Hello Smoke Folk.
Here's the effusion on Pease's Gaslight I just posted at Tobaccoreviews.com.
Now I've been to two church socials and a county fair, but I have never encountered a tobacco like Gaslight. When I lit up my first bowl, I wondered whether someone hadn't been storing potpourri in my meerschaum earlier in the week. That's how intensely fragrant Gaslight is. This I attribute to the Orientals, but the Orientals alone wouldn't account for the sheer intensity of flavor you encounter. It is as though Mr. Pease has devised a way to fuse together the spice and herbaciousness of Oriental varieties with the leather and tar of the Latakia, producing some spookily concentrated hybrid wholly unlike its constituent parts. While there's nothing overbearing here (the nicotine is moderate, the burn is even, and the virginias serve to temper and balance the mixture), the experience demands something like total concentration, like an organ concert in surround sound. In the tin, the two bars look at first small and unprepossessing, like a Jenny Craig dessert, albeit a bewitchingly perfumed one. Once you smoke Gaslight, however, those ingots take on a mysterious quality, as though someone informed you on good authority that they'd been quarried out of a black hole. If some tobaccos are all-day tobaccos and some are early-morning or after-dinner smokes, then Gaslight is a hold-my-calls, forward-my-mail, look-after-my-kids I'll-call-you-from-the-other- end-of-the-wormhole mixture. Did I mention that it is wonderful? Because man oh man it is.
Here's the effusion on Pease's Gaslight I just posted at Tobaccoreviews.com.
Now I've been to two church socials and a county fair, but I have never encountered a tobacco like Gaslight. When I lit up my first bowl, I wondered whether someone hadn't been storing potpourri in my meerschaum earlier in the week. That's how intensely fragrant Gaslight is. This I attribute to the Orientals, but the Orientals alone wouldn't account for the sheer intensity of flavor you encounter. It is as though Mr. Pease has devised a way to fuse together the spice and herbaciousness of Oriental varieties with the leather and tar of the Latakia, producing some spookily concentrated hybrid wholly unlike its constituent parts. While there's nothing overbearing here (the nicotine is moderate, the burn is even, and the virginias serve to temper and balance the mixture), the experience demands something like total concentration, like an organ concert in surround sound. In the tin, the two bars look at first small and unprepossessing, like a Jenny Craig dessert, albeit a bewitchingly perfumed one. Once you smoke Gaslight, however, those ingots take on a mysterious quality, as though someone informed you on good authority that they'd been quarried out of a black hole. If some tobaccos are all-day tobaccos and some are early-morning or after-dinner smokes, then Gaslight is a hold-my-calls, forward-my-mail, look-after-my-kids I'll-call-you-from-the-other- end-of-the-wormhole mixture. Did I mention that it is wonderful? Because man oh man it is.
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