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This is part deux of reviews which have been requested of myselves; this one from kingcohiba. Him and me traded some stogies: I, most of a box of Vegas Robaina Unicos which I liked but was not raving and drooling over; he, a sampler of Padr?n Serie 1926 Anniversary Maduros, Opii X-es, Ashton VSG's, and this bonus see-gar, the 45 year Padr?n which he was most anxious of my opinion (needless to say, in re as regards the trade: I won!). Again, as explained in Port Won Ton, the AB Temp Quad rant, I kept getting side-tracked by other stougeese. Howmsoever, the night following the Quadrum test, was almost identical; a perfect opportunity!
Let me start by saying that the Padr?n Serie 1926 Anniversary Maduro is the finest cigar I have ever smoked, with the Cohiba Siglo Vi Tubo coming in perhaps a gnat's pubic hair shy in second place (and if you're unfamiliar with the sexual physiology of the Diperid suborder Nematocera, let me assure you that is a very, very small differentiation, indeed). Now, I've never really met a Padr?n I haven't liked, whether CC or NC, but I was frankly skeptical of the 45 year; how could it match up with its 1926 brother?
To start with, Padr?ns will never be beauty contest winners. They are often lumpy, bumpy, and veiny. Nonetheless, one can still appreciate the sturdy, handsome construction of this stowgey, in a rugged, manly sort of way. It has a solid feel about it and -- of course -- is box pressed (sigh).
Sticking this stick under the schnoz, one gets the typical Padr?n odo(u)r of manly, musty things. Same with the unlit draw. Standard Padr?n, methinks.
So, I'm sitting in my smoking chair with yet another freshly picked limey water (the fruit, youse guys, not youse guys) to taste test this stoujie. Same punch cut, same gentle flame light, and -- surpise! -- same easy, almost instantaneous light as the AB the night before.
Nice.
Now, I think I've mentioned that my pallette is not as refined as that of our very own Mr. Belgravia from Musturd-upon-Avon-upon-Devon-upon-Levon who is able to distinguish the most subtle of nuances of hints of suggestions of traces of flavo(u)rs, often several days later in fact, and is purported to be able to tell you not only the types of bugs in the soil in which your stewgey's leaves was growd, but the actual number of them per sq. cm., and furthermore, their names! I can but tell you that I either liked a particular stoughie, or not. Something to do with burning out most of my receptors in the 60's, er sump'n.
A tenny rate, on with the show... errr.. review!
Frankly, I would be hard-pressed to tell you the difference in flavo(u)rs between the 1926 and the 45 years. I'm just not that good. Fortunately, the cigars are. And there is a difference.
The 1926 has the Padr?n trademark earthy, leathery, woodsy flavo(u)r common to the entire line, but IN SPADES! It is fundamentally, just a delicious, delicious cigar; the only fault I could find with it? That eventually it is gone, consigned to the flames.
Sigh.
The 45 years, on the other hand, not only did the earthy, leathery, woodsy thing, but actually transported you there!
I would take a big puff of this stiwgee and instantaneously I would find myself in the librerry (did I pronounce that right?) of wunna them tiny, little English 724-room castles. The walls are filled floor to ceiling with old, old, classic books like "Mrs. O'Dooley Does The South End Boys," and "Llama Breeders Who Lisp I've Known." Everything is built from deep, rich, polished mahogany and teak and emits nuances of their oils. The furniture is -- naturally -- (in best Ricardo Montalban imitation ) "Rich Corinthian Leather." (Hah! Dj'yer hear that? I can feckin' r-r-r-roll my R's, by ghawdz!) The side tables are laden with the finest of port, cog-snack, singular malteds. The ambiance is man heaven. But I have been holding the smoke in for almost 4 minutes and am about to pass out.
I exhale. The illusion is immediately gone. Quickly, I take another deep draught of this majikal 45 year see-gar and I'm back in the librerry again. This is the place where, when I die, I want to go. The problem is that my big, fat 6 x 52 Toro is burning at an alarming (albeit dead even) rate! At this rate, in half hour's time I shall be forced to return to fucking reality!
What to do? What to do? I am wracking my transplanted, anti-rejection drugged, scientifical mynde for a solution when the light dawns on me like water sprayed on rutting dogs.
With each draw, I am getting plumes... Nay! Billows... Veritable smoke filled rooms filling amounts of smoke. Most of which is being WASTRELED!
So, I immediately change my strategy and become a sipper. Just the slightest of puffs. Hold. Go to castle. Almost pass out. Exhale. Repeat. Kinda like the olden daze eck-shoe-elly (did I pronounce that right?) when you were urged to hold each toke as long as you could.
But I digress.
Now, I'm really conflicted.
Is this a sensational stouwghie?
Absofuckinglutely?
Is it better than the 1926? Or even the Siglo VI?
Absofuckinglutely no idea.
All's I can tell you is, gennemum, if you can lay hands upon one of these dudes, even if the children must go without food for a week or so (run you about 25+ bucks American money [?16+ lbs. Stirling Moss], not the most expensive see-gar, but unless yer friggin' billgates, not gonna be yer everyday smoke either), DO IT! It is a smoking experience you will not regret.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Let me start by saying that the Padr?n Serie 1926 Anniversary Maduro is the finest cigar I have ever smoked, with the Cohiba Siglo Vi Tubo coming in perhaps a gnat's pubic hair shy in second place (and if you're unfamiliar with the sexual physiology of the Diperid suborder Nematocera, let me assure you that is a very, very small differentiation, indeed). Now, I've never really met a Padr?n I haven't liked, whether CC or NC, but I was frankly skeptical of the 45 year; how could it match up with its 1926 brother?
To start with, Padr?ns will never be beauty contest winners. They are often lumpy, bumpy, and veiny. Nonetheless, one can still appreciate the sturdy, handsome construction of this stowgey, in a rugged, manly sort of way. It has a solid feel about it and -- of course -- is box pressed (sigh).
Sticking this stick under the schnoz, one gets the typical Padr?n odo(u)r of manly, musty things. Same with the unlit draw. Standard Padr?n, methinks.
So, I'm sitting in my smoking chair with yet another freshly picked limey water (the fruit, youse guys, not youse guys) to taste test this stoujie. Same punch cut, same gentle flame light, and -- surpise! -- same easy, almost instantaneous light as the AB the night before.
Nice.
Now, I think I've mentioned that my pallette is not as refined as that of our very own Mr. Belgravia from Musturd-upon-Avon-upon-Devon-upon-Levon who is able to distinguish the most subtle of nuances of hints of suggestions of traces of flavo(u)rs, often several days later in fact, and is purported to be able to tell you not only the types of bugs in the soil in which your stewgey's leaves was growd, but the actual number of them per sq. cm., and furthermore, their names! I can but tell you that I either liked a particular stoughie, or not. Something to do with burning out most of my receptors in the 60's, er sump'n.
A tenny rate, on with the show... errr.. review!
Frankly, I would be hard-pressed to tell you the difference in flavo(u)rs between the 1926 and the 45 years. I'm just not that good. Fortunately, the cigars are. And there is a difference.
The 1926 has the Padr?n trademark earthy, leathery, woodsy flavo(u)r common to the entire line, but IN SPADES! It is fundamentally, just a delicious, delicious cigar; the only fault I could find with it? That eventually it is gone, consigned to the flames.
Sigh.
The 45 years, on the other hand, not only did the earthy, leathery, woodsy thing, but actually transported you there!
I would take a big puff of this stiwgee and instantaneously I would find myself in the librerry (did I pronounce that right?) of wunna them tiny, little English 724-room castles. The walls are filled floor to ceiling with old, old, classic books like "Mrs. O'Dooley Does The South End Boys," and "Llama Breeders Who Lisp I've Known." Everything is built from deep, rich, polished mahogany and teak and emits nuances of their oils. The furniture is -- naturally -- (in best Ricardo Montalban imitation ) "Rich Corinthian Leather." (Hah! Dj'yer hear that? I can feckin' r-r-r-roll my R's, by ghawdz!) The side tables are laden with the finest of port, cog-snack, singular malteds. The ambiance is man heaven. But I have been holding the smoke in for almost 4 minutes and am about to pass out.
I exhale. The illusion is immediately gone. Quickly, I take another deep draught of this majikal 45 year see-gar and I'm back in the librerry again. This is the place where, when I die, I want to go. The problem is that my big, fat 6 x 52 Toro is burning at an alarming (albeit dead even) rate! At this rate, in half hour's time I shall be forced to return to fucking reality!
What to do? What to do? I am wracking my transplanted, anti-rejection drugged, scientifical mynde for a solution when the light dawns on me like water sprayed on rutting dogs.
With each draw, I am getting plumes... Nay! Billows... Veritable smoke filled rooms filling amounts of smoke. Most of which is being WASTRELED!
So, I immediately change my strategy and become a sipper. Just the slightest of puffs. Hold. Go to castle. Almost pass out. Exhale. Repeat. Kinda like the olden daze eck-shoe-elly (did I pronounce that right?) when you were urged to hold each toke as long as you could.
But I digress.
Now, I'm really conflicted.
Is this a sensational stouwghie?
Absofuckinglutely?
Is it better than the 1926? Or even the Siglo VI?
Absofuckinglutely no idea.
All's I can tell you is, gennemum, if you can lay hands upon one of these dudes, even if the children must go without food for a week or so (run you about 25+ bucks American money [?16+ lbs. Stirling Moss], not the most expensive see-gar, but unless yer friggin' billgates, not gonna be yer everyday smoke either), DO IT! It is a smoking experience you will not regret.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
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