Exactly 2 Fridays ago I enjoyed one of the finest cigars I’ve had in years. What was it, you ask?
Truth be told, it was nothing special: an old El Rico Habano Corona Gorda – admittedly a good cigar, but not exactly a “super premium.” What made the cigar so fantastic was the context.
In the North East, winter had finally broken its grip around the throat of our collective sanity. Temperatures soared into the 70’s. Windows were rolled down, smiling faces everywhere; budding trees and barbeques proclaimed the rebirth we’ve so long awaited. In short, you could smell spring in the air.
I cut out of work right on the dot and met my wife and kids for empanadas and ice cream al fresco. We took a nice walk around the block afterward, and finally made our way home. After tucking everyone in, I found myself profoundly satisfied, and not the least bit tired.
At that late hour, all of my buddies were already out-and-about. I looked at the dog and decided on a walk. Adding a cigar was an easy decision.
The vitola was gorgeous; despite a low constant wind, it burned flawlessly. Rich, earthy flavors dominated, and the aroma was intoxicating, offering wafts of delicate spice and charred wood. I walked for nearly two hours, and by the end, had reached the nub.
Now that box of ERH has been sitting in the humidor for roughly two years; certainly plenty of time to acclimate and even out, but enough time to take on all the incredible qualities I enjoyed that night? I found myself increasingly forced to admit that there is really something to smoking cigars in life’s most satisfied moments. The perfect set of circumstances can turn a good cigar into one of the finest cigars with ease.
Days later, Old Man Winter cut our reprieve short with one last desperate lunge. But let this serve notice: There is a warm light at the end of the tunnel heralding those heady days of cigars outside. And I can hardly wait.