The 70 Percent Solution

My struggle? It's not inner demons, the striving for social justice, or a desire to provide a better life for my children: No, my struggle, my challenge, my life's constant aching burden is in trying to reach that elusive 70 percent humidity in my humidor.

I have a relatively small humidor, supposedly 50-capacity but realistically meant to hold about 30 cigars. Early on I began to suspect that my stogies were coming out on the dry side, but couldn't know for sure because I had no hygrometer. (Accessorize, accessorize... that mantra playing constantly in the back of every cigar smoker's mind...) Finally, a few weeks ago I broke down and bought a digital hygrometer from C.I. for 23 bucks, and threw in a 10-pack of discounted Indian Tabac Super Fuertes just for good measure.

The hygrometer was fine (and the Indians too, more on that elsewhere) but it gave me a dismal reading of only 63 percent. I was crestfallen. How could I subect my cigars--and myself--to such deprivation? I took immediate action, activating a water pillow (yes, another accessory, and somewhat funky to see inflate -- let the kids watch, they'll love it) then slept fitfully, wondering what was happening inside the humidor. Would it reach 70 percent? Was I a genius for adding the water pillow? Or was I a fool - maybe it would send it over the top, up to 75 or even 80 percent, turning my cigars to mush. The hope, the dread, the uncertainty of it all...

I awoke the next morning to find that the humidity had crept up to a mere 65 percent. Better, but not nearly good enough. I opened the seal of the water pillow so that more of moisture-releasing membrane was exposed. Next day: 66 percent. Still not good enough! I stuck in a second water pillow, throwing caution to the wind. Still only 67 percent.

Jesus Lord, what did it take to hit 70 percent in this world?

Last weekend, I found out. While staying at my deplorable relatives' house in Duluth (where I nontheless had the pleasure of smoking a venerable Carlos Torano 1916 Cameroon corona) I noticed that the relatively cool basement where we were were quartered had turned hot and stuffy overnight. The only variable seemed to be the clothes dryer running in the next room. I went to check it out.

Turns out the dryer was rigged to vent into the basement instead of out the window like any other self-respecting head of the household would have ensured. All that warm, humid air, dispersing itself through the basement. I hated to think about what the various airborne clothing fibers might be doing to my relatives over the course of a lifetime, but more immediately, I wondered what was happening in my humidor.

A miracle, as it turns out. The hygrometer was reading a near-mythical 69 percent. As I stood there marveling, the reading turned to 70 before my very eyes. 70! The magical 70! Horns went off, confetti fell inside my head. I wished I had a camera to preserve the moment. Then, yet higher, to 71! I shut the humidor lid. Didn't want the little fireplugs to overdose, after all.

For a moment, I seriously considered moving to a dangerously ventilated basement in Duluth.

So there you have it, folks: If you want 70 percent humidity, unhook your dryer vent. You might get some kind of moisture-induced respiratory infection, not to mention a toxic buildup of cotton, rayon, and nylon in your vital organs, but who cares: Your cigars will be perfect.