Finally, a Gurkha Centurian That Tasted Good!

Last night I gave my wife the last of the 12 Gurkha Centurians I had bought several months ago. I'd been letting her smoke them down, one by one, because she liked them and I thought they were nothing but insipid, overpriced drumsticks.

She let me light the last Centurian for her and, lo and behold, the thing sparked right up with a rich draw and a tart, spicy flavor that NONE of the other 11 had delivered. And as we smoked through the next hour, this final Centurian continued to burn well, taste great, and blow prodigious volumes of smoke.

How could the previous 11 have been so bad? Theories:

1) Number 12 had been in my humidor the longest. Maybe it opened up somehow. But it seems unlikely. Number 12 had been in the humidor only about 10 days longer than number 11, and so forth regressing back to number 1.

2) Whoever rolls these cigars really doesn't know what they're doing and can only get one out of 12 right. If that's the case, it is truly sad, because Gurkha is getting 13 bucks each for these at online stores, and God knows how much at retail.

3) The other 11 Gurkhas were in fact imposters, fakes placed in the distributor's warehouse by some shifty middleman looking to make a buck. Or maybe someone at the factory is substituting cheap tobaccos and selling the good leaves to a competitor, and Gurkha corporate doesn't even know it.

And maybe there's a whole other universe under my fingernail, and maybe everything we think we know isn't true, and someone from another galaxy is conducting an experiment using us as guinea pigs and we're all going to get swallowed up by some magnetic force field coming at us from another dimension.

But seriously - how can 11 cigars in a lot be horrible, simply awful, and the last one be excellent? If anyone has any thoughts, I'd truly like to hear them.
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Pardon Me While I Sneeze

My usual high-spirited cigar reviews are on hiatus due to ragweed allergies. Yes, I smoked a couple of cigars last week, but when you're breathing through one nostril, your critical sensitivities turn to sludge.

Oliva Series G Cameroon robusto - the allergy really put the kabosh on this. I could tell it would have tasted good if my sinuses were in working order; instead all got was a dry muddy sensation. I let my wife smoke it: A good cigar should not go to waste.

Gurkha Centurian - Sally smoked this, and I took my customary puff or two. Same crappy flavor as always. Sally chewed it to bits and it fell apart in the ashtray. Sultan of Brunei, 28-dollar retail, my ass. I've got one more of these left in my humidor, and I will never buy another. Not even if CI dumps them at $3.99 a stick.

Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto - Nothing can keep this bad boy down. Even with my nose clogged shut and my throat streaming mucus, the intense peppercorn cream and spiciness lavished my palate with wonder.

Camacho Coyolar, monarcha size (only offered at C.I. as far as I know) - its deep, warm flavor swam to the surface of my embattled palate, allowing me some real pleasure until the cigar went out at the halfway point. I've had a burn problem with two monarcha-sized Camachos so far (out of 8). Great taste, but too bad about the burn.

Puros Indios Meets Carlos Torano

The great thing about having a cigar-chomping wife is the chance to regularly sample two brands at once. Sally, however, is particular about cigars. She's taken a puff or two from nearly every brand I've had, and almost always hands the despicable lump back to me. The only exception being the perplexing Gurkha Centurian Double X, which she finds rich, satisfying and CHOCOLATELY (arrrggh! That word!).

So lighting up a cigar for the wife is always dicey: She might take three puffs, decide it's lousy, and put it out. This time, she insisted on having her own. "The usual Gurkha?" I asked.

"Nah, I'm getting tired of those. What else have you got?"

I thought long and hard. What else might be described by some cigar-reviewing aesthete as CHOCOLATELY? The answer: Carlos Torano Exodus 1959 torpedo, in a recent issue of Cigar Aficionado. I'd tried two of them, and found them less than the cat's pajamas. If Sally put it out, it would be no great loss.

For myself I chose a Puros Indios Doble Maduro, toro size.

From the start, it was a head-to-head race. I had no interest in Sally's Carlos because my Puros Indios tasted so darned good. So good that I castigated myself: Why had I let it sit in my humidor for so long? Why hadn't I ordered a whole box?!!

Meanwhile Sally was raving about the Carlos Torano. "Oh, I like this! It tastes chocolately, but smoother than those Gurkhas..."

"I swear, I don't get that chocolate stuff."

"I know you don't, baby, but just accept it. And I love this SQUARE SHAPE. The way it fits in my fingers..."

"They're called box-pressed."

"Oh, I like these box-pressed cigars...."

"Boy, you're picking right up on the terminology."

"I think I only want box-pressed from now on." She purred sensually, dragging on her Carlos.

"Enough," I said. "Let me try that."

We traded cigars. Wow! The Carlos Torano 1959 was excellent - full flavored, cool-burning, tastier than the previous two I'd tried. What was up? Had Sally worked some magic spell on it?

"I don't like this one," she said, handing back the Puros Indios. No chocolate, apparently, so no dice.

I reluctantly handed her the Carlos Torano, realizing it was the last one in my humidor. I took back the Puros Indios, took a puff, and found it was nearly as good. Who needed Carlos? This dark and heady gem was also a delight.

Twice now I've tried the Puros Indios Doble Maduro. Both times I found the flavor immensely satisfying, with a submerged inkling of honey graham or wheat or whatever fancy-schmancy term you might use to describe it, let's say an "autumnal leaf-burning edge tinged with sweetness" that seems unique to the Puros Indios brands. The Doble Maduro is the strongest of the bunch.

Unfortunately, about halfway through it started burning unevenly, while Sally's Carlos Torano kept sailing on. By the time I got down to the last 2 inches--sometimes the best part of a cigar--the wrapper on one side jutted out unburned, compromising the draw. Frustration!

Luckily, Sally handed over the last two inches of her Carlos, and I snarfed it happily.

Bottom line on the Puros Indio Doble Maduro: Great taste, bad burn. Rolando, keep that fantastic blend but PLEASE teach your rollers how to pack a stick.

And the Carlos Torano Exodus 1959? Must try again. Two were bland, one fantastic: A mystery that remains to be solved. Stay tuned.

Don't Smoke This Cigar!

Am I out of my mind, or is the Gurkha Centurian Double X the most overhyped rip-off in the world? Please tell me, I really want to know.

This burly looking cigar is sold at C.I. for a hefty price of 70 bucks per mazo of 6 sticks. Throw in shipping and handling, and you're out 13 bucks per stick. No telling how much a retail shop would charge for these things - I'm guessing 26 or 28 dollars apiece.

And then there's this whole backstory of these cigars being consigned for private use by the Sultan of Brunei. Is there even such a place? Does it have a sultan? If so, does he have any taste in cigars? And if he did, would it match anyone else's? And if his private stash is so good, why is it now being dumped on the open market?

Anyway, a buddy at work and I jumped at the chance to buy these at 12 for 49 bucks when they popped up as the weekly special at C.I. a few months ago. Boy were we excited, rubbing our hands in expectation, making furtive comments as we passed in the hallways. Finally, the fat little bastards came in. Finally, we would get to smoke like a sultan. Our mouths were practically watering.

A week later we compared notes: Did you try 'em? Yep. Whatja think? Hmm, not sure. Not so great, were they? Nope, not really. Kinda crappy, huh? Yep. And certainly not worth 28 bucks. You can say that again...

We walked away from each other, humbled and sheepish.

In the meantime, my wife sampled one and decided that for once she had found a cigar she liked. It tasted like chocolate, she said! Chocolate! Go figure. So I bought out my compatriot's remaining 4 sticks, to keep them on hand for the wife.

In subsequent weeks, I've sampled these fat boys as my wife happily noshes on them, and each time I can only say: Baffled.

Last weekend was the straw that broke the camel's back. After enjoying a perfectly delicious Carlos Torano 1916 Cameroon (corona), I watched as my wife puffed away on another Gurkha Centurian. And as usual, I grabbed it from her once every ten minutes to sample it, in the vague hope that eventually I would come around on this cigar, find a sweet spot, a hint of flavor, anything. But no such luck. Yet again, this thing drew like crap, tasted like crap, and unwound in our hands like crap. Even the wife admitted that she was no longer infatuated like the first couple of times, although she did continue to mention the word "chocolate." CHOCOLATE! Lord help us.

No more leeway, no more grace period, no more test puffs: I'm putting my foot down and saying once and for all: The Gurkha Centurian Double X stinks. It's a horrid, ugly smoke, and it isn't worth 3 dollars, much less 30. Buy it for your wife, if you must, but only buy it at discount.

If I'm wrong, please enlighten me. I really want to know.

Chocolate? What Chocolate?

Note to self: Beware any cigar promo that mentions "chocolately taste." In my experience, such a taste translates to: Nothing special. Example: Carlos Torano Exodus 1959 (torpedo size). This cigar was heavily ballyhoed both by Cigar Aficionado and CI as having a 93 rating, being the #5 rated cigar of 2006, and having a CHOCOLATELY taste, undertone, hint, etc. I looked forward to this velvety treat with rapture, only to find, on two separate occasions, that it just tasted like... smoke. Good puffy smoke, good burning stick, pleasant, mind you, but NO CHOCOLATE.

Same thing with the fabled Gurkha Centurian XX. Where's the chocolate? Or was it vanilla? No matter, you won't find either flavor. Just smoke. And not that pleasant, mind you.

Is it my taste buds, or is a chocolately-tasting cigar just an illusion dreamed up by copywriters for the major cigar distributors? I don't get it, man. Somebody enlighten me.