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Kevin Godbee - May 12, 2014
- 13 min read
G. L. Pease
I hate the flu. Because of this, I’ve done everything humanly possible to avoid it whilst almost everyone I know are beaten down by it. I’ve been successful this year, until last night. It started out as what I thought was just a really bad attack of hayfever. Then, it hit. The aches, the chills, the coughing, a throat that feels like a field of golf balls had sprouted in it, the relentless hammering that makes a head feel as though it’s been attached to the wrong end of a pile-driver, not that there’s a right end, and finally, the feeling that the not entirely unwelcome spectre of death may be lurking alongside a werewolf of London just outside the kitchen door, better not let him in.
So stricken, I figured it’s the perfect time to write a column. Consider this a disclaimer. Either the following paragraphs will be fueled by feverish hallucination, and therefore entertaining, or it’ll be cranky and irritable, and therefore entertaining, or it’ll be completely random, and not entertaining at all. I guess we’ll know by the time we reach the other end, assuming I survive to finish it.
JJ asks about “complexity” in pipe tobacco blends: While I enjoy all genres of pipe tobacco, my favorite mixtures are those that fall under the heading of “English” blends. Within that category, the ones that I love the most are those that exhibit both sweetness and complexity. Hence, my favorite blend of all time is most likely Odyssey (I know many don’t detect any complexity in Odyssey, but I actually pick up a lot of flavors that dance in and out of the smoke over the course of a bowl). In any case, my question is: How do you achieve complexity? Is it the result of including several tobaccos with differing characteristics? Is it a property that is primarily produced through the use of oriental varieties? Or, perhaps, is it the presence of high quality virginias? Is it all of the above? My own blending experiments have led to more confusion that clarity, I’m afraid. What do you add (or perhaps subtract) if you want to add more complexity to a mixture?
A: Complexity is an interesting characteristic, and one that’s difficult to pin down. Generally, when we talk about a mixture having “complexity,” we’re talking about the interplay of potentially disparate flavor and aroma elements that somehow manage to come together in a way that’s harmonious. For instance, if you’re dealing with a virginia base, where sweetness tends to dominate, the slightly tart, nutty edge of an oriental, or the smoky, bittersweet, somewhat astringent twang of Cypriot latakia can, in the right amount, add interest and depth to the mixture, but, there’s more to complexity than that. In a sense, it’s the imbalance of the elements that conspires to make things really interesting, but only if things don’t go too far afield. Just as in a fine wine the addition through barrel aging of a little oak character can increase the interestingness of the finished wine, too much exposure to the oak can make it taste like munching on wood chips.
Another risk of chasing this elusive quality is that a mixture can lose its focus, become muddled, confused, lacking in identity. Sometimes, less can be more, and conversely, more can be less. I remember preparing a very elaborate recipe once that just didn’t deliver the goodness. There was nothing really wrong with the combination of flavors, but there was so much going on that it wasn’t really enjoyable. The complexity got in the way of the enjoyment.
So, there’s really no rote formula for adding complexity to a tobacco mixture, as it will depend on the qualities of the blend, where you want it to go, what elements you want to enhance, or perhaps subdue. A different grade of virginia, for instance, might be the ticket, or a pinch of perique, or even a bit of burley. I think starting with a limited palette of blending components is a good place to start, expanding it to bring in other elements as you become more familiar with the way just a few tobaccos interact with one another.
From some guy claiming to be called Dabney Skrillex – seriously, feverish or not, I couldn’t make this stuff up: Greg, how does inspiration come to you for developing new blends? Do you get an idea in the shower and try to remember it by the time you are dried off? Do you receive some leaf samples that inspire you? What are the different impetuses for a new blend to begin development in your hands? Is it a steady process with specific steps each time, or does it evolve during development? How long does the process take from idea to product on the shelf?
A: You sure do ask a lot of questions for a guy from New Jersey. (How did I know?) Inspiration can come from any directions providing we are open to it. My first blends came about as a result of wanting something I wasn’t finding in commercial products. I had this idea that a certain combination of tastes would be interesting, and so set about trying to create that. Things haven’t changed much since then, really. Sometimes it will be the memory of a great smoke from the past that I want to conjure, or just some wild idea, one of those “what if?” things. Sometimes, I’ll be traveling down the winding road to a blend, when I’ll get distracted by some shiny object glistening in the sun along the way, or maybe just a little bustling in the hedgerows (don’t be alarmed now). I’ll either make some notes to revisit later, or just wander absent-mindedly down the new path. And, yes, leaf samples can be very inspirational, but they’re often frustrating, as well. I remember working with this magnificent Brazilian leaf I’d been sent by the grower. I worked to make a blend with it, and was really happy with the results. Unfortunately, we could not negotiate a price that was even close to workable, so the blend never came to market. In the end, inspiration is where we find it.
Rutherford Dangbee writes: (Wait a minute. Seriously? Dangbee? I’m starting to think Kevin is punking me.) I absolutely love Maltese Falcon, but that has nothing to do with my question. Some people swear by using extra virgin olive oil on the exterior of their pipes to keep them nice and shiny. Others say that this is a bad thing because the olive oil can become rancid. Is it ok to use EVOO on your pipes? Are there other options?
A: Olive oil belongs on vegetables, carnuba wax belongs on pipes. I’m not sure rancidity is really an issue, but having an oily pipe accumulating grime and grit doesn’t seem too appealing to me. And, there really shouldn’t be much need to do anything to the surface of the briar other than to rub it with the “soft cloth” ubiquitously mentioned on the back label of every polishing product known to man. (Does anyone really grab a rough cloth to polish their spectacles or wax their car? Is common sense really dead? Are my shoes walking out of the room under their own power? These and other questions will not be addressed here. If you want those answers, please enter “rhetorical question” into Google’s search bar. And “feverish hallucinations.”) The problem with olive oil, or the “Nozoil” shine that some people apply to their pipes (google it) is that the surface will tend to accumulate schmutz, which over time will make the pipe shiny but grimy and drab. It’ll require a good cleaning, and waxing to bring its grain and lustre back.
Three are products on the market specifically made for polishing pipes, but perhaps the most economical and readily available option is Renaissance Wax. This is a micro-crystalline wax formulated originally at the British Museum’s curation laboratory, and now produced by Picreator Enterprises, Ltd. It will also help to prevent tarnish on sliver bands, and may even minimise discoloration of vulcanite mouthpieces, though it won’t remove it. And, yes, you’ll need a soft cloth. Save the EVOO for your salads.
From John: Orientals are generally lumped together as a group. The few individual tobaccos I hear about are Latakia and Smyrna, both of which I enjoy in blends. Are there any other varietals that have a distinct taste that we should look out for as having a unique taste?
A: That’s quite a tin of worms you’ve opened, and it would take pages to address the subject fully, but I’ll do my best to provide some sort of meaningful synopsis. Different types of oriental tobaccos are grown in a variety of regions, and their unique characteristics will be determined both by the tobacco’s genotypic nature and the conditions under which its grown. Just as virginia tobacco grown in Africa will result in a product that will be very different from the same strain grown in Virginia, an izmir leaf grown in Bulgaria will be different from the same seed grown in Izmir, Turkey, known as Smyrna in Latin, from which it gets its name. And, the fact that some use the Latin names, and others the Greek or Turkish names for the same tobaccos adds to the overall confusion.
The sad fact is that it’s very difficult to get single strains of oriental leaf in the quantities we need for the tiny pipe tobacco market. Most of the farmers will contract with the big cigarette tobacco brokers, and their varietal leaf ends up in a sort of homogenous product simply known as “oriental” tobacco, or sometimes “Turkish,” despite the fact that much of the leaf is grown in Greece, Bulgaria, Macedonia, and so on. It’s easy enough to get this in steady supply, and it’s relatively consistent, so we try to be happy with what we have, whilst simultaneously dreaming of a day when all the myriad varietals will rain down upon us like a relentless shower of Tetris pieces. It ain’t gonna happen.
Once in a while, though, a few bales of something really interesting fall off a camel drawn wagon, and finds its way into the pipe tobacco market, a flea on the back of vast cigarette empire. We all jump for joy, make blends with it, and then immediately start wondering what we’ll do when it runs out, hoping that something equally exciting will come along to replace it. Despite the promises of leaf suppliers, it’s a constant search and rescue mission to keep oriental tobaccos in stock in the grades we want. So, yes, there are many wonderful oriental tobaccos. Most of them we will never see, other than blended into cigarettes, which makes me cranky (see opening paragraphs) because it’s like buying the finest grapes from Burgundy, and blending them into something that will end up on convenience store shelves as Mad Dog, to be drunk by disheveled skid row urchins on the street corner from a paper sack-wrapped bottle, which fortunately only happens in my feverish hallucinations (ibid).
Richard pens: Another manufacturer recently claimed that their new Latakia flake has less casing than others on the market, and that the others are also topped. I was under the impression that your Latakia flakes are neither cased nor topped. Did I miss something? Also, do you know anything about this mysterious “special” Macedonian tobacco? Can you share any secrets, here?
A: No secrets, really. It’s nonsense. Quiet Nights, for example, is neither cased nor topped. For that matter, neither are Union Square, Fillmore or Embarcadero, though these aren’t Latakia flakes. This is one of the reasons my flakes tend to be a little looser than many of the others on the market, but I’ve generally chosen to blend in a more au naturel style, letting the true taste of the tobaccos come through without interference from added sugars and sauces. Gaslight, though a plug, not a flake, is also not sauced, and neither are the other plugs in my range. The only other flake I currently produce with Latakia is Sextant, which is flavored with a little rum, as indicated in the description, but is otherwise not cased.
As for the mysterious Macedonian tobacco, we’ve had it in the house for months, and so has another manufacturer, though I probably shouldn’t tell tales out of school. It really is wonderful stuff, and I suspect you’ll be seeing it featured in more blends over the coming months.
In a related question, Dougger wants to know: Lately, I have been experimenting with whole leaf tobaccos. I cut the leaves loosely and intend to press them into cakes. I have two questions 1) I case them with molasses and distilled water, but it’s making the tobacco (especially my burley) burn very hot; is there a way to correct this? Am I using too much molasses? And, 2) How humid should my loose cut blend be before I press it? I would like to form a sturdy cake that won’t fall apart, but will still develop flavour. I look forward to your response and I would appreciate any extra advice.
A: Without knowing the proportions you’re using, or how you’re applying the casing, it’s hard to say what might be going on. Sugars, in small amounts, can sometimes tame the “heat,” but the opposite effect is also possible, resulting in a tobacco that stings like a mouth full of angry yellow jackets. Finding the right balance is part of the blender’s art, and there’s no hard and fast rule to follow, here. Keep detailed notes. Try less. Try more. See how the percentage of molasses you use affects the overall profile. Also, keep in mind that if you’re blending very sweet virginias with the burleys, you might already be getting sufficient sugar in the mix. Your notebook will become your best friend as you pursue this adventure. Unfortunately, unless you have access to the necessary analytical equipment, the sugar content of your component leaf is an unknown, so you’ll have to wing it. Molasses typically has a sugar content of about 50%, consisting of sucrose, glucose and fructose, so take that into consideration in your calculations.
As far as moisture is concerned, you want to keep the leaf’s water content somewhere in the range of 15-18% by weight. Much more than that, and you risk mold and bacterial bloom; much less, and the tobaccos won’t respond well to the pressing. It takes a great deal of pressure (tons per square inch) and significant time to form a solid cake; tobacco has a “memory” so don’t be in a hurry to un-mold it. The longer you can leave it, the greater the probability of getting a nice solid block to work with. The most important piece of advice I can offer is to enjoy the experiments. And, keep us informed as you progress.
That’s it for this month. I’m going to root through the medicine chest for appropriate drugs, and go back to bed. I’m sure I’ll be better before next month. In the meanwhile, keep those cards and letters coming.
-glp
 Since 1999, Gregory L. Pease has been the principal alchemist behind the blends of G.L. Pease Artisanal Tobaccos. He’s been a passionate pipeman since his university days, having cut his pipe teeth at the now extinct Drucquer & Sons Tobacconist in Berkeley, California. Greg is also author of The Briar & Leaf Chronicles, a photographer, recovering computer scientist, sometimes chef, and creator of The Epicure’s Asylum. See our interview with G. L. Pease here. |
Written by Kevin Godbee
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Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 606. Our featured interview tonight is with Per George Jensen. Most pipe enthusiasts know Per as the longtime Mac Baren Tobacco Company spokesman. Last year he made some changes in his life. He got married, moved to Germany and parted ways with Mac Baren, but not with the tobacco business. He is consulting with Sutliff Tobacco Co., and he created the popular and unique signature tobacco series, âPipe Forceâ. Tonight’s discussion will include details on Perâs line of blending tobacco, which has something for everyone. You can smoke them straight, but if you want to blend tobaccos, we will have some good advice on this episode. At the top of the show, since it’s springtime, Brian will discuss seasonal tobaccos and answer two questions that come up often.
His grandfather came to the US with a $50 gold coin in his shoe, opened up a cigar shop, and his most famous customer was Babe Ruth. He holds the record for the longest slow smoke in the world at over 24 hours, and he is the only man who stopped Chuck Norris from round-house kicking the Nording Pipe Statue. The most interesting man in the world, Jonathan Goldsmith, stopped by the Chicago Pipe Show this year to get kissed on the cheek by Neal Osborn. Wait, what? OK, I kid. Jonathan came to honor his friend and fishing buddy Steve Norse of Vermont Freehand at the annual Doctors and Masters of Pipes award dinner. Steve was one of the two recipients of the Masters of Pipes award and asked Johnathan to show up and add some color to his acceptance speech. Slightly overshadowed but no less important! Jay Furman was also honored as this year’s hobbyist Master of Pipes, joining me and a pipe-star-studded list of great contributors to the hobby and profession of pipes. 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You may be wondering what the most interesting pipe smoker in the world smokes…. I didn’t miss the opportunity to chat with this incredibly nice man, whom Brian Levine and I also remembered from one of our favorite TV shows, the A-Team. He was also in many other shows from the 80s, such as Magnum PI, Murder She Wrote, Dallas, and MacGyver, just to name a few. Jonathan: I actually enjoy simple and readily available tobacco like Captain Black or some black cavendish from my local cigar and pipe shop in Vermont. What about your first pipe? Jonathan: I picked up my first pipe; I think it was a billiard when I was in London many years ago at a place called James Fox. How often do you smoke? Jonathan: Almost every day. I enjoy a pipe in the morning and a cigar in the afternoon. 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While the show was jam-packed, the spacing of the tables allowed everyone to move around freely and didn’t feel over-crowded as the tables and isles were spaced out to allow room for vendors and collectors to stretch out. The smoking tent was hopping all the time, but luckily, air flow and some great air purifiers by Lake Air kept it fresh. As usual, there was a great sample table with tons of things to try in the tent, and on your way to the tent, there was a conveniently placed cash bar. This year the tent was 25% bigger than last year, although you wouldn’t notice because there were more people at the show! Kaywoodie is under new Management. At the show, I chatted with Nathan “Greywoodie” Davis about how he came to take over the 173-year-old company. Tell me how this happened. Nathan: This month is my 5th anniversary of Greywoodie opening. I was friends with Bill and had a huge collection of Kaywoodies – I approached him about having them available outside of brick and mortar. 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When I first started with the pipe as a quirky and precocious teen, the only tutelage I had at my disposal were scenes from old movies in which a well dressed chap would stick his pipe into a pouch, scoop tobacco into the bowl and press it down unceremoniously with his thumb. Then, with great flourish, heâd strike a match and light the thing with all manner of cinematic excess, puffing up vast clouds of smoke falling just short of completely obscuring his visage. While it may look good on film, it’s a terrible approach to actually enjoying the thing. Somehow, though, this âtechniqueâ seems to have survived in the contemporary vernacular, at least to some extent, even with bit-loads of information handily at our fingertips that should dissuade us from the practice. But, at the time, this misguided approach was all I had; itâs no wonder my early days of puffing were fraught with difficult lighting, harsh, bitter smokes and tongue bite, all culminating in a fireproof mass of ye old soggy dottle in the bottom of the bowl. Ultimately, the resulting frustration made me give up the pipe, at least for a while. While the idea of it was still very appealing, the practice of it was not. It wasnât until a few years later when, still full of curiosity and romantic notions of pipe smoking, I wandered into a real tobacconistâs shop, and learned my âmethodâ was a long way from the techniques that would bring me to any sort of pipe smoking bliss. So, after my poor start, and under the guidance of someone who actually seemed to know how to do it right, I was given the opportunity to approach the process anew, this time with much greater success. It was only because I was both perseverent, and fortunate to have a local shop staffed with knowledgeable people, that Iâve been able to enjoy the experience ever since. At least mostly⌠How many fledgeling pipe smokers have simply given up on an enjoyable pastime because of similar early mis-starts? Fortunately, today, itâs not hard to find helpful guidance at the press of a key or ten. But, at the same time, not all roads lead to Valhalla, and sometimes the advice offered might well be labeled with, âHere be dragons.â The other day, I came across a short video on-line in which a well-meaning tobacconist suggested packing a bowl of an âEnglishâ mixture ânice and tight.â Perhaps somewhat ironically, I was smoking, or trying to smoke a bowl that Iâd filled on auto-pilot, packed too tightly, and not only was having the devil of a time trying to keep it lit, I really wasnât enjoying the acrid smoke the tobacco issued during the brief periods in which it was actually burning. âNo, no, NO!â I found myself muttering at my pipe, and at the figure on the screen, my protests joined by the guttural growling noises that sometimes accompany my discontent. Defiantly, I grabbed a pipe nail, shoveled out the dense, asbestos-like clog from the bowl, swabbed out the shank with a pipe cleaner, more out of habit than need since I hadnât actually smoked enough of the mass to foul the shank, and started over, this time paying proper attention to what I was doing. (For as long as Iâve been doing this, I still screw it all up sometimes.) Much better. This got me thinking about a couple things that are so important to the maximal enjoyment of our pipes, yet not often enough discussed, namely how different tobaccos respond to variations in filling density, and moisture content; two separate but related parameters. Once Iâd been shown the proper way to fill the bowl, or at least a proper way, everything had changed for me. I also began drying my tobacco down as a matter of course. Suddenly, there was greater cooperation between leaf and flame, the smoke was rich and flavorful, and it burned mostly to the bottom of the bowl with few relights. Given that, at the time, I smoked latakia mixtures almost exclusively, there didnât seem to be a reason to explore beyond my ânewâ approach. It wasnât until my attention turned in the direction of Virginia blends that I had to look a bit deeper. The same technique that worked so well for me with latakia mixtures resulted in bland, and often harsh smokes with Virginias. I attributed this to the tobaccos, convincing myself that I just didnât like the stuff. At one of our pipe club meetings, I was talking with a friend who smoked Three Nuns exclusively. When he offered me a bowl. I thanked him, and told him that I just didnât seem to get along well with Virginias, that they werenât for me. âMaybe itâs the way you pack them. Here, let me fill your pipe for you.â I watched as he rubbed out a few coins to fine ribbons, moister than I was then accustomed to, and filled the bowl carefully in stages, pressing it tighter than I would have. 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Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 604. Our featured interview tonight is with Jon David Cole. JD is the Owner/Tobacconist at The Country Squire in Jackson, MS, and he is the former co-host of the podcast, Country Squire Radio, which ended their 10-year run last year. Weâll have JD with the âFrom the Country Squireâ segment talking about all the new things happening at the store and in the business in general. At the top of the show, weâll continue our audio tour of Brian’s pipe collection.
Before we begin, I should tell you: this tobacco review is being written by an A.I. Not the fancy new GPTs or their ilk; no, this is last centuryâs meat-and-bone, all-organic model. To be fair, a large part of what we call knowledge is merely the accumulated perceptions and impressions gathered from a life wandered through, synthesized into a spongy mass of what-it-is-that-we-think-that-we-know. The algorithm for this prompt is simple enough: pump thousands of bowls of smoldering plant matter into a gaping maw, cross-reference the chemical sensations with all other matter previously ingested or inhaled, sieve it all through the diffuse and fractal twin lens of memory and emotion, and churn out a panoply of adjectives that attempts to convey the sensations to someone who hasnât experienced it yet. Odds are that a diligently trained monkey could succeed half the time; if this reviewer nears fifty-one percent then that would qualify as an unrivaled success. There must have been some similar musings perambulating through the mind of Per Jensen when he began his mad scientist routine at Sutliff with the Pipe Force project, which brings us to the current mixture under the microscopeâSutliffâs Pipe Force: Episode I. Here again are the unusual ingredients that engendered the series, with the stoved Rustica being the defining voice in this composition. From the tin: The Latakia-forward English mixture offers plenty of smoky flavor from the fire-cured leaf, which is artfully harmonized with floral, earthy Stoved Rustica. A mixture of high-grade Virginias imparts a natural sweetness. Katerini, the sole Oriental component, offers herb and spice notes bringing complexity and nuance to the flavor profile. Itâs certainly Latakia-forward, with the stoved Rustica doubling up on the rhythm section like a second bassist. A first whiff from the tin releases the aromas of shoe leather and hide glue in a base of clay soil with a campfire wafted over it like last nightâs beach party. Once itâs been accustomed to oxygen again, subtle hints of sweetness poke through from the Virginias: lemon rind, light milk chocolate, the dregs of a peaty Scotch, and muddled cherry. Old regulars like fresh-sawn oak and tilled earth are there, of course, with distinct notes of truffle, creosote, damp peat, and pine bark mulch. As an aside, Iâve been re-potting my camellias and the similarity of aroma to the ericaceous soil mix is notable; the Katerini really brings the unique depth of its vegetal complexion when supported by the Rustica and afforded more voice in the mix. The smoky Cyprian Latakia, in turn, is backed by equal earthiness from the Rustica, which overall exhibits a profile similar to dark-fired Kentucky; it leans more toward the woody and vegetal end of that spectrum, echoing and amplifying those traits of the other constituents. The tobacco is presented pressed and cut into a couple of thick, hearty flakes in the tin, lightly moist and easily crumbled to prepareâI prefer mine with a bit of drying time. The out-of-this-world tin art for this episode in the series is Major OâMeara smoking a cavalier. In the absence of confirmation, Iâm going to hazard a guess heâs of the Ithklur species. The first taste from the light is sweet, with hints of that milk chocolate dancing around the edges. The Virginia leads the smoke through the top of the bowl, and orchestrates it well. Thoroughly smoky with lemony, grassy highlights from the Virginia spectrum, it soon segues into the mid-bowl profile: heartier, smokier, with the flavor leaning to the mildly acrid and tangy tinge that is the campfire-esque signature of English blends. Caution advised, it can turn overly bitter if pushedâthis is where oneâs sipping technique is required to maintain the fullness of flavor through to the heel. I did tend toward a lot of relights, though it may have as much to do with technique as with the blend. Pacing is also important as the nicotine starts to manifest; though the Rusticaâs contribution has been tempered well by the stoving, it can certainly upend an empty stomach. At the end of every bowl, the mouthfeel somehow gets better. The balance of sugars in the tobaccos would seem to be spot-on in this regard. I started out my tasting in cobs, then cut short an unpleasant bowl in a meer, and finally landed on my best instrument with the lovely Dunhill 4427 pictured, a quaint group 4 shell briar with a gentle curve and Cumberland stem supporting a perfectly executed acorn bowl. It surprised me here, as Iâve learned through the years that I generally have the best experience with English blends in large, wide bowls. With this blend it seems that to get the best out of the Kateriniâs somewhat diaphanous influence the smaller bowl fared much better. Room note is very English, so the company you keep will either love it or hate it, and it doesnât linger too much. I find it paired best with a strong coffee; Sumatran beans complement the flavors well, as do Ethiopian if a lighter brew is preferred. Overall impressions of the blend are that itâs a curiously interesting take on the English genre, almost a reductive reconstruction of the theme using the unique components. This blend, if nothing else, expanded my vocabulary of sense perceptions with the uniquely treated leaf. While the average human can distinguish approximately one trillion (1,000,000,000,000!) different aromas, multiplied by seven basic tastes, and wholly dependent on variables from body chemistry to atmospheric conditions, our overworked and underpaid simian brains canât effectively catalog them all. Our pet adding machines are exceedingly good at this, however, and someday soon theyâll be the ultimate and unequivocal authority on what something tastes, smells, looks, or even feels like. Until that time, friends, revel in the moments that can be stolen to savor over a bowl of Pipe Force: Episode I.
A tough series of questioned. Most of the guys I know who like to blend tobacco basically take existing tobaccos and throw them together in some sort of ad hoc ratio and call it a new blend. Sometimes these mixtures turn out very well, sometimes not.
Thanks for another good read. There wasn’t much here that I’m interested in knowing, but the entertainment value was still pretty high. The EVOO part was funny, and the accompanying illustration cracks me up! đ
Great read once again! Maybe this sounds a bit weird or gross, but my skin is pretty oily from itself. So when I have cleaned a pipe after smoking I always rub it against my head to make it shiny again.
Arno – Nozoil. Look it up. There was a whole cult following to this “mysterious” product at one point in the recent history. The problem with oils of any kind is that grime will accumulate over time. I can’t tell you how many pipes I’ve restored that actually had grain lurking beneath layers of caked on grime and facial oils.
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To each his own.
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KCG, I always encourage people to play with blending. Only then will they discover just how tricky the art can be. đ
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Cortez, you can thank Kevin for the photos. He always seems to have a good time with them.
Thanks for another great read.
Thanks for responding to my question about complexity. I figured that was probably the answer, but I wanted your thoughts on the matter, as so many of your blends are exemplars of complexity. Great column, as always!