Welp, here's the much awaited Turd Review.
A little background on the smoke:
It's called a Toscana Cheroot. It's made for the Italian market and Hal bought it in Italy. It came into my possession via an hk3 bomb, part of Shilala Smackdown '08. I bet Hal can add a little background, I hope he will. I'd like to hear the story of how he came about these smokes.
Here's what the little fella looks like...
Before I get rolling about this cigar, I want to say that this has been one of the absolute best cigar experiences I ever had. From the moment I first laid eyes on this little turd I wanted to smoke it. We had a lot of fun joking about it, and I had a blast smoking it. I laughed my ass off and so did Kerri.
It really taught me a few things while I smoked it, and it took me on a trip all the way to Italy, imagining how the cigar might be enjoyed there.
On to the review...
I had been waiting for a chance to spark this thing up since it showed up. Yesterday evening Kerri asked if I wanted to go for a walk. I don't go for walks. They suck. They bore me and they're good for me, so of course I have no part in them.
When Kerri asked, I said yes. I told her "I'll have you realize this is the first time in my life I've said yes to a walk." Which isn't exactly true because she and I have been on many a love stroll. Just never a "do you want to go for a walk?" stroll.
I told her it was time to smoke the turd and her response was something like "Oh my."
Construction - Hard as a rock. Lumpy. Looks like my kids pounded it out in preschool. Has a 22 degree hook in it's 2 1/2" length. It has bumps all over it and honestly looks prehistoric. A prehistoric cat turd.
Smell - Poop.
Light up - It was like setting fire to a rock. I used a triple torch, cranked it to max, and laid into it like I was gas-welding a bumper on my truck. After lighting, blowing, lighting and blowing, I gave up and just took a few hits to get it going.
The first hit...
I went easy out of respect. I was surprised. It was a very dark, forboding taste. Heavy like black licorice, but no anise flavor. Very full and lightly bitter.
I increased my draws, letting the flavor build. It became extremely bitter.
That was my warning. This cigar is not meant to be smoked, it's meant to be doddled with.
So I backed off it and just began chewing on it in earnest, enjoying the texture.
Hal had mentioned that the Cheroot was a "very durable" cigar. He wasn't kidding. I beat on that sumbitch like it owed me money and I couldn't get so much as a flake of tobacco to break loose.
Mind you, this is special. I've been chewing tobacco of one sort or another daily for the last 33 years or so. If there's one thing I can do, it's chew tobacco.
This thing was like chewing on a saddle, but it tasted like a horse hoof.
Funny thing was, the flavor was catchy. A little tiny puff here and there added to the flavor, and I was quickly realizing that this little cigar was teaching
me how to smoke
it.
About this time, Kerri and I rounded the first corner of the block.
We talked and commented on all the flowers and held hands and listened to the birds and watched all the folks working in their yards. It was nice.
I was starting to daydream about where this cigar came from. We hit the second corner and I wasn't paying attention to the cigar. I took it out of my mouth to get a look and gave it two big whallops to get the burn going good again.
From somewhere way down deep came the words "Myyyyyy Gawwwwwwwwdddd!!!"
I had just been treated to the worst taste that I have ever tasted in my entire life.
The look on Kerri's face was priceless. "That bad???"
My head was shaking and my face was all crinkled up and I managed an "Oh, Maaa'am."
Once again, this is a special moment.
I have had nasty things in my mouth before, but this took the cake. I'm a pipefitter. I came out of a plumbing shop. As such, when I was a kid, I got all the poop jobs. The nastier the better. It was a source of entertainment for all the old guys. I was the kid who cleaned all the grease traps that needed cleaning. If you have never experienced a grease trap, Thank God for it. The only time in my life that I have ever puked spontaneously from a smell came via the grease trap at DuBois Kmart when we were doing a remodel.
That said, I've tasted poop. Splash around in a 20 foot sump pit standing on your head replacing a pump and you're gonna get poop in your mouth. And ears. And eyes. And everywhere else.
Of all the disgusting tastes I've ever experienced, that moment yesterday takes the cake.
With me, the Cheroot still scores way above sweet potatoes, so there's still that.
On the way down the third street I started to really understand how this little turd is to be enjoyed. It stays lit forever. It never goes out. As I chewed I noticed that a little tiny draw every now and again would add that "little extra" that kept things interesting.
I started thinking about the people who would be smoking this thing in Italy.
To mind came a vision of an old lady crawling around on her knees working the dirt in her flower garden. Ya know, an old white haired gramma with the blue and white checkered scarf on her head? Ya, her. Then I thought of the old boy who might smoke this thing. An old, hard, wrinkled face. I saw the stucco buildings, he was among friends hanging out on the street.
I really honestly began to feel the experience. I had realized just a few minutes after I opened the box that I was in for a special treat with this cigar, and it had arrived.
The daydream took me all over Italy, with the people, doing the things they do. Just regular things in a regular day. It truly was like I was with them, and I was sharing an experience that they shared.
Rounding the last turn, I had about all I could take.
I was coming back to my senses, and this sumbitch was butt nasty. When we got back to the house, my cat Ben was on the back porch with a leg up in the air licking his ass. I sincerely thought about having a lick myself just to try to get the taste out of my mouth.
I grabbed a Lipton Rasberry White Tea. They're insanely awful. I figured it'd help scrub out my hole a little, and it did.
A little later in the evening I thought "Damn, man. You're mouth tastes like you licked clean every ashtray in the bar." That's the finish I got. If you have ever stubbed out a cigarette on a rainy day, then went back and lit it, multiply that by infinity and that's what the finish was like.
One more thing to add about "durability". I chewed on this thing for an hour and never even made an appreciable difference in the cigar. It probably looked better when I was done with it than when I started. I smoked it for an hour and burned
maybe 7/8's of an inch.
This cigar is an all day performer. If I smoked and chewed all day, I may be able to consume two Cheroots in a day. It's very likely I'd die some time before dinner, but that's the kind of durability and value we're talking about.
I honestly can imagine me making a habit out of these things were they the customary smoke/chew where I lived. I can see where they'd become highly addictive. They are way badass. If not for the fact that I have hair on very single square inch of my body, this cigar would have put a nice, new, healthy coat on my ass.
Finishing up here, I can equate this experience to trying Vegemite, except this was fun.
Vegemite is gross. This cigar was not at all gross, it was just phenomenonally bad.
And it was some serious fun.
Thank You again, Hal.
I count this among one of the funnest experiences I've ever had in the "rites of passage" arena.
I've had more smiles and more laughs over this thing than you can imagine.
Now I'm going to go bury what's left of this thing in the backyard.
Either that or I'll toss it in the neighbor kid's sandbox.
