After getting my tastebuds titillated by relatively harmless Harvill cigarillos, I had no idea what would come next. But cigars have a way of finding you: Within a few weeks, I overheard a guy at work mention that he'd smoked a couple cigars on vacation. My curiousity piqued, I engaged him in deceptively knowing conversation - yep, I smoked the occasional cigar. Occasional being 5 no-name cigarillos to date, but I didn't mention that. No, I didn't really have a favorite. Did he?
Rocky Patels, he answered. It sounded like the name of a 1930s gangster of far eastern descent, or a heavyweight boxer. I nodded appreciatively and smiled, like a complete idiot. And like any good hearted cigar fellow, the Rocky fan offered to bring me in a couple samples. He'd recently bought a whole bundle of them, he said, for 40 dollars. I had no idea if this was a good price, but assumed it must be. As I said, I was a complete cigar idiot.
The next day he brought in two huge, dark cigars that practically made me blush with intimidation. They must have been Churchills, and they were either Vingage 90s or Vintage 92s. I didn't know enough to ask. My first thought was that if I stuck one of these cigars in my mouth, I'd lose my center of gravity and fall over. Nonetheless I was determined to smoke them.
The first free night I had, I put on my winter coat, went outside in the 20-degree winter cold, and fired one up. I had no idea of the time commitment required. Within 10 minutes my fingers were almost frozen, and I'd barely smoked off an inch of it. Flavor? It was deep and brawny and vaguely middle eastern. I knew I had some sort of monster by the tail, and I kicked myself for having to throw it away before frostbite set in.
A month later the weather warmed to a seasonable 42 degrees and I took the second Rocky along while my wife got her hair done. I knew it would take her at least an hour. I fired up the cigar and smoked it out on the street, feeling a bit stupid pacing up and down the block, leaning against the occasional parking meter, and enduring strange looks from people passing by. As I passed the midpoint of this huge cigar, I began to notice the flavor of the smoke subtly changing as the cigar burned down. My real cigar fascination began.
A couple of weeks later I went to my local cigar shop and was shocked to see that Rocky Patels ran 9 to 11 bucks apiece. I asked the store clerk if there was anything else he recommended, sort of like Rockies but cheaper. I had now developed the impossible goal of trying as many different types of cigars as I could. The clerk pointed to something called Fonseca Cubana Limitada, one with a nice torpedo shape, and I grabbed it along with an even cheaper one called Henry Clay. The clerk said the Clay was ugly, but one of his favorites. Helpless and awed by the hundreds of different cigars in the humidor, I blindy took the guy's advice and bought the two cigars.
I smoked the Fonseca Cubana in an unbroken hour of peace and quiet in a secluded vacation getaway, and realized that this cigar tasted completely different than the Rocky, yet also also excellent. It had a musky, peaty flavor that grew stronger as the cigar progressed. Fascinating. I smoked it down to the last inch.
Now I was truly obsessed. I begged the dude at work for a couple more of his Rocky Patels. He gave me another dark one, and a lighter one which must have been a Connecticut. I put them in a makeshift plastic bag humidor, using a lightly moistened paper towel to provide humidification.
The days went by and all I could think of was smoking my stash of 3 cigars. But the weather would not comply - wind, rain, snow, cold - and life went on. Work, sleep, wife, kids, mortgage, the dizzying round went on and yet all I could think about was smoking another cigar. When, when, when? I talked about it constantly. It was driving my wife crazy. Finally on a cold April afternoon, I gave in to my craving, went to a local park, and fired up the Henry Clay.
For the first time, I was disappointed. Henry Clay was a decent cigar, but lacked punch or subtlety. I felt somehow shortchanged. That night after a one beer too many, I got the crazy idea to go out on the deck and do a comparison smoke of my remaining two Rocky Patels - the dark one and the light one. Maybe just smoke half of each. Like I said, one beer too many.
I learned two things that night: One, no matter how great the brand of cigar, Connecticut shade wrappers are just boring. This is a judgement I've rarely had to modify in the months since. Two, don't smoke two cigars at once, after drinking too much beer, and on an empty stomach, before going to bed. Yes, I went to sleep a happy man. But I woke up with a churning nausea and flu-like headache that kept me from going to work that day.
My first cigar hangover. It was not funny at the time. I made a vow never again to smoke 3 cigars in one day. A vow, I am proud to say, which I have broken many times since, and without complications.
Which just goes to show that here in America you can do just about anything, if you really put your mind to it.
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