After a very long hiatus, The Cigar Journal is back.  And to celebrate, I shall review an exotic drink called absinthe.

Absinthe is the French word for wormwood, an herb (Artemisia absinthium) which contains a complex of psychoactive alkaloids, the most controversial of which is called thujone.  The beverage called absinthe is a distilled liquor containing wormwood as well as two additional herbal essences, namely fennel and anise.

Highly popular amongst the bohemian set in late-19th- and early-20th-Century France, the notoriously green-colored, allegedly hallucinogenic beverage acquired the nickname la fée verte, meaning the green fairy.  In 1915 absinthe was banned nearly worldwide due to its psychoactive effects, upon which blame was placed for various violent and criminal acts allegedly committed under its influence. 

However, due to more accurate scientific inquiry in recent times, the ban has been lifted (or at least modified) across the globe, to allow the production and sale of absinthe once again -- except, that is, in the United States, where absinthe (like Cuban cigars) is still illegal and will probably continue to be so.

While some turn-of-the-century absinthe preparations may have contained as much as 350 mg/kg of the active ingredient, thujone, the European Union currently limits thujone content to a mere 10 mg/kg.  Therefore a lively debate exists today between those who claim that modern absinthe will have no psychoactive effect, and others who swear that they have experienced these effects firsthand. 

Absinthe with traditional perforated spoon and sugar cube

Since I now spend half my life in Germany, I have access to a modern version of this renowned fin de siècle bohemian elixir.  So I decided to see for myself.  I purchased a midrange (in both cost and alcoholic content) bottle of genuine French absinthe with the brand name of Absente, produced by a distiller in Provence, France.  At this point I must caution you: you may find a beverage by this name and from this distiller (and with almost identical packaging) for sale in the United States.  However, this US-only version is not true absinthe -- if it were, the merchant who sells it would be taken away in handcuffs for doing so.   The American-release Absente is actually a faux-absinthe, containing no true wormwood (and therefore, absolutely no thujone).  In its place, the distiller adds so-called "southern wormwood," an inoccuous but similarly-flavored herb which is more properly named southernwood.  The true, European absinthe of this brand will have a silver cap as well as the word absinthe above the white label.

A bitter drink of extremely high alcoholic content, absinthe is rarely consumed neat.  The spirit is customarily diluted 3:1 to 5:1 with cold water, and its characteristic bitterness is masked with sugar.  The process is highly ritualized by absinthe aficionados; custom dictates that a sugar cube be used, together with a perforated absinthe spoon (see above).  There are two ways to get the sugar into the drink: by slowly (!) pouring or dripping cold water over the cube until it dissolves, or, by setting the cube on fire to caramelize it.  I decided to try both methods.

As I dripped cold water through the sugar cube, I observed that the originally-clear absinthe became ever more cloudy.  This clouding is known as louching, and is caused by the fact that certain compounds in absinthe are not as soluble in water as they are in alcohol, and therefore precipitate out as water is introduced.  Aficionados judge the quality of absinthe by its tendency to louch -- mine louched perfectly, even leaving a thin layer of clear absinthe atop the louched portion after the cube had thoroughly melted.  At this point, one continues to dilute with water (quickly, now) until the desired strength is achieved (I targeted 5:1), and the beverage is stirred with the spoon.  The absinthe cocktail is now ready to drink!

From the moment I opened the bottle, the aroma of anise had filled the room.  The beverage in its prepared state still had an anisey aroma, but much more subdued and subtle now.  The cocktail's flavor was also dominated by anise, but it was far more refined than that of the various anise liqueurs which most of us have experienced.  It was elegant and neutral, not strong and not at all bitter.  The flavor profile was soft and quite complex; the quality and variety of herbs certainly contributed to making the taste quite interesting.  Body was light and thin.  While the beverage seemed surprisingly almost non-alcoholic in its softness, I did notice a powerful numbing of my tongue -- I understand that this is due to the anise extracts rather than the wormwood.  I took my time and enjoyed this new and fascinating experience.  Shortly after finishing the beverage I noticed a very slight alcohol buzz -- very slight.

Deciding that I enjoyed my absinthe and that I was not feeling excessive alcohol, I readied a second ounce for my trial of the flaming sugar cube process.  I used a Bic lighter (shame on me); unfortunately I did not have a torch, as airline passengers are no longer permitted to carry them overseas, even in checked luggage.  The cube did not burn well.  After several minutes and three burnt fingers, all I managed was to slightly melt the outer layers of the cube. 

I decided to cut bait and revert to the dilution process with a fresh cube.  It pays to be patient; the cube takes a while to begin its disintegration, but once it starts, it doesn't take long.

My second glass of absinthe was similar to the first, perhaps less tongue-numbing.  I decided that my chosen 5:1 water/spirit formula was probably too dilute for this midrange brand ("only" 110 proof); a 3:1 or 4:1 ratio would give the cocktail more body and a fuller flavor.

After forty minutes and the equivalent alcoholic content of two glasses of wine, I felt almost no alcohol effect.  Wormwood tends to counteract some of the neurochemical effects of alcohol, stimulating certain pathways which alcohol inhibits [read more].  This effect causes loyal absinthe fans to describe the experience as a "wide-awake-" or "lucid buzz."  So I decided I would try a third sample -- this time, neat, to evaluate the spirit in its pure state.

The aroma was strong and dominated by anise and alcohol.  Color was yellow-green, not as deep green as I had anticipated.  Body was medium to full (I had expected it to be fuller).  The flavor was also not nearly as bitter as reports had prompted me to believe.  Contrary to its reputation as being undrinkable straight, I found my neat absinthe to be quite palatable.  It had a full but not overpowering anise flavor, with hints of almonds and fermenting white wine on the finish.  Its heftiness demanded a macho cigar -- so I selected, cut and lit a full-bodied Joya de Nicaragua Antaño 1970.  This splendid smoke did not overpower the absinthe; it was a surprisingly refreshing combination.

After finishing this third round, I felt a bit of an alcoholic effect but not much at all.  I decided to take a walk and do some grocery shopping.  After having been out for an hour I started back; it was only then that the full alcoholic buzz hit me.  My liver must have metabolized and eliminated the thujone more quickly than the alcohol, finally enabling me to feel the full effect of the latter.  My return home was a bit less coordinated than the outward leg of my journey.

So what about the alleged psychoactive effect of absinthe?  Did I experience any hallucinations?  Did I see the renowned green fairy?

At first I didn't experience anything.  But sometime during the third round I did notice slight visual and audio distortion, which lasted only about ten minutes.  As I was writing my notes I noticed that the proportions of my hand had changed -- first long and thin, then squat and broad, as if someone were alternately stretching the vertical and horizontal dimensions in Photoshop.  A few minutes later as I continued to write, it seemed as if the flat surface of the paper had taken on a 3-D texture.  The fibers of the paper seemed to have depth, much like grass matted down after a flood.  And the ink seemed to follow the contours of the fibers, giving my seemingly-flat letters considerable depth.  A few minutes later upon finishing my absinthe, I was enjoying my cigar while watching an André Rieu performance on TV.  Suddenly it seemed as if the music had also taken on a sort of 3-D texture.  It was as if the instruments had moved away from each other, giving the music depth.  Did these visual and auditory distortions merely come from a placebo effect, or were they perhaps simply due to the power of suggestion?  I can't say for sure, but the experience did seem real to me, albeit mild and short-lived.

Absinthe is a delightful and unique beverage with a distinct subcultural mystique surrounding it.  It is an experience which I consider to be highly recommended.  If you ever find yourself outside the United States, put absinthe next to Cuban cigars and Havana Club rum on your list of forbidden treats upon which to indulge.
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An interesting video: Forbidden Fruit: The Absinthe Drinker.  A retired neurosurgeon explains the myths behind the green fairy and what draws him to this forbidden fruit.

What?  Cigarjunkie is reviewing a diet soda?  Has he gone mad, or has he given up on his original premise to encourage consumption of the finer things in life?

No, I haven't; there is (or rather, was) logic to my madness.  The following was my reasoning for choosing a diet beverage for this review:

- It's a niche product, not a mass-market beverage
- It's unique, in that it's both diet and chocolate
- It was, well, worth a try, since -- if it really does offer true chocolate taste with zero fat, zero carbs and zero calories -- it would be an outstanding find and a great product.

In late March I reviewed a vitola of Tabacos Puros de Nicaragua S.A's newest line, the Joya de Nicaragua Celebración.  I remarked that it seemed to me to be a milder version of Joya's kick-in-the-pants Antaño 1970 line, with which I've been very happily familiar since its introduction in 2002.  Well, today I shall review the same vitola of the Antaño 1970 line -- one of my very favorite brands.

Joya de Nicaragua is fortunate to have as its general manager the great cigar man, Leonel Raudez.  With their Antaño 1970 line Señor Raudez and his team have, in the opinion of many commentators -- from Cigar Aficionado to the Robb Report -- achieved the goal of every cigar maker: to recreate the great, full-bodied Cuban smokes of the pre-embargo days.  The line commemorates the introduction of the Joya de Nicaragua brand to the United States market in 1970.

I spent this past week at the Society of Automotive Engineers Congress and Exposition, rubbing shoulders with fellow automotive engineers from around the world.  One thing I noticed was a growing appreciation of, and love for, cigars, amongst my fellow automotive techies.  This was especially evident amongst my French and German colleagues, who would steal up to the Cobo Roof to light up a Partagas or Cohiba during breaks between technical sessions.  I, of course, was right there with them.  Cigars really do create a common bond, a true brotherhood, amongst widely varied people.

One of the cigars being smoked by a fellow engineer out on that roof was a Gurkha.  The aroma was quite superb.  I recalled that I had one resting in my humidor, so I resolved to review it.

I purchased this Gurkha Regent Churchill in the fall of 2004, so it had been given plenty of time to stabilize under ideal conditions.  I recall my anguish at laying out $12.29 for the stick; however, my tobacconist assured me that I would not be disappointed -- these limited-production Dominicans were definitely worth the price, and the careful blend of Piloto and Ligero should definitely satisfy my finicky tastes. 

Wrapped in an attractive, delicately-veined, medium-brown Nicaraguan Havana 2000 wrapper, this cigar felt quite heavy in my hand.  It was a beautiful, matte stick with a slightly rough cap.  And when I lit this cigar, I knew I was on hallowed ground.  The very first draw was incomparably flavorful and luscious.  It had lots of backbone; the cigar was hefty but not harsh.  Full and spicy, the Gurkha had a silky draw.  After ten minutes it hadn't changed much; the lightup was so professional that it hardly needed any settling-down time.  This cigar was a complex, delicious, medium to full bodied smoke, one which was delightfully smooth and enjoyably tasty.

Despite burning perfectly, I removed about an inch and a quarter of somewhat fragile-looking, medium-gray ash after twenty minutes.  By the half hour mark the cigar had changed; it was not quite as full-bodied now, and could have been described at this point as being medium.  (I find that to be unusual; most full-bodied cigars go the other direction at this point.)  The finish had developed into an unusually clean one characterized by wood, spice and leather.

Fragrant and flavorful at 40 minutes, I removed another comparable ash.  This was an immensely enjoyable cigar.  Oddly, it was becoming a bit fuller again.  Fifteen minutes later I removed yet another ash; the frequent ashing did not bother me, though, as this was a consistently complex and elegant cigar.  And it was remarkably clean, providing bountiful flavors of cedar, fresh-sawn hardwood, spice, and leather.

La Aurora is an old Dominican brand, founded by Leon Jimenez over a century ago.  The brand has lately earned a reputation for excellence, and I felt it high time to sample one of their sticks.  The prices are quite high, though.  So, when I discovered a La Aurora line previously unknown to me -- the Maduro line -- and saw that the price of a 7.0 x 48 Churchill was only $6.99 -- I jumped at the chance to try one.



The stick was wrapped with two bands, the lower of which was a simple red piece featuring the word "Maduro" in gold script.  The variation in color within the dark, mottled Brazilian wrapper showed that it was a natural maduro, not dyed.  There were some light veins; the cigar had a nicely made cap and felt medium to light in weight.  The Churchill was solid, not at all squishy.

Oooh!  The lightup was incredibly tasty!  This La Aurora provided abundant flavor from the start, with a medium body.  Right off the mark it was delicious.  The flavor profile included creamy coffee flavors with ripe tobacco.  After ten minutes, nuts were added to the mix, actually making me hungry for that can of mixed nuts in the next room.  The draw was easy and lighter than average.  Despite the lack of an appreciable finish, this was an enjoyable, approachable, and quite interesting smoke.

At fifteen minutes it had become evident that the cigar was burning too fast; I removed 1-3/8" of dark gray ash that was looking like it was about to fall.

The smoke was beginning to become somewhat more full-bodied after twenty-five minutes.  The flavor profile had not changed in type nor intensity; it was still there but it now had a heftier backbone behind it.  I removed another 3/4" of fragile-looking ash.

At the 40 minute mark the cigar was delightful, still just as creamy and luscious as it was in the initial lightup.  By now it was burning somewhat fast but evenly.  This was an impressively well-balanced smoke.  There was now some finish, short but nice.

Delicious -- simply delicious -- after 55 minutes: creamy, nutty, complex and fascinating.  I thought to myself that, no matter what a cigar smoker's preferences might be, this stick would please them all.

At an hour and five minutes a pleasant mintiness was setting in.  The cigar was developing quite a nice finish now, long and luscious, and the burn had slowed down to a normal pace.  At this point my wife arrived and raved about the aroma; she described it as curiously floral, almost like a high-quality cologne.

At an hour and a quarter the La Aurora Maduro had become a full-bodied and demandingly enjoyable cigar!  It was holding my attention 100%, from the initial, creamy draw through the lingering, complex finish.  I ashed an inch, leaving an inch-and-a-half stub for my continued enjoyment.

The legendary brand Joya de Nicaragua has long been a respected name amongst non-Cuban cigars.  Before the communist Sandinistas seized power in that nation, Nicaragua's cigar industry had begun to rival Cuba's in terms of quality and taste.  And it was Joya de Nicaragua cigars which led this perception.  However, the Sandinista regime effectively ended the reputation which had been carefully built over the years, and even after the Sandinistas' fall to the forces of freedom in 1990 the Joya de Nicaragua brand struggled for years to regain its former glory.  Early post-Sandinista Joyas were atrocious, to say the least.

The Cigar Journal is brought to you today live from the Dominion of Canada, a familiar yet mysterious land where donuts and coffee are as big a part of the culture as are ice hockey and anti-Americanism.  And nowhere can this be better evidenced than at one of the ubiquitous establishments known as Tim Horton's.  "Timmies," as these places are affectionately called, seem to be everywhere on this side of Customs.  In one Ontario town of about 30,000 people which I frequent, there are at least two places where Tim Horton's exist across the street from each other; those four, plus countless others, thrive in that sleepy city.  It seems that hardly a person in Canada can claim to be separated from a Tim's by more than a kilometer or two.  Besides the donuts they offer, the firm which was founded by legendary Toronto Maple Leaf icon Tim Horton, is known for their coffee -- a beverage which provides the morning boost for the lion's share of Canadians.

What is it about Tim Horton's coffee?  How do even Yanks like me become addicted to this brown elixir?  And how is it that I, a self-described promoter of the finer things in life, when in Canada, must stop at a donut place several times daily for coffee in a paper cup?

It isn't the best-tasting coffee, that's for sure -- although it isn't at all bad.  It is quite enjoyable and undoubtedly refreshing.  The unassuming flavor profile is simple and unadorned.  Simply put, Tim's coffee is addictive.  And no one knows why.

Theories are often proposed to explain this curious addictive quality of a Hot Tim's.  Some say that certain additives are included in the blend.  Others claim that it's not coffee at all, but some rare tropical concoction.  Yet others blame it on the Americans (who now own the chain, which is affiliated with Wendy's -- a shock to the Canadian psyche roughly equivalent to a French conglomerate buying the Alamo).



But I say, the answer must be far more simple.  Careful blends of economical but high-quality beans, roasted masterfully by experts in the field, and provided fresh to an eager public -- that's my theory.  Care is taken to provide a reasonably economic, but totally consistent and flavorful cup.  That, and an unusually-high caffeine content, are their secrets.  Or so I believe.

So, the next time you find yourself north of the border -- or, in one of the many American border towns like Detroit where an Americanized Tim Horton's franchise has been established -- stop in for a large double-double and some Tim Bits.  And you, too, will be hooked.  You may even find yourself bursting into song, "With glowing hearts we see thee rise / The True North strong and free!"

"An intoxicating blend of rich Nicaraguan tobacco surrounded by a gorgeous Brazilian wrapper.  This cigar yields a lush and chewy texture of smoke and captivates the palate with flavors of exotic spices and wood, with a seductively floral aroma."

That's how the CAO website describes their Brazilia line.  I have been a fan of CAO cigars for quite some time, and have enjoyed the Brazilia line since its inception.  So I guess that, based on past experience, I couldn't take exception with their marketing description.  But the best way to tell is to smoke one.  And that's just what I did.

The Brazilia line is an all-large ring-gauge set of dark, spicy vitolas that literally fill one's mouth with flavor.  The Ipanema is a massive 7.0 x 50 double corona.  The one I most recently smoked was solid, large, and imposing.  Having set me back $7.59, this monstrous stick was heavy and solid.  A dark brown maduro in color, the wrapper was oily and the construction was fine.

I've been too long in submitting this review.  For that, I apologize.  It's not due to a lack of smoking material; after all, I was in Canada last week, and had an opportunity to sample some interesting stuff while there.  This one was given to me as a gift, brought back from that magical island itself by a friend (a good friend!) who knows I can't go there, and, well ... took pity on me.  This was my consolation prize.

The Partagas 898 Cabinet Selection is said to be among that brand's mildest smokes -- which doesn't necessarily mean that they're mild cigars.  For the Partagas selections are amongst Cuba's strongest smokes.  The 898 comes in two versions, known by the box; varnished and unvarnished.  The varnished starts out stronger, and matures more slowly.  A brief bit of research showed me that a box of 25 varnished 898s could be had for between the high USD 200's and low 300's.

My prize was a beautiful panatela of 6.75 x 43 dimensions, an elegant size, befitting of the likes of James Bond.  The wrapper was a light, rosy brown, shade-grown, with slight (but distracting) veininess.  It felt solid but somewhat light.  Overall, this stick had an impressive, elegant appearance and seemed to be of excellent construction.

The lightup was smooth; draw was silky and pleasant.  The first impression was of firm, tobacco flavors -- firm but not strong.  A certain spiciness soon established itself, providing initial flavors of toast and coffee.  This was a very approachable cigar.

At ten minutes this stick would have been considered to be medium in body.  I became quite aware of a certain perfumey character; unusual flavors dominated the mix but I couldn't quite identify them.  It really did remind me of perfume, though; nothing specific, but in an indistinct manner -- rather like the aroma one might notice when passing by the perfume counters of an upscale retailer.  These were flavors and aromas which were quite unlike others I'd experienced in a cigar, but they were nevertheless enjoyable and quite interesting.

After twenty minutes I removed an inch and a half of dark gray, mottled ash.  The cigar was burning quite nicely.  The cigar was developing a serious finish, which contrasted with the perfumey flavors.

At 35 minutes the smoke was simply delicious.  Elegant and mysterious, my 898 was not mild but certainly no powerhouse.  It was smooth, complex and balanced.

At 45 minutes the panatela had become quite enjoyable, and was somewhat fuller and sweeter.  The finish had taken on a pleasant, cedary character.  In the flavor profile, attractive tobacco flavors had become dominant, together with nuts; the perfume was less noticeable now, but still part of the complex mix.

After 65 minutes I was enjoying the smooth, medium-to-full flavors which hung in a balanced tension.  The cedary finish was quite long and firm for a lighter stick such as this.  Even after over an hour, this Partagas was still quite approachable; there was something there for lovers of all types of cigars.

At an hour and fifteen minutes I abandoned what was left of my 898.  It was simply too difficult to hold and draw, yet it remained enjoyable throughout.

It would be hard to go wrong with this Havana.  It was attractive and elegant, and was well-constructed; it had lots of flavor and a very nice finish.  Fairly reasonable in price (for a Cuban, that is), this smoke had a significant complexity which held my interest.  This beautiful Havana panatela was the type of cigar that could be enjoyed by all types of smokers, and just might be one of Partagas' most approachable selections.  I would say that the Partagas 898 Cabinet Selection (Varnished) ISOM is definitely recommended.

I probably should have mentioned this earlier: I am in Canada until Friday of this week.  If all goes well, the situation could lead to some interesting cigar reviews.  Stay tuned.