For the past two years I've been striving to describe the experience of smoking a cigar in the most visceral, subjective manner possible. But I've always failed, falling back on the staid solipsisms of professional cigar reviews a la Cigar Aficionado and a dozen web sites that pop up in Google.
Well, no more. I'm taking that Tom Wolfe leap and writing whatever the f^&*k comes into my head. Call it the new cigar journalism. Here goes:
After smoking the Padilla 1968 robusto on a crisp and breezy autumn afternoon, my overall impression of it was: Flaky pastry, cheese and crackers.
Read into that what you will. It's a Keruoac moment. It's a dada, ooh-ah signpost of wonder.
To put it in plain English: The Padilla 1968 robusto is a wonderful medium-bodied cigar. Flaky pastry, cheese and crackers. Warm nutty finger bowl of mouthy delight. Puff pastry in a powder keg, rocket to heaven on a slingshot budget, per cigarbid low 13-dollar crazy 5-pack win.
Similar to Rocky Patel Renaissance but better from the get-go.
Not the best cigar you will ever smoke, but worth it.
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