Montecristo Grand Edmundo Edición Limitada 2010

Posted on February 7, 2013 by atgroom under Edición Limitada, Montecristo

It’s 11am and I’ve just fixed myself a nice rum and ginger beer. I’m lying on a banana lounge in the lee of the house at the Groom compound, and have positioned myself so that the sun falls over exactly half my bare torso. I have done this because yesterday I smoked a cigar on the other side of the house about this time, and as a result one half of my body is quite pink, while the other remains its usual fish belly white. I’m trying to even out the pink.

Such is the life of the cigar aficionado; it’s not all high quality smokes and rum drinks in the sun, you know. Well, okay, that is all it is, but sometimes you get sunburned.

I estimate that in about an hour and a half the sun will have moved in the sky and my chest will be entirely in the shade, and so I have looked through my travel humidor to find the cigar that would most closely match that smoking time, and settled on this, the Montecristo Grand Edmundo. Also my harridan mother is expected to show up at 2:00, and I’d like to be done by then.

This is the seventh Montecristo to wear the EL band, and one of the best received, and as of this writing it is still available at a somewhat reasonable price if one sets one’s mind to it.

I light it, and it opens like a lily to the light; a rich, powerful cream, the froth from a cappuccino with a dusting of nutmeg. Wonderful.

It’s an ugly looking stick. There is a split part way down the side which is very probably my fault, but there is also a smear of what looks like glue about halfway down (probably Habanos’ fault, although I suppose it’s plausible that one of the middlemen whose hands it passed through before mind did it), and a discolouration in the wrapper near the end (definitely Habanos). I can’t say I mind: the cigar is perfectly constructed and smoking wonderfully; these blemishes are maker’s marks, testament to the hand wrought nature of the Cuban cigar.

The ash is a nice pale colour, matching with some exactness the weathered boards of my deck. I let it keep it a while, and it holds strong, the mark of good construction.

The eye of heaven has moved, and now only my arm is in his light. I inspect it, and it glistens slightly, moisture present between the hairs. Is that sweat, I wonder, or my jus, leaking out of me like it leaks out of a roasted chicken. I question for a moment the logic of this decision. I’m used to laughing in the face of mouth cancer, but is it sensible to bait melanoma as well?

The cigar is great, wonderfully rich, with sweet vanilla bean and cream dominating. I’m a sucker for an EL. A lot of aficionados don’t like them, and their criticisms – that they all taste kind of the same, that they cost too much, that the sizes are unimaginative, and that it’s a shame they have to come at a cost of so many discontinuations – are all perfectly valid, however, that EL flavour, that richness, the sweetness and notes of coffee and chocolate, I just love it.

The wind has shifted. Previously it was a hot wind, blowing from the landward side, and I was sheltered from it on this side of the house, but now it blows from behind me, from the ocean. It’s cool, and provides a nice relief for my roasted flesh, however, it is no longer possible to leave my cigar perched on the rim of my dark and stormy; now I must shelter it with my body, lest the wind steal my puffs, and set it to burning too hot. Sometimes to hot doth the cigar of Cuba burn.

Twelve forty five, and I wanderest entirely in the shade. I move my lounger over a little to catch the last of it. No sense in half measures.

Every fair from fair must sometime decline, and in the last inch the cigar shows its tar and nicotine. It’s not unpleasant, and what remains of the rum and ginger cuts it nicely. I like a little sweetness against a cigar, it offsets the bitterness, and especially at the end it… well, it cuts it nicely. Ginger too. Little tip when making cocktails: add a little ginger syrup to anything remotely fruity, and the reaction you get will inevitably be “mmm! That’s amazing! What is that?” Goes a lot way toward disguising a triple shot of gin, and even further to hiding a large amount of cheap rum.

I’m burning my fingers, a state I cannot brook, what with all the other burns that my body is enduring, and so this cigar must meet its maker; over the rail it goes, down, down, to the sandy soil.

Truly a delightful cigar, and by far the better of the Sublime I smoked recently. Perhaps not quite the equal of the possible Edmundo Dantes, but that speaks more to the quality of that cigar than any inadequacy in this one. Grab a box if you can.

Montecristo Grand Edmundo Edición Limitada 2010 on the Cuban Cigar Website.

Montecristo Open Regata

Posted on February 3, 2013 by atgroom under Current Production, Montecristo

The Montecristo Open line was introduced in 2009 as a cigar for the everyman; a cigar for the new smoker, the casual smoker and the teenage daredevil. Supposedly they are approachable and mild, a simple pleasure. They’re not intended for the aficionado market, but, as is the way with these things, the aficionado market is exactly the people who write the reviews, and I have never seen a new cigar get savaged like this one was. Flavourless and boring, they said! Life is too short to waste it smoking Montecristo Opens. I’m not sure how sales have done, but I see them around almost every time I go into a cigar store and I’ve been offered sticks from time to time by people who I consider to be everymen, so I suppose they’re doing alright. It’s a tough gig Habanos S.A. have for themselves, really, because they’ve discontinued so much that to the aficionado any new release has to justify itself as a worthy use of the tobacco that could have gone to their discontinued favourites, and that is always going be an uphill battle.

I was sent a single of each of the Open series shortly after their release in 2009, and have never smoked any of them (although I lost the junior to someone who said “oh, do you have anything smaller” at a party where I was handing out Mag 50s). When selecting this one my hand lingered for a moment on the Eagle, but I just couldn’t face the 54 ring gauge. This then, is the Montecristo Open Regata, a Petit Pirámides, and, I suppose, another failure in this blog’s stated mission of smoking exotic cigars. I make no apologies.

I’m having the cigar with a beer – not usually a good choice with cigars, but to my mind a casual, simple, unsophisticated drink, and the one most consumers of the Opens will have in their hand on the golf course, at the buck’s night, or outside the maternity ward where this cigar will be smoked. Beer is an everyman’s drink.

I clip it, light it, and begin. The draw is good, the construction un-reproachable. The flavour is fairly mild, but there’s nothing unpleasant about it; nothing to complain about.

NEWS FLASH! With around a millimetre of cigar burnt, as I placed it back on the table, the ash fell off, which is highly irregular in well-constructed Cuban, which usually maintain the integrity of the ash for several centimetres (and even then, it usually requires a vigorous tap before it falls). Furthermore, as I was taking this picture a slight breeze picked up the diminutive clump of ash, blowing it onto my sleeve. I can really see what the aficionados are talking about with this one. Poor ash retention: a big negative for the Montecristo Open Regata.

A few minutes later a second, slightly larger clump of ash fell, unbidden from this cigar, although the third held on sufficiently.

The first release of a cigar generally fetches a premium on the aged market because in many cases the first release is better. The Cohiba Siglo VI is the classic example of this: 2002 boxes are highly sought-after and command large premiums at auctions. Well, this Open, with three years of age, is a member of their first release. I don’t really know what to say about tasting notes. It achieves its stated intention, in that it is a mild cigar, with no complexity. There’s no spice, no cream, no mild bean or coffee, and at over half way there’s no bitterness or tar. What taste there is is the taste of smooth, mid tobacco. Honestly, the thing it reminds me most of is the Dunhill Mild cigarettes I used to smoke from time to time. I don’t consider that too much of a criticism; Dunhill Milds are a quality cigarette. I am enjoying the beer. Crisp. Hoppy.

In the final inch or so it gets bitter – not the bitter of tar and nicotine that I like, but an overly more chemical bitterness. It’s giving me a headache, honestly. Please note in these photographs the shittiness of my free cutter. I don’t usually use a cutter, honestly, but there’s really no other way to open a piramides and I can’t find my Xikar. Still, it did the job.

Ugh, actually, this is awful. I’m tossing it.

After tossing the cigar I notice a small melted ring on the edge of the cutter on which it had been resting, perhaps accounting for the chemical taste right at the end. Honestly, I really wanted to like this cigar, to come out against the reviews and say “no! The everyman has it right! Simple but great! The Monte Open is the way forward!” The reviews are right though. At best, this is an unremarkable cigar. At worst it is an unpleasant cigar. In either case it’s worse than a Monte 4.

Montecristo Open Regata on the Cuban Cigar Website.

Montecristo Sublimes Edición Limitada 2008

Posted on January 27, 2013 by atgroom under Edición Limitada, Montecristo

A handsome brute with lovely milk chocolate wrapper. A summer evening down at the Groom Compound, a pastoral holding in rural Victoria that has been in my family for several generations. I am about to enjoy this cigar with a friend and colleague. We’ll sit on the upper deck, looking out over the trees toward the ocean where in the distance the green lights of the shipping channel markers flash quietly to themselves. Flash, flash, flash, flash, pause. Flash, flash, flash, flash, pause.

Also visible in this picture: Ernest Hemmingway’s Green Hills of Africa (a cigar aficionado who reads Hemmingway? How unusual), a 10 count travel humidor I got free with a box of Cohiba Piramides EL 2005 (more on those later), the keys to the Groom Compound, resplendent on their fake Ralph Lauren Polo key-ring, and the Nokia 6300 (the be all and end all of mobile telephony). Not sure what the cord is from. The wine is a 2007 French cleanskin. I always find the more mild French wines very enjoyable after the brutish Australian reds that make up most of my intake. Just a nice, ripe, refreshing fruit on the pallet.

We head out to the deck and turn off the lights in the house so as to better appreciate the full sky of stars so alien to city boys like us. There will be very few photos. I try a few times, but it is just too dark, and the flash looks horrid.

I pluck the cap of the cigar with my nail, and give the cigar an experimental puff. Draw a little loose, is my first thought. It also occurs to me the second the thing touches my lips that 54 is just too thick. The Cohiba Sublime in 2004 was the first Cuban parejo to breach 52, following the Nicaraguans on their quest for higher and higher ring gauges, and since then there have to have been ten or twenty more. ELs, REs, lord knows those book Humidors seem to find room for another few points of ring gauge every year. It makes no sense to me. It’s just too big! It’s not comfortable in the mouth! Who enjoys these things? What possible advantage is there to them?

The first flavour that jumps out of this cigar is wet earth. If I had to be specific, I would say that it is the smell of the sandy soil of a peninsula when the rains are coming in downwind. It hasn’t rained in a week or so, but it’s been hot and blowy and the air is full of dust. The rains are working their way toward you, a kilometre or so off, and the air is carrying the scent of that freshly wet sandy soil to you in advance.

I remember when I first bought these cigars… not these examples, but others like them. It was February 2009, and I had a meeting in Brisbane early in the morning. By 11am I was done, deposited in the Brisbane CBD, a city I had visited only briefly once before, and some decades previous. I was spending the night with a friend, but she was working, and I wasn’t scheduled to meet her till 5pm. It was hot and sticky in Brisbane, as it often is, and I was uncomfortable in my woollen suit. I had a pie with mushy peas, a delicacy not often found in Melbourne, and admired the long tan legs that sat below the short shorts of the Queensland girls.

There was a cigar shop I’d dealt with online from time to time in Brisbane, and I thought to myself that perhaps I’d visit it, put a face to the name on my shipping label, and then find somewhere shaded to enjoy a long smoke while I waited for my friend. 2009 was well into the era of the ubiquitous smartphone, but I was still using a Nokia 6300 (although, much like the Sublimes this rambling anecdote is nominally about, it was a different example of the breed than the one pictured above), and so I phoned a friend who I thought would be sitting in front of a computer, and asked him to look up the address of the cigar store and give me directions from my current location.

It was not too far away, five kilometres or so, but I got lost several times (necessitating further phone calls), and the way was very hilly, so when I arrived at the store (more a mail order operation than an elaborate divan), in a suburban terrace house I was out of breath and absolutely soaked through with sweat. Nonetheless, I was ushered into the cool of the walk in humidor (after a moist and reluctant handshake), where I selected a then newly released cigar that was all the buzz of the moment, the Montecristo Sublime Edición Limitada 2008.

I found a café with an air-conditioned terrace down but the river, and enjoyed the cigar immensely. I later bought a box.

Three inches in the dusty wet earth has disappeared, and the classic richness of an EL is starting to come through. Full bodied premium tobacco. A hint of spice. A little salt. Slight bitterness. Could be burning too hot, it’s hard to shield the cigars from the sea breeze that is blowing in. My colleague says he tastes Chocolate, “that bitter 95% cocoa stuff,” but I don’t taste it. It is lovely though. An excellent cigar.

He disappears into the house, and comes back a few minutes later with toast, half a slice buttered and half with a little Dijon mustard. They both complement the cigar wonderfully. The Dijon is a revelation.

It gets bitter toward the end as you’d expect; a 54 ring is a lot of tar. I pinch the nub to suck out the last of the smoke, right to my fingertips. Perhaps that’s the point of 54 – they make good nubs. I flick the butt into the trees. A noble end to a first class smoke.

Better than a Monte 4.

Montecristo Sublimes Edición Limitada 2008 on the Cuban Cigar Website.

Montecristo Dunhill Selección No.1

Posted on January 23, 2013 by atgroom under Discontinued, Montecristo

This is essentially a Montecristo No. 1 that has been banded as a Dunhill Selection. In the late 1960’s the Dunhill company reached a deal with the Cubans to produce a few brands for them and them alone, namely Don Candido, Don Alfredo and Flor Del Punto, as well as a number of cigars from other marques that were sold as Dunhill Selección cigars with special bands and boxes, of which this is one. All of these were discontinued in 1982 with the introduction of the Dunhill brand, and the Dunhill brand itself was discontinued in 1991 after a spat between Dunhill and the Cubans, but that’s a story for another day.

Like many of my singles, this cigar was given to me a gift and I can’t speak for certain as to its age, however, given the discontinuation date, it must be at least 30 years old, and quite possibly older. The Dunhill exclusive brands have all gone on to become legendary cigars, much sought after at vintage cigar auctions, however not so much these selection cigars. I think you’d struggle to find someone with specific enough insider knowledge of the late 1970s Cuban cigar industry to say for certain one way or the other whether these cigars were the same blend as the regular production Monte 1s (and I lack the necessary 30 year old regular Monte to tell you myself), but my suspicion is that they are probably identical. The difference, if there is one, would come from superior quality control on Dunhill’s end.

I set this one on fire, and my first thought is that is has a lot of punch for a cigar this old. Strong, rich, toasted tobacco right through the nose. Draw is perfect. Wonderful. I’m pairing this cigar with Ron Zacapa XO, a fine old rum for a fine old cigar. Zacapa XO is a blended rum (which is to say, rum blended with quite a lot of sugar if you ask me), and their copy tells us that it is composed of rums aged six to twenty five years. To think, a quarter of a century ago this rum was sugarcane, this cigar was fairly fresh, and I was wearing short pants.

An inch or so in and the flavour has mellowed out into something like what you expect from a very old cigar, but the cigar is having trouble holding its burn; I’ve had to retouch it several times. There is a gentle gusty breeze on the loose, and although I have moved the cigar into the lee of the Zacapa, it is nonetheless having trouble holding its ash. The ash itself is a dark, mottled grey, not the pure white that one often finds in elderly cigars like this.

I remember my first Monte No. 1. I purchased it for my 19^th birthday, and took it to a very nice cocktail bar with some friends. There were four of us, with two cigars between us, and being 19 year old boys with a lot more knowledge of James Bond than of life, we ordered martinis (quite possibly my first martini), which were listed on the menu for a then exorbitant price of $15. “We usually make them with Tanqueray” the waitress said, “but I can do them with Tanq 10 if you like… it’s a little smoother.” “Yes, yes, of course” we enthusiastically replied, having no idea what Tanqueray or Tanq 10 were, but wanting nothing but the best. The drinks came, and being nineteen and more accustomed to vodka raspberry than anything else (I don’t think I was even drinking beer at 19), we found them disgusting, and when the bill arrived at our table, which of course included the upsell price of $25 for the Tanq 10, we found ourselves disinclined to order another drink. The Monte No. 1, however, is not a short cigar, and so we soldiered on. We were laughing loudly, I’m sure, like the young hooligans we were, and one of my non-smoking compatriots was tearing up a box of candy cigarettes he had in his pocket and throwing the pieces into the candle, which was burning like a small bonfire. Eventually the glass candle holder cracked and melted wax leaked all over the table, and moments later we were thrown out. I clipped the end from my Monte (of which three or so inches remained) and put it in a tube to smoke at a later date.

Two months later that very same pyromaniac (he came from a good Christian family), got married. It was an afternoon reception, and so, at 7pm, filled to the brim with boyish glee and free champagne, my friend Andrew and I found ourselves out on the town and ready to celebrate. We headed, of course, to a strip club; the dirtiest, and more importantly, the cheapest strip club we could find, and I produced from my pocket the remains of my Montecristo No. 1 (aficionado hot tip, people: cigars should not be half smoked and then stored in a tube for two months). I can’t image how it tasted, but I loved it, and in we plunged, taking two seats, right up against the main stage. We were there for 45 minutes or so, and turned down all the girls who asked us if we wanted a private dance. Eventually one came up with a jug full of money and explained that they were having a lesbian show on the stage in 5 minutes, and requested that we contribute. Being a diplomat above all else, I gave her a token amount, $5, but Andrew, he waved her away. “No thank you”, he said. In increasingly forceful tones the girl explained that we were sitting right on the stage, and had been for some time, and that he really had to contribute some money or cede his seat. At this, Andrew defiantly withdrew a five cent coin from his pocket (the smallest unit of Australian currency) and tossed it contemptuously into the jug.

Suffice to say, we were thrown out shortly after. I don’t remember what happened to the cigar. I suppose I left it in the ashtray.

Two thirds in, this cigar is delightful, an aged, creamy elegance, with just a touch of spice. A little tar on the back palette is easily dissolved by the rum. I take it down till it burns my fingers, and it grows a little bitter, but not very, the age has taken away a lot of the tar. In the last few puffs something strange materialises… a tangy herb… cilantro, maybe? Perhaps the bite of a nasturtium? It’s interesting, but it lasts for only a moment. A wonderful, elegant cigar.

Better than a Monte 4.

Montecristo Dunhill Selección No. 1 on the Cuban Cigar Website.

Montecristo No. 4

Posted on January 22, 2013 by atgroom under Current Production, Montecristo

My years of involvement with the Cuban Cigar Website (the world’s best online Cuban Cigar encyclopaedia), my travels, and the generosity of my friends and benefactors, has given me a diverse and interesting collection of exotic cigars. They are singles in the main, many taken from commemorative humidors and the like, and at first I saved every one that came into my possession, either for my collection or perhaps to enhance some significant life event in the future. As the stack grew I began to wonder why. What was I saving them for? One can only have so many 50th birthdays and give birth to so many masculine children.

I have decided, therefore, to smoke them, and so they don’t burn entirely in vain, I’ll journal the process and publish the result. The cigars I will smoke here are rarities and exotics, things one only rarely sees reviewed, and while I don’t pretend to have the palate to offer any valid criticisms (and besides, what’s the point, as in the main they’re not things you can rush out and buy based on my recommendation), perhaps from time to time I might be able to offer a little insight.

All of which brings us to this, the first smoke of the journal, the Montecristo No. 4.

Alright, I concede, it’s not the most exotic of cigars. It’s not a Montecristo No. 4 from the 21^st Century Humidor (more on that later), or a Compay Segundo Monte 4 (more on that later), or some other strange beast, no, this is instead the humblest of creatures, purchased from a liquor store. I couldn’t see the dial on the hygrometer, but I’m fairly sure it would have read the same as the ambient humidity.

I light up the cigar, and immediately inhale the smoke into my nose far too closely and deeply, burning the inside of my nasal passage. When I’ve recovered I take a few puffs. The first notes are acrid and bitter. It’s too hot, too soon after lighting, and the cigar itself is a little dry.

For decades the Montecristo No. 4 has been the most popular cigar in the world (although I heard once that the Partagás Serie D. No. 4 was catching up), and this is how they are smoked, from liquor stores and head shops. No aficionado bullshit here, this is the everyman cigar, the absolute most common cigar experience, and the bar to which the lofty exotics to come shall be compared.

My first cigar in life was some three dollar Nicaraguan piece of shit that came in a plastic tube. I bought it for a buck’s night, and not having a cutter, I bit the end off with my teeth, removing about an inch of cigar in the process. Shards of tobacco came away from it whenever it touched my lips, and I found myself spitting after every puff, the flavour something akin to a rubber fire.

I don’t recall what I enjoyed about that experience, but I must have taken something from it, because a few months later I purchased a small plastic cutter and my second cigar in life, a Montecristo No. 4.

Oh what a difference, the flavours of Cuba, that delicious tang of finely toasted tobacco. Rich and spicy, bitter toward the end from the tar, but never that chemical rubber tang of an inferior smoke. There are echoes of that cigar in this one. There is certainly nothing unpleasant about it. The tobacco is slightly tannic, a little spice on the back pallet. Perhaps it’s all my talk of the everyman, but I feel that there’s a flavour of something rural that I just can’t quite put my finger on. It’s not the barnyard, or the earth, or the sweat of calloused hands, nor motor oil or sheep dip. Honestly, the more I try and pin it down the only thing I think I can taste is ketchup. Not sure where that’s coming from, but probably not the cigar or the glass of water that I’m pairing it with.

For years I kept a box of Montecristo No. 4 cigars in stock at all times, and presented them freely to anyone who was curious to try their first cigar. Once, in the early days of my habit I stumbled upon a website that seemed to offer prices well below those found in other online retailers. I bought a box, and as much as it hurt me to admit it at the time, I eventually had to face the fact that they were obviously fakes. Still, sunk costs are sunk costs, and so I mixed them one to two into my stock to hand out at parties. They were awful those fakes, real strips of tyre rubber, and I could tell more or less who had gotten what entirely by whether or not they ever asked for a cigar again.

More than halfway now and there’s a little tar, a little bitterness. A little nicotine too, no doubt. I include these photos to add some visual interest and because every cigar blog seems to do it, although I’m not entirely sure I see the point.

I remove the band, which comes away very easily. It’s embossed, which makes this cigar post-2006, although given its very dubious origins and storage history, I wouldn’t put a lot of stake in anything that can tell us. Here’s an aficionado tip: if you care about box codes, you shouldn’t be buying your cigars at liquor stores or petrol stations. Honestly though, this cigar has been pretty good. The burn has been dead even the whole way, no relights or touch-ups, and the draw is perfect, a good firm Cuban draw.

The bitter end; every puff leaves a tingle on my tongue and makes me salivate. I rinse and spit, but keep smoking. Perhaps it’s the nicotine, but while the end of a cigar like this is objectively unpleasant, I can’t help but love it. I find myself puffing deeper and more often at the end, making the cigar burn hotter and bitterer. I have a small head rush at the temples.

With a centimetre to go the cigar is burning both my fingers and lips, and shows no signs of extinguishing itself, so finally I make the call and toss it; it lands in a patch of wild mint that grows near the fence. Perhaps the mojitos of my future will take one some of the flavour of this Monte 4. I rinse the last puff from my mouth with the water, and the bitterness removed I am left with the aftertaste that follows the last swig of strong coffee.

I don’t have an especially well developed pallet, and honestly, I like everything, and so I don’t feel qualified to rate cigars at 94 out of 100 or anything like that. It is therefore my vague intention to rank all future cigars against this one (a device that I image will be discarded, perhaps as early as the next entry). One would hope, given the exotics that I plan to compare it with, that this cigar will remain perpetually at the bottom of the list, however, at this moment I feel like the bar has been set fairly high. A thoroughly enjoyable experience. I see why these are so popular.

Montecristo No. 4 on the Cuban Cigar Website

A Harem of Dusky Beauties

Category Archives: Montecristo

Montecristo Grand Edmundo Edición Limitada 2010

Montecristo Open Regata

Montecristo Sublimes Edición Limitada 2008

Montecristo Dunhill Selección No.1

Montecristo No. 4