On 19 January I reviewed the 70%-cocoa version of Lindt Excellence Dark Chocolate.  Today I shall review the version with a whopping 85% Cocoa.

The boutique cigar firm Drew Estate may be best known as the makers of flavored cigars under the names Acid and Kahlua.  But some time ago the company launched a non-flavored line called Natural that proved the Nicaraguan firm's ability to produce small batches of high-quality, "natural" cigars.

In 1995 Drew Estate released a line called La Vieja Habana (The Old Havana) which was meant to recreate the traditional, Cuban-style smokes of years gone by.  These cigars featured a blue label, and are in fact still available in six vitolas.  Recently, however, the cigarmakers went back to the drawing board again, so to speak, to develop yet another, even more potent line of cigars under the La Vieja Habana line.  This six-vitola line features fillers composed largely of pungent ligero and is dubbed La Vieja Habana The Early Years, and is differentiated from the earlier line by its green label. 

Recently I sampled one cigar of this latest line, the Wavelle DLUXXE [sic], which is a 5.5 x 54 sun-grown Nicaraguan in the $4 to $5 range.  This stick had been resting in my humidor for about four months, and was quite ready to smoke.

The appearance was very dark brown, not a rosy brown nor chocolatey; it had what could be described as a dark, sun-ripened look -- less like tobacco and more like wood or leather than a standard maduro.  There was some veininess and the wrapper had a matte appearance.  The feel in the hand was light but solid.

The lightup was dry and somewhat papery.  But the initial profile was quickly replaced by a nice cocoa and coffee flavor.  Not too strong, it had a nice, even draw.  Bystanders described the lightup as having a light but peppery aroma.

After five minutes the ligero began to show its stuff.  The smoke became smooth and intense -- a certain power became evident, and the initial cocoa flavor withdrew so far into the background that it was no longer detectable.

But alas!  Fifteen minutes into the cigar, burning problems surfaced.  This is one of my pet peeves.  A cigar may be delicious, but if it doesn't burn well, I sour on it quickly.  However, the flavor of this one was just so doggone good -- full, spicy and very peppery -- that I chose to tolerate its weakness and continued to keep a good attitude about the stick.  By the twenty minute mark the cigar was burning quite crooked, and I could no longer smile at my predicament.  But, strangely, I was still enjoying the experience -- this is a testament to the quality tobacco chosen by Drew Estate (despite their less-than-perfect construction!).

At 25 minutes I tapped off one and a half inches of white, compact ash, together with some unburnt wrapper on one side.  Often, when a cigar fails to burn evenly, a harshness takes over and spoils the experience; however, in the case of this La Vieja Habana, there was no trace of anything unpleasant.  The flavor remained surprisingly full and peppery.  The charming spiciness actually improved as the cigar entered its second third -- pepper and mint entered the mix.  This cigar, despite its crooked burn, was complex, smooth but full-bodied, not harsh, and very enjoyable.

I was bemused by the tension between two contradictory elements of this smoke: its delicious, full flavor and its ongoing burn problems.  Never before have I had a poor-burning cigar that failed to arouse anger in me.  And this puzzled me!

Halfway through the cigar nutty undertones emerged, together with a residual sweetness.  The cocoa returned, together with perhaps a touch of coconut.  Ah, but the effect of nicotine started to manifest itself.  Better slow down.  But not to worry; at this point the finish was the best part: smooth and long, and somewhat cedary.  My wife described the aroma as rich and abundant, without harshness.

At fifty minutes the canoeing was severe; it appeared that only half the cigar's circumference was indeed burning.  Only now was the poor burn beginning to cause some harshness, especially on the finish.  At one hour, ash and unburnt tobacco were forcibly removed and I attempted a relight.  A peppery character returned, and the smoke became enjoyable again.  But burning problems resumed, almost immediately; I finally abandoned the stick after one and a quarter hours.

Because of the critical burning problems of this cigar I normally wouldn't dream of recommending it at all; but strangely, because this could be a fluke, and because of the excellent flavors and overall enjoyment -- and because of the unquestionably high quality of tobacco and fascinating blend -- I would consider this smoke to be mildly recommended.

Lindt chocolate could perhaps be the ideal choice for the chocolate connoisseur.  More exclusive -- and far more expensive -- chocolates are out there, certainly.  However, for the person who appreciates fine European chocolate but who also insists on wide availability, broad selection and reasonable prices, the products offered by Chocoladefabriken Lindt & Sprüngli AG of Kilchberg, Switzerland are hard to beat.

Readers of this journal will already suspect that I tend to prefer strong, dark cigars and strong, dark coffees.  My preference for chocolate is no exception; I do appreciate fine milk chocolate, but my taste buds really soar when they are confronted with dense, powerful, not so sweet, dark chocolate.

Lindt, which supplies wrapped bon-bon candies under the Lindor Collection name, also has a line of bar chocolates called the Excellence Collection.  Offerings in the Excellence line include extra creamy, toffee, nut, fruit, and white chocolates.  They also offer two dark chocolates; one at a hefty 70% cocoa and the other at a staggering 85%.  Both are available in 1.4 oz. (35g) and 3.5 oz. (100g) bars.  The price is unbelievably reasonable; I paid USD 1.79 for the large bar, a veritable mountain of chocolate, and significantly less for the small.  I shall review each of these dark chocolate bars separately; here I shall describe the 70% cocoa version.

Lindt's ingredient list is basic: chocolate, sugar, cocoa butter, and vanilla.  The small bar is conveniently divided into eight, c. 30mm squares (just over one inch); those who are diet-conscious will note that each of these little squares would provide 24 kcal of energy, about half a gram of protein, just under 2g of fat (cocoa butter is high in healthy fats) and just over 1g of carbohydrate, mostly sugars.  (I, a controlled-carbohydrate dieter, allow myself one square per day.)

The appearance of the bar, when unwrapped from its paper and foil coverings, is dark brown, solid, and deep; in direct light it appears to be matte with a slight shimmer.  The instant the wrapping is opened, an aroma of dark chocolate emerges, drawing the taster into the experience even before the first bite is taken.  From the aroma alone one can surmise that this is a serious chocolate -- serious and European.

Texture is firm and a bit waxy, but not objectionally so.  The flavor is medium to full, loaded with dark-chocolate richness, and the bar is not too sweet.  A bold cocoa bean character takes the stage, continuing on the palate well into the exceptionally-long finish, which adds a touch of tannins and a hint of leather.  For you milk chocolate lovers out there: the experience is akin to that of sipping delicious black coffee, rather than that same coffee with cream and two lumps.

On 14 January I reviewed the Padrón 3000 Natural, an attractive, full-bodied 5.5 x 52 cigar.  Here I shall review the very same Padrón vitola, but one clothed in the maduro wrapper.  I found many similarities -- and some interesting differences.  In both cases the renowned Padrón quality shone through.

The previously-reviewed natural had been so deep brown in color that the maduro before me hardly seemed darker.  This second Padrón 3000 was indeed a beautiful chocolate brown.  An oily maduro, it appeared to be slightly box-pressed -- I do not recall the natural having been at all rectangluar.  It looked well-made, giving an overall impression of quality workmanship.  The feel in the hand was medium to light.

The lightup was smooth but powerful.  This was quality tobacco for sure.  My wife immediately appreciated the aroma.  The dominant factor in the initial profile was cedar; flavor was abundant without being strong.  This cigar was delicious, I remarked -- like biting into a steak.  There was some cocoa; smooth but full, this maduro might have been marginally milder than the natural.

A compact whitish ash an inch in length had built up during the first fifteen minutes.  At one and a half inches it was still firmly in place, and had developed a light gray, mottled appearance.  The cigar was burning flawlessly -- a sign of excellent construction, as was the silky medium draw, which I considered to be ideal.

At the 1/3 mark, a coffee character began to emerge.  But a smooth, cedary flavor remained dominant, while cocoa was becoming an ever greater part of the complex flavor profile.  This cigar had a beautiful, sun-ripened character, but not much aroma for others in the room.  (It was definitely a smoker's smoke, not a bystander's.)

But for me, it was delightful.  In much the same way that one can taste the peaty soil of the Isle of Islay in a Laphroaig single-malt Scotch, this cigar reminded me of its origins -- I could almost sense the warmth of the Nicaraguan sunshine and the smell of the rich, black earth.  The finish was the best part; long and complex, the experience seemingly took me to the humid Central American tobacco fields and the aromatic Padrón curing rooms.

At the halfway mark the taste of dry, dark cocoa began to take over.  The character had continued to change, becoming stronger, more powerful.  Soon the smoke began to lose its smoothness and seemed somewhat more serious.  There was an earthy note to the flavor now, but not too much; this had been a pleasant and welcome change.

One hour into the cigar, when 1-3/4 inches of stick remained, the flavor had become a rich, earthy mix of cocoa, ripe tobacco, and aromatic cedar.  The finish had become much spicier, even sweeter, than before.  Like the natural version of this vitola, the maduro was pleasureable down to the knuckle-burning stage.  It provided one and one-half hours of relaxation, contemplation, and enjoyment.

The appearance, construction and flavor of the Padrón 3000 Maduro were all exepmlary.  This was a smoke of top-notch quality.  I would not hesitate to declare the Padrón 3000 Maduro to be highly recommended.

The range of cured gourmet meats which come from Italy is staggering in size.  Whether smoked, salted or air-cured, these diverse meats present the taster with an almost unlimited series of culinary choices.  The first of these meats I shall review is a Calabrese Rustico.

Calabrese hails from the Calabria region of Italy.  It is a cheese-making area, so the dominant meat is pork (there are certain economies which can be had when simultaneously raising pigs and making cheese).  Calabrese is a salame; that is, a stuffed sausage which is dry-cured.  Calabrese is indeed made from pork, which is flavored with white wine and various spices such as chili.

Obtaining genuine Italian Calabrese from Calabria is difficult, but not impossible, in the United States and Canada.  However, thanks to the Italian immigrant community, extremely high-quality Calabrese is produced domestically, and is highly available.  This domestic variety need not be a poor copy, a mere shadow of the genuine article; firms such as Citterio provide dry-cured gourmet meats which rival the best imported offerings.  Citterio USA is a Pennsylvania-based supplier of dry-cured gourmet meats; the company has 19th Century, old-country origins, which is evident in the quality of their wares.

This salame is bright red in color, and comes as a chub with a length of perhaps six inches.  Since it is a dry-cured meat it is firm and dense, heavy in the hand and unsqueezable.  Slicing it is demanding; a sharp knife glides through the chub smoothly but with some resistance.  The casing does not appear to be tough, but rather, soft and supple, resisting the knife no more than the rest of the sausage.  Slicing reveals a mottled, bright-red interior, well marbled with abundant oiliness.

The aroma is spicy and inviting.  The texture in the mouth is firm; the sausage requires significant (but not objectionable) effort to chew.  Flavor is full, meaty; spices are peppery with paprika in predominance.  Finish is hotter than the flavor; the taste of sweet oil and paprika fills the mouth while the tang of heat warms the throat.  The Calabrese is filling; a few slices should suffice for a snack or -- with some flavorful, aged cheese -- a fine, European-style breakfast.

The Citterio Rustico Calabrese is a worthy domestic counterpart to the genuine Italian offerings of this celebrated variety of dry-cured salame.  For a snack, as an antipasto, or for breakfast, I would consider it to be recommended.

I've found that Padrón cigars just might be the most consistently well-constructed -- and the most consistently good -- cigars out there.  In fact, I simply haven't had a Padrón that I didn't like.  I can't say that for even my most favored brands.

While Christmas shopping last month in Plymouth I simply had to make a side stop at La Casa de la Habana, one of my three favorite cigar haunts.  (Okay, there are at least two ... no, three more favorites.  And then there's ... uh-oh, better stop there.)  While there I had a steaming cup of intense Cuban-style coffee.  And I picked up a few cigars, including two of the Padrón 3000 vitola -- one a self-described "natural" (really an EMS, English Market Selection) and the other, a maduro.  They weren't cheap, setting me back $7.99 apiece.

The Padrón 3000 can't be considered a toro, since it's not quite long enough; I'd say it's more properly a corona gorda.  Both of these Nicaraguan sticks came cellophaned.  I do recall that Cigar Aficionado had rated one of these (I don't recall which) in the high 80s or low 90s not too long ago.  So, with this (and the amazing Padrón consistency) in mind, I was looking forward to an excellent smoke.  I review the natural or EMS in this entry; I shall review the maduro version separately, in the near future.

This darker-than-normal, ripe-looking cigar should probably be classed as a colorado-maduro; referring to the cigar as EMS -- or (gasp) "natural" as does the Padrón family -- is doing it a disservice.  It had a neat cap and an attractive, matte wrapper of a solid, deep colorado color.  The lack of significant oiliness betrayed its youth.  Before lighting it I wondered what it might look like after a year or more in my humidor!

I discovered Paco Rabanne XS eXtreme in 2000 when on a business trip to Paris.  I wanted to pick up some perfume for my wife, so I entered one of the fragrance shops in the vicinity of the American embassy.  (I had reasoned that my paucity of skill in the French tongue would do the least harm there.)  I was delighted by the service provided by the staff, who went out of their way to help me select just the right fragrance for my wife, who at the time wore none.  Samples were placed on small absorbant strips, and caution was taken so that my sense of smell would not become fatigued and my judgment thereby clouded.  

The culmination of this rigorous process was my selection of a Davidoff perfume for her -- and I was so delighted with the system that I decided to choose a scent for myself.  Having allowed a brief resting period for my olfactory sense to recover, the staff and I initiated the process anew, only with myself as the object of the search.  The final selection?  A just-released product: Paco Rabanne XS eXtreme eau de toilette.

Paco Rabanne is new amongst Paris' fragrance firms.  Born in Spain, the man Paco Rabanne came to France with his family during the Spanish civil war.  He entered the fragrance market only in 1973 after spending a career in the fashion industry.  His line of fragrances is not as extensive as some others, but he has achieved several genuine "hits" in the world of perfumery.

the eXtreme

XS eXtreme must not be confused with the original XS pour homme, which was introduced in 1993.  This woody fragrance is still available, far more widely than is the XS eXtreme, which debuted as a line extension in 2000.  While the packaging is similar, the color of the original liquid is light yellow and the bottle has a silvery cap; while the eXtreme is orangish and has a copper top.

the original

Like the packaging of these two, there are superficial similarities as well as significant differences in the fragrances as well.  When shopping for the fragrance, make sure that the word "eXtreme" is predominant, and that the color is orange, not yellow / silver -- if care is not taken, the shopper will bring home the wrong stuff.

I seem to recall that the initial marketing campaign for XS eXtreme in 2000 touted the presence of human pheromones in the blend; however, I can no longer find references to this in today's marketing literature.  So my memory could be faulty.  At any rate, commercial descriptions of the scent range from the sublime ("a refreshing fragrance ... watery citrus ... aromatic woods") to the ridiculous ("Masculine Fruity Scent, It Has Top Notes Of Dewberry Fruit. Middle Note Is Juniper Berry, Finishing Off With Teak And Russian Leather"). 

I tend to find the fragrance to be herbal, yes -- woody, especially at first.  It is definitely a masculine scent, but one which is tastefully manly.  An elegant fragrance such as this conveys confident masculinity while sparing the wearer from being interpreted as "on the prowl."

The words "spicy", "floral" and "fruity" could not be used to describe this fragrance.  There are citrus notes, but the dominant impression seems to be one of exotic woods, and maybe a hint of new leather (by the way, how does one even know whether one is smelling Russian leather or the Austrian variety?).  A couple sprays of the eau de toilette, carefully applied, last all day.

While this fragrance may be hard to find in the United States, I have found it here, and have more often purchased it in the duty-free shops of Canada and Europe.  A 50 ml (1.7 fl. oz.) eau de toilette spray last cost me around fifty Canadian dollars.  This bottle will provide half a year or more of careful daily use.  Keeping the availability problem in mind, and because of its elegance and understated masculinity, I would consider the Paco Rabanne XS eXtreme eau de toilette to be recommended.

For years, the corona was my favorite vitola.  It's still one of my most frequent smokes.  Cigars around the 5.5 x 43 size just seemed to burn better, require less work to keep lit, and provide abundant flavor early in the smoking process.  While I've warmed to the larger ring gauges in the last couple years, I still like my cigars to be of corona or toro length.

A handful of these corona-sized sticks were given to me in September by my brother-in-law.  He had received a box of these as a gift from one of his loyal customers.  Quintero is a Cuban brand, but is one of the rare Cubans that is manufactured elsewhere in the country besides Havana; the Quintero y Hermanos factory is in Cienfuegos.  As for the price, alas! I didn't buy it; but I have seen these on sale in Canada for a few loonies apiece.  When compared to the other Havanas, that price certainly places the Breva into the entry-level Cuban category.  Cuba does have a lot of poor-quality, machine-made cigars out there, though; however, this product does differentiate itself from these cheaper sticks.  The tobacco used by Quintero comes from the famed Vuelta Abajo, so the quality of the raw materials "should" be good.

This 5.5 x 40 Breva had a slightly rough appearance.  Yes, it had a pretty rose-colored wrapper and a fairly nice cap; the overall appearance, however, was not one of quality.  It wasn't particularly veiny, but rather, "lumpy" -- as if the binder had bumps on it.  It was light in the hand, even for a corona.  I suspect that it isn't totalamente a mano -- made totally by hand -- but rather, hecho a mano, which could indicate machine-bunching and hand-finishing (rolling), or perhaps the other way around.  But nevertheless, I told myself: this is prized Cuban tobacco, and I'm gonna smoke the doggone thing no matter how it was made!

The initial lightup impression was one of smoothness and mildness.  There was absolutely no punch.  However, it certainly got my wife's attention; she described the first aroma as having been soft, without that typical lightup harshness.

The flavor of this Quintero was definitely enjoyable.  It could be summed up in one word: creamy.  It was pleasingly mild, not at all bland -- but rather, much like sipping a good cup of coffee with a luxurious amount of cream in it.  It wasn't exactly sweet, but (just as my wife described the aroma) the flavor was soft.  Supple.  Gentle.  But with a certain subtle spiciness in the background, just enough to make it interesting.

The ash was semi-compact, and had that characteristic Havana grey mottled appearance.  (I am not insistent on a white ash, as are many aficionados; im my experience, the ash color has more to do with the origin of the tobacco rather than the quality thereof.)  The ash reached one inch in only twelve minutes, but was still hanging firmly to the smoke.  I gently tapped it off at 1.5", because only then was it beginning to appear fragile.

I’ve been an avid coffee drinker since my freshman year of college, when I discovered this curious beverage’s amazing ability to ensure success when “pulling an all-nighter.” At the time I drank the swill produced in five-gallon lots by the staff of Van Houten cafeteria, cut by generous amounts of chocolate milk to enable threshold-level palatability. After hours I supplemented it with the rotgut stuff which could be had at the nearest all-night convenience store. Coffee was, for me at the time, a utilitarian beverage, hardly meant for enjoyment.

All that has changed. I had a friend in the early eighties who had spent several years stationed in Hawaii; while there he became enamored with the local coffees, especially the celebrated Kona variety. It was at his behest that I tasted my first premium arabica brew. Strong, dark, aromatic and seductive -- uncut with the typical condiments of cream, milk nor sugar, and unspoiled by industrial food-grade adulterants as are many commercial brands -- this stuff had my name written all over it. And I haven’t looked back since.

My latest infatuation has been the range of coffees produced by Allegro. Having purchased varietal coffees for years, and exclusively from small, local, boutique shops, I discovered Allegro one day in the late nineties while on a wine run at the now-defunct Merchant of Vino in Ann Arbor. The wine steward noticed that I was looking at their sizeable display of coffees, so he came over and offered me a sample which he had poured from a freshly-brewed pot in the back room. It was an Allegro variety (which one escapes me); I was immediately impressed by its quality and flavor. When I checked the prices, I was converted. This coffee was every bit as good as the types I had been buying from boutique coffee merchants, at a fraction of the cost. Over time we tried the entire line of offerings. I eventually settled on the Extra Dark French Roast, which, more than any other, duplicates the experience of the finest coffees in the finest restaurants in the City of Lights.

Well, when the Merchant of Vino suddenly closed a year or two ago, I was heartbroken. Until discovering that the Allegro line was now owned by Whole Foods Markets, which just happened to be opening a store just a mile or two from the old Vino location. Here, Allegro coffees are roasted before one’s very eyes, to order, by well-trained and knowledgeable staff. I like to watch through the cylindrical, clear glass “business end” of the roaster as the constantly-moving beans slowly turn from light olive green to an oily, dark chocolate brown. The aroma is unforgettable. And due to the freshness, the coffee is even better than that which I had previously obtained from The Merchant of Vino.

I enjoy dark, full-flavored cigars; I also prefer full-flavored coffee. Allegro Extra Dark French Roast is the darkest and most robust coffee in the line. I would add that it is perhaps the most flavorful. A blend of select Indonesian and Central American beans, the base material is far superior to that of many more common, so-called "French roasts," which typically utilize inferior beans and cover their poor quality through excessive roasting. This is a quality blend, roasted impeccably.

An aromatic brewing experience is capped by the pouring. This coffee, when properly prepared, is as black and opaque (but never cloudy!) as a coffee can be, with abundant, dark bubbles caressing the rim and a hint of oil darting about on the surface. The first sip is marked by an immediate impression of soft tannin and toast. An almost contradictory lightness of body may be noted -- followed almost immediately by a burst of flavor. One knows instantly that this is a superior brew. The deepness of the roast comes through in its uniquely rich smokiness, while a hearty, complex bean flavor excites the palate. The finish is long and characteristically French. Like the unforgettable coffee served at Hôtel Lancaster, my favorite hotel on the Champs Elysées -- this coffee could, by flavor alone, rouse a weary, jet-lagged traveler and get him off to his first meeting with a smile on his face.

This superior product from Allegro is sensibly priced, widely available, and has proven to be absolutely consistent. Curiously light-bodied but incredibly full-flavored, not too winey but full of soft, supple tannins and enticing smokiness, the Allegro Extra Dark French Roast has earned its place as my favorite morning coffee. It is highly recommended.

Some time ago I picked up a handful of these smokes at JR Cigar in Southfield, mainly because of the price.  A 6.25 x 50 Honduran toro that looks this nice, for under three dollars?  I figured it'd be worth a try.  The tobacconists warned me that they're milder than my usual sticks; I agreed but suggested that even a full-bodied-cigar smoker may have occasions where a mild to medium cigar is called for.  After all, I have one side of one humidor that's filled with Montecristos -- the best-known, and one of the finest, most complex milder cigars out there.

These La Corona toros have been in one humidor or another for months now.  I had already smoked a few of the sticks before taking notes for this entry; this time I paid careful attention to the experience.  As with the others I had smoked, the construction appeared to be excellent.  Wrapped in a medium-buff Conneticut Shade wrapper, this slightly veiny cigar was nevertheless attractive.  It had a medium-weight feel in the hand.  The most noticeable characteristic isn't the cigar itself but the gaudy band.  In my opinion, this label is overdone -- a too fancy, gold-leaf-dominated thing with a cheesy picture of a woman in the middle.