Thursday, August 22, 2019

My Namesake Cigar?

Someone on a cigar forum commented earlier today; 
 "a name "Khaos WolfKat" could have been cameroon's masterpiece." 
That got me to thinking...

If a masterpiece of a cigar were to bear my name, it would have to be one doozy of a stick! I would simply insist upon it.

It would be large and plump, with extra curves in the right places, and aged to perfection. 

I'm envisioning the tobacconist's incarnation of Venus of Willendorf. 
The smooth, richly dark and fragrant wrapper - finely, though exquisitely lined - if you look closely enough, and fair to bursting with succulent promise, would simultaneously hint at and conceal -  both hide and reveal the boldness, strength, complexity, and nuance packed within. The profile would tempt and tease, pound and confound, delight and ignite, sway and slay the palate by turns, with sneaking subtlety laced with explosions of flavour. 

It would be as stealthy as a Prensaso, luxuriously silky as an Oliva V, sweet as Drew Estate's  Java, dark as an Onyx, bold as a Camacho, spicier than The Punisher, more powerfully chuggin' than a Diesel, and pack far more punch than a mere Punch. 


As long as care and time were taken and attention paid to the process, the light would be, not "effortless", but a joyful simplicity in itself and well worth the small effort, leading to a long, slow, sultry smoulder, rather than something so crude as a burn. 


The initial flavours would be a smooth, slightly nutty, and almost caramel coated, roasted coffee bean, with just a few puffs whispering the merest hint of vanilla, soon to be joined, then replaced by notes of cinnamon and cocoa, deepening to dark chocolate, accompanied by strong espresso and an underlying, velvety sweetness, which would stay the distance. Meanwhile, sometimes fleeting, other times lingering visits of cardamom, leather, cream, cedar, and black pepper would make their rounds, the flawless dance of flavours lulling the senses such that the addition of cayenne goes nearly unnoticed, save for the undeniable rush of energy, seemingly from nowhere, and the heat seems, somehow, more sweet than searing. By the end, the flavours will coalesce into what should be cacophonous, yet is, against all odds, bombastic and symphonic.

One would be smitten at first sight, eager to have it all, though not without some amount of (well advised) trepidation. Having further examined, (coveted) the dusky jewel and fired it up, determined to sample the myriad treasures within, they would discover, far too late, that it is, perhaps, themselves who have been had. Long after, when all was said and done and they had at least somewhat recovered from being thoroughly knocked on their arse most deliciously, though still more than a little punch drunk, they would revere the experience, already looking forward to the next bout. 


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