Indian Super Fuertes better than ever

My last post about Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto naturals was rather negative, describing a mellowing effect with aging. I've had a few more since then and they are not exactly mellow, just a tad more refined as they age. Most of them keep their "kick" and I'm not sure what happened with the 3 or 4 that seemed mellow when I reviewed them last year.

I recently finished the last super fuerte from a box I bought in 2007. Wow, what a run. And, as I continue to buy new five packs of this blend, I'm amazed at how well they smoke fresh out of the box.

These are some of the most rugged, reliable full-bodied cigars that you can win on the auctions for less than 2 dollars apiece. Great for that quick-rush, give-me-a-cigar-NOW moment. They are not about subtle finesse, but instant gratification through open draw and crackling intensity. Sometimes they go bitter by the last third, other times they smoke gloriously down to the nub. Either way you get something of value for your $1.89 or whatever ridiculously low price you paid.

Whether you get 30 minutes or 60, you'll always get reliable draw, taste and burn that can withstand a stiff breeze, heat, cold, allergies, and even rain. You could probably smoke one in the middle of a hurricane and still enjoy it, although I've never tried that.

Oddly, the other blends in this line don't do much for me - I've tried the super fuerte maduros in various sizes and find them all lacking in flavor or not as well constructed. But the robusto natural (habano wrapper) is a real winner. A cheapskate's paradise.

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What Happened to My Indians?

As you can see by my trail of recurring posts on the subject, I've long been an avid Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto fan, holding it in high esteem as one of the tastiest and strongest habano-wrapped cheapies on the market. I was so impressed that I even bought a whole box of them last August for the astoundingly low one-day sale price of $25.

The ITSF robusto became my go-to smoke, the one I pulled out when wasn't sure what I wanted or when the weather wasn't conducive for an expensive cigar or when the wife might decide at any minute it was time to drag me to the latest chick flick.

Anyway, to make a long story short, several months went by since my last IT Super Fuerte robusto, and I only recently found myself in a position to smoke them again.

I've had two in the past few weeks. But something has changed. They're different now. They've mutated during the months of humidor rest into some other than the crackly, stringent, mind-blowing cheapies they were when I bought them. Time has mellowed them into something I'm not sure I like - something almost laid-back, subdued and - dare I say it - mellow.

No, they aren't "mild." They've just lost the energy and puppy-like zest that made me love them. They've become refined, somber, and almost complex. I liked them better when they were a one dimensional kick-your-ass and take no prisoners cigar.

If this is the fabled aging effect, I guess I'd better beware. Wonder what's going to happen to the Gurkhas and CAOs and RP Vintages I've been squirreling away at the bottom of the humidor for the past 18 months? I'm almost afraid to find out.

Super Fuerte in the Rain

Ok, guys, just how desperate can a man be?

I'll tell you how desperate: Day after day without a cigar, plagued by seasonal pollen allergies that leave your taste buds in ruin, knowing that a cigar under these conditions would only be wasted, good money after bad. And so the interminable waiting, waiting, waiting...

Well, today the temperature finally dropped, it got windy, and the ragweed seemed to go into hibernation. My nose was clear. I had only sneezed three times the whole day. So tonight I braved the elements and stole outside at 12:30 a.m. to finally SMOKE A GOSH-DURNED CIGAR.

My thinking went: I'll take a brand I've smoke many times before, so that if my palate is shot, at least I'll know what I missed. So I grabbed the old standby, an Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto.

The wind was howling so ferociously I had to roll down the deck umbrella, pull it out of its holder, and lay it flat on the ground. Then I lit the super fuerte, and it went up like a parched wheat field in August. I was in heaven. I drew and drew and drew, and the flavor was wonderful. Fast burning delight, as if the cigar itself know that a storm was approaching.

Then the rain started to fall. Was I going to cave into the elements, put this baby out and run for cover? No freaking way. I crouched under the awning, which afforded me absolutely no protection, cupped the Indian under my palm, and smoked like a fiend. I felt like a cigar junky, hoping no one would see me in my desperation. They didn't. It was 12:30 going on 1:00. Everyone in their right mind was asleep.

In a half hour, I polished it off. Cigars must burn faster in the wind... And this particular Indian, as if by God's providential will, had an especially open draw. God, I loved that flavor. That cream, that pepper, that brawn.

I smoked it down to an inch, doused it in the birdbath, and crept back into the house, my shirt soaked, my socks dripping wet, my jeans clinging absurdly to my ragged form.

Am I a fiend, an addict, a pathetic wretch of a man? Yes. But keep in mind, I've gone an entire week - that's seven days, count 'em - without a cigar. Can you blame any man in those circumstances? I think not.

It was the fastest cigar I've ever smoked, and I'd do it again. I am not ashamed. I'm a man, dammit, and a man has to live.

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.

Deals Galore: Resistance is Futile

My resolution not to order anything cigar-related for the rest of the month went up in smoke yesterday. I had no choice: Famous came out with a one-day "Monster Deal" on Indian Tabac Super Fuertes, robusto size. A full box of 20 for only 25 dollars. Did you hear that? Only 25 dollars! Plus FREE SHIPPING! You will be assimilated.

I ordered a box and sent an email notice to my cigar-chomping buddies at work. Note being: Order your own damned box, you ain't gettin none of mine.

Yes, miracles do happen, and good things come to those who wait. I felt like the kid at the end of Animal House, reading Playboy and dreaming about having a naked girl of his own when suddenly a buxom cheerleader crashes in through his bedroom window.

Like the kid said: Thank you, God!

Neighborhood Fumigation: Indian Tabac Super Fuerte, Round 5

Last night I smoked another Indian Tabac Super Fuerte natural robusto, my fifth this year. Boy, did it deliver. The evening was cloudless and quiet, not the faintest stirring of a breeze, and the smoke from this one-stick mosquito control system slowly expanded to fill my back yard and probably the yards of several neighbors. I think I even heard a window or two being shut in response.

Typically I pick shorter, robusto cigars when I want to clock in under an hour and keep the side effects to a minimum. In the case of the IT Super Fuerte, there's no avoiding the kick: This cigar generates a thick blanket of smoke that rolls over your taste buds with the insistence of a horn-blatting 18-wheeler. Subtlety is not the issue here, nor did I want it to be. I wanted a heavy cigar that let me know I was smoking it. The Indian Tabac Super Fuerte did not fail. Buttery, creamy strength, with a touch of black pepper, and no harshness whatsoever.

Even by the final inch, the flavor had not faltered, but I reluctantly had to pack it in. I knew that if I burned this thing to the end, I'd be risking dizziness, nausea, blindness, and dementia. In fact this morning I felt a little woozy and had to crawl back in bed for another 45 minutes to regain my equilibrium. A snack before bed might have been in order, or one less glass of whiskey. Note to self: Carefully regulate the whiskey-to-Indian ratio. Not a combination to be trifled with.

For the money, I have yet to find another cigar that can deliver a better blend of flavor and intensity. If you're in the mood for something sweet and gentle, don't reach for an Indian. But if you feel like ballin' the jack, keeping the flies off your tail, and driving your mighty convoy on through the night, grab one.

Indian Tabac Super Fuerte: The Reckoning

Last night I tried my fourth Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto, expecting to keep up the winning streak.

All good things must come to an end, it would seem. The fourth Indian started out with the same brassy flavor I anticipated, but began losing steam halfway through. The flavor diminished and became somewhat muddy, though still acceptably pleasant, and the burn rate increased rapidly. I was hoping for the stick to open up in a final burst of flavor, like cigars often do. But this one opened up WAY too much: The tobacco was so loose I could practically feel it rattling around beneath the wrapper. Soon it was drawing as if there were a hole in it. One of Rocky's rollers must have fallen asleep on the job.

I put the stick down for a rest, and when I picked it up a minute later, it had gone out. I thought about re-lighting but didn't. This baby was just too loose for another roll in the hay.

Takeaway wisdom? A box of good-tasting 2-dollar cigars is a gift from God. But that gift comes at a price: The occasional dud. One out of nine, in this case, because the other three I smoked were great, as were reports back on the five that I passed out to my cigar-chomping buddies at work. As Meatloaf would say, eight out of nine ain't bad.

If you want an absolute, 100-percent guarantee that every cigar will be as reliable as the last, buy yourself a box of Aston Virgin Sun Growns for 250 bucks. Otherwise, buy a box of Indians. If you get an occasional dud, toss it out and move on to the next. At 40 bucks a box, you can afford to.

I've still got two of these babies left. I'm guessing the dud rate is going to drop to 1 in 11. My faith and optimism are unwavering.

Indian Tabac Super Fuerte - Unduly Maligned?

I had another Indian Tabac super fuerte robusto again last night, and darned if this isn't a cracklin' good little cigar. 40 minutes of easy-drawing, good burning, smoke producing pleasure. I don't understand why so many of the reviews I've encountered on the web (via google searches and customer ratings at online cigar sellers) have been unfavorable.

I've had three of these, and they've all been great. For two bucks, you can't beat the quality of the experience. The flavor mix puts me in mind of tortilla chips, pimentos, sesame and red pepper, all consumed while riding across a powdery brown clay desert in a Conestoga wagon with an Ennio Morricio harmonica theme playing in the background and natives in full headress gazing down solemnly from the cliffs above. And in the morning, you wake up to scorching hot campfire-brewed coffee, smoke in your hair, your pistol-packing mama already up and at 'em, rustling up some grub.

Not to self: Ignore the cigar reviews. At some point, you've got to start making up your own mind.

Poolside Smokes

Recently my wife and spent an afternoon at the swimming pool Sally swore she was on the straight an narrow and would not be smoking anything. I took a couple extra stogies just in case.

One was a Don Tomas Classico Churchill, which had been rated #23 in 2006 by the fortunate aesthetes at Cigar Aficionado. Sun, poolside, and the biggest, longest, bad-assed-lookingest cigar in my humidor: Sounded like a good combination. I also hedged my bets in case the Don disappointed, packing an Indian Tabac Super Fuerte robusto. Short but fiesty, if my memory served me right.

By the time we'd settled into our lounge chairs and I'd fired up the Don, Sally was visibly squirming, reading her celebrity magazine and trying to act like the smoke wafting past her nose wasn't distracting her. It must have smelled better to than it tasted: This Don Tomas Classico was lighter than a vanilla wafer, and a lot less flavorful. It wasn't woody, or earthy, or sweet, or complex. Just soft, dainty smoke. Not good. I pinned my hopes on the second or third inch opening up into robustness. It could happen.

About the time I was burning past inch #1, my wife broke down. "I can't stand it," She said. "Did you bring anything for me?"

"You said not to."

"But why did you believe me? You should know better."

I handed her a Swisher Sweet. She had actually bought a pack of these crap-sticks on the drive up. "Nah," she said. "I want something bigger."

I handed her the Don Thomas that I was getting bored with. She took it, drew, and immediately started raving about how good it tasted.

I left Sally to her mild glory and whipped out the Indian Tabac Super Fuerte. From the first tawny puff, I knew I had found the right smoke for the poolside. Compact but brawny, this hearty lad transported me to a realm of savage plains populated by wild buffalo and whooping hunter-gatherers. A bit of Rocky Patel's proclivity for Asian spice bubbled up occasionally, hinting at his later career trajectory. This Indian was just fine. Great quality for the price, which is about one-third what you pay for a name-brand Rocky Patel.

Every five minutes or so, I asked the wife for a pull on the Don Tomas, just to keep tabs. Nothing special seemed to be happening. Same dull, spiceless flavor. Sally claimed to be enjoying it, but halfway through, she handed it back to me. "I've had enough," she said cheerfully.

(Note to self: Never give a girl a Churchill. It's a waste of precious real estate.)

Now I was stuck holding two cigars. I'd puff on the Indian, wait a minute or two, then puff on the Don. This worked for about 10 minutes but I waited too long at one point, lost in a reverie, and the next thing I knew the Indian had gone out.

So I finished off the Don, and yes, it finally developed some flavor during the last two inches. But is that what you really want from a Churchill? Four inches of boredom for two inches of fun? I think not.

A half hour later, I picked up the cold Indian, clipped off the ashes, and fired up its remaining two inches. Now there was a closer: Power down to the nub. Force and flavor almost as good as a Rocky Vintage. I rose from my lounge chair, a happy man, and almost fell over.

Note to self: Remain seated for at least 5 minutes after finishing a medium-to-full Rocky blend.