of wood strings, “Threads of God” – su filindeu – the thinnest pasta in the world – rare, exotic, and softly placed upon the pillow of your palate.
The cigar is constructed like the Empire State Building – strong, even, balanced – as is the burn. The ash, in and of itself, is a masterpiece of natural residual art. Confident. Memorable. Cool. Steve McQueen cool. Activity all around yet definitely the epicenter of this cigar’s natural poise.
(Pause)
Okay. It’s from the Tampa Bay Cigar Company.
Next for me? No. 4.
Then.
Then the Candela.
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