This is my first attempt at a tobacco review so please bear with me as I fumble my way through it. I’ve been able to hold my own for years when it comes to conversing about red wine and bourbon, but this tobacco thing has always eluded me. You read a review, overhear folks talking or somebody suggests a blend and I’d give it a whirl. If I liked it, swell. I’d lay in a supply.
On that note, I recently purchased a very light Aromatic from Heroes and Legacies in Austin, TX. It’s named Dry Cider. Now, I’m primarily an English guy: anything from light to heavy. I love the campfire smoky goodness of Latakia and have learned to appreciate the many strains of Orientals from the Occident. Aromatics, which most of us probably started out smoking, gave way many years ago in my preferences tab. I guess it’s like drinking adult beverages: rum and cokes or 7s and 7 eventually evolve to a couple of fingers of your potable of choice on the rocks or with a splash.
I came by a sample of Dry Cider during an exchange with Baron who had picked it up from Austin resident Belgian Mick. I opened up the baggie and was met with this faint apple aroma that reminded me of so many childhood Fall seasons in the Ozarks of Missouri: raking mounds of oak leaves, maple trees on fire, Friday night football games, cooler temperatures and sweet red and yellow apples overflowing the family snack bowl.
Maybe that’s why I like this tobacco so much. It’s evocative for me – taking me back to a much simpler time when my greatest concerns were mastering the week’s Vocabulary list and getting to my Cub Scout den meetings on time. The greatest surprise with this smoke is how understated it is. The aroma is just barely there as is the hint of sweetness which barely teases the palate. As much as I want to chug and huff and blow volumes of smoke into the air, I find myself uncharacteristically sipping and savoring this concoction.
Like any tobacco I’m sure it could torch the flesh out of your mouth if you turn your lungs into bellows but this is a blend meant for tiny puffs. There's no goopiness either which I understand comes from heavy casings. This tobacco always burns down to a fine gray ash for me.
I just thought of something. Smoking Dry Cider is like drinking Calvados. When you pour some into a snifter you know from the slight apple scent that you’re drinking fermented fruit but the apple taste barely registers and after one sip you know you’re knocking back a terrific brandy.
Which brings us to Samuel Johnson who once wrote, “Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.”
The blender of Dry Cider is a young lady, Aubrey Mathis. (She goes by “Obe.”) There’s a very good chance she’ll answer the phone if you ever call the shop and I promise you’ll find her to be smart, pleasant and very knowledgeable.
Fnord
On that note, I recently purchased a very light Aromatic from Heroes and Legacies in Austin, TX. It’s named Dry Cider. Now, I’m primarily an English guy: anything from light to heavy. I love the campfire smoky goodness of Latakia and have learned to appreciate the many strains of Orientals from the Occident. Aromatics, which most of us probably started out smoking, gave way many years ago in my preferences tab. I guess it’s like drinking adult beverages: rum and cokes or 7s and 7 eventually evolve to a couple of fingers of your potable of choice on the rocks or with a splash.
I came by a sample of Dry Cider during an exchange with Baron who had picked it up from Austin resident Belgian Mick. I opened up the baggie and was met with this faint apple aroma that reminded me of so many childhood Fall seasons in the Ozarks of Missouri: raking mounds of oak leaves, maple trees on fire, Friday night football games, cooler temperatures and sweet red and yellow apples overflowing the family snack bowl.
Maybe that’s why I like this tobacco so much. It’s evocative for me – taking me back to a much simpler time when my greatest concerns were mastering the week’s Vocabulary list and getting to my Cub Scout den meetings on time. The greatest surprise with this smoke is how understated it is. The aroma is just barely there as is the hint of sweetness which barely teases the palate. As much as I want to chug and huff and blow volumes of smoke into the air, I find myself uncharacteristically sipping and savoring this concoction.
Like any tobacco I’m sure it could torch the flesh out of your mouth if you turn your lungs into bellows but this is a blend meant for tiny puffs. There's no goopiness either which I understand comes from heavy casings. This tobacco always burns down to a fine gray ash for me.
I just thought of something. Smoking Dry Cider is like drinking Calvados. When you pour some into a snifter you know from the slight apple scent that you’re drinking fermented fruit but the apple taste barely registers and after one sip you know you’re knocking back a terrific brandy.
Which brings us to Samuel Johnson who once wrote, “Claret is the liquor for boys; port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.”
The blender of Dry Cider is a young lady, Aubrey Mathis. (She goes by “Obe.”) There’s a very good chance she’ll answer the phone if you ever call the shop and I promise you’ll find her to be smart, pleasant and very knowledgeable.
Fnord
