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Radio Talk Show

  • Dylan-Schlender-cropped
    Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 600

    Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 600. Our featured interview tonight is with Dylan J. Schlender. This is the return of our series of interviews with “Journeymen Pipe Smokers” – guys that have been smoking pipes between five and 10 years. Dylan started smoking in 2018 with a Winslow pipe, and Captain Black. (He soon learned that he likes English-style blends much more.) He resides in CT and works in IT. He also co-hosts his own podcast, “Reels of Justice – The Official Fake Movie Court Podcast”. He is one of four co-hosts where they put a movie on trial each week. At the top of the show, in celebration of upcoming St. Patrick’s Day, Brian will read “Paddy Larrigan’s 100th Birthday” by Chuck Stanion. It was originally published on SmokingPipes.com’s Daily Reader. 

  • Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 599

    Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 599. Our featured interview tonight is with Jeremy Reeves. Jeremy is the Head Blender at Cornell & Diehl, which is one of the most popular boutique pipe tobacco companies in the USA. Jeremy has been a pipe smoker for over a decade and is passionate about pipes, pipe tobacco, and blending tobacco. Tonight’s discussion will focus on Oriental Tobaccos, and Brian said HE even learned something. At the top of the show, Brian will continue the tour of his pipe collection with the “Satou Reds”.

  • Steve Fallon
    Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 598

    Welcome to The Pipes Magazine Radio Show Episode 598. Our featured interview tonight is with Steve “PipeStud” Fallon. Steve has one of the most popular consignment-auction businesses for estate pipes and vintage tobaccos that he’s been running since 2006. If you know Steve, you know he’s a big fan of the original Dunhill blend, Royal Yacht. The last time Steve was on the show was in 2020, so we’ll see what’s new with him, and the estate pipes and vintage tobaccos business. At the top of the show, Brian will discuss what to do with the tiny bits of tobacco at the bottom of the tin.

Tobacco Reviews

  • McCranie's Roanoke Tobacco with Becker Pipe
    McCranie’s Roanoke Tobacco Review

    The winter winds are really whipping at the windows here in the northeast, lashing out the last gasps of the season. Not the best weather for outdoor pipes, frankly. Luckily here I am, snuggled tight inside next to a purring cat and a cozy heater, with a mug of warm chai, a book filled with adventures in tropical realms, and a pipe full of the taste of warmer climes. This month the particular blend in question is McCranie’s Roanoke, a delicious two-ounce serving of summertime-in-a-jar. A tobacco house patterned after the classics, McCranie’s is well known locally to Charlottians, and to pipe tobacco aficionados the world over. From its humble beginning as an Edward’s franchise back in 1979, its current incarnation is led by its third-generation namesake Matthew McCranie, who was interviewed by our very own Brian Levine on the PipesMagazine.com radio show not too long ago. (Interview here.) Ask any veteran piper about McCranie’s Red Ribbon or Red Flake and they’ll likely get a wistful, far-away look in their eye as they recall the singular nature of those monumental marques that will unfortunately never be repeated.  The McCranie’s story is intricately tied to the McClelland story. McCranie’s landmark blends Red Ribbon and Red Flake, which showcased exceptional single-crop, single-year, local Carolina offerings, were processed and tinned by McClelland, and with the passing of that blending house a vacuum was created that was felt far and wide across the tobacco world. Not to be deterred, Matt McCranie dusted off the family blending cap and set about sourcing leaf and creating a whole new legacy for the brand. So it was that while shopping for review blends I navigated to the McCranie’s website and decided to sample some of their new offerings—and am I ever glad that I did. As I get older I find that it sometimes takes a more conscious effort to break out of habit and routine; I’ve hoarded plenty of Red Ribbon and Flake tins in my own cellar, yet had only tried one other of McCranie’s offerings, the also-erstwhile Murdock’s Pipe (a delightful blend, but not to my general preference). Well, it was high time to rectify that situation. The first thing of note is the presentation: McCranie’s own-label blends are now being offered in glass jars holding a full two ounces of leaf. As a matter of course I generally buy tobacco with the intent to set the majority of it aside to age while I whittle my way through a tin or two, and stocking up with glass jars makes me feel better about that investment in future enjoyments. The jar itself sports a simple label bearing the McCranie’s logo, the name of the blend, and a portion of the William James Linton engraving The Lost Colony, referencing the famous lost colony of Roanoke located in Dare County, on the Outer Banks. From the website we find the description of the blend: McCranie’s Roanoke is a rich and complex blend made of Red, Gold, and Dark Virginias with a helping of Louisiana Perique, perfect for Virginia Perique lovers. The Red Virginia provides a sweet and tangy flavor that complements the bold and spicy notes of the Perique. It’s a tobacco meant to be savored slowly to fully appreciate the flavors that develop throughout the bowl. Simplicity is what McCranie’s does best, and Roanoke is a perfect example of that simplicity in all its glory: a Virginia-Perique blend par excellence. Unscrewing the lid releases a burst of a sweet, tart bouquet that immediately carves out its own place in the genre. Top notes of raspberry jam and buttered toast hint of the tobacco’s sugary richness, and are a tantalizing departure from the more common lemony complexion of most VaPer blends. Some airing time brings mid-tones of driftwood and clay soil—a natural allusion to its namesake—along with more typical VaPer notes of mulled wine, ketchup, stone fruit, milk chocolate, and leather, along with the telltale nose-tingling that accompanies a healthy portion of Perique. The leaf still feels a little young at times, with the tiniest of edges and errant notes on occasion—this does, however, bode well for its future in the cellar, and did not intrude on the smoking experience negatively. The supple, chocolatey ribbons come at a perfect humidity for packing directly or allowing a short drying time, and the jar keeps a clear concentration of the aromas contained like a brandy snifter, without the cardboard or paper wrapper in tins that can color the aromas, if ever so slightly. In the bowl, Roanoke is a midwinter’s dream. Smoking lightly and effortlessly despite its obvious richness and youth, the first ounce disappeared within a week, before I’d even finished my tasting notes. It’s an easy one to recommend as an all-day blend—my own smoking habit has decreased significantly in the past several years and leaves me readily susceptible to a too-sharp Virginia tongue bite, but this never even nipped at the edges. On the contrary, it delivered a rich and colorful smoke bowl after bowl in the same pipe, with a flat-cola mouthfeel and aftertaste better than any blend in recent memory; I’d place it alongside an aged Escudo or Sunday Picnic in a heartbeat. The Perique component is at a good amount, alluringly drawing out the complementary flavors of the variety of Virginias employed and providing a finely nuanced cohesion to the overall. Repeated rations in the same pipe were never an issue, and in fact seemed to improve the flavor of each subsequent helping. For all its flavor it’s notably mild in nicotine, and the room note, though it lacks the richness of the direct smoke, casts a pleasant afterglow that doesn’t linger overlong. This blend certainly tells me that McCranie’s is still a name that carries its weight in the pipe world. Not many tobaccos make me want to plan a pilgrimage to their source. (I wonder what the airfare to Charlotte is this time of year…?) Also a blessing and a curse […]

  • Christmas-in-a-Can
    Christmas in a Can

    Try as one may, getting caught up in the Dreaded Holiday Rush is inevitable. So many errands to run, plans to be made, commitments to extend, and lots of traveling to do, to and fro; the whooshing sound that deadlines make as they fly by. Fortunately, we pipe smokers have a secret weapon against the onslaught of anxiety that such times can induce: kicking back with a bowl and a favorite blend, and savoring our time. Such it is that I finally get around to this deadline-busting installment of tobacco reviews, discovering three new blends peculiar to the season: Pipe Force Episode VI, Cringle Flake Holiday Edition 2023, and Plum Pudding Christmas Spirit, all brought to us from the house of Sutliffe Tobacco. Santa, eat your heart out. Pipe Force Episode VI A woody, tangy mixture of select Virginia leaf is elevated with Stoved Katerini, adding dark berry and spice. Dark-Fired Kentucky and St. James Perique enrich the base with earthy notes, pepper, and a light smokiness. Episode VI is a savory, vinous evolution from the natural sweetness and dark flavor of the Virginia/Perique genre. Richness with nuance all the way down. A passion project collaboration with Sutliffe, the Pipe Force line of the Per Jensen Signature Series certainly speaks to sci-fi nerds of my ilk, both in concept and execution. Like the Birds of a Feather series preceding it, the conceptualization begins with ‘unique ingredients’ as the canvas on which to build; in this incarnation, a delightfully stoved Katerini is the star of the show, supported by the doo-wop duo of dark-fired and Perique singing backup over the baseline of Virginia. This is Per Jensen freestyling, Jackson Pollock-esque strokes thrown wildly against the canvas. Opening the tin, the bouquet of the tightly-pressed crumble cake is centered on rich fruit and a tart background, with more than a hint of furniture polish—a slightly vinegary, tannic note of light oak overlaid with lemony vanillin edges and beeswax. Once the blend acclimates to its unsealing, the vinegary aldehydes dissipate to leave familiar Virginia fruit-and-leather base notes with top-note aromas straddling sweet and savory. In its place is a rather complex melange of impressions: bitter and powdery baker’s chocolate, green wood, dried apricot, mesquite barbecue. In the smoke, the chocolate fades demurely to the background, upstaged by the tangy dryness in the Katerini and peppery piquancy of the Perique. The stoved Katerini imparts a particular voice as it steers the blend; in turns the meaty sweetness of a Medjool date, or earthy and a tad gamey like seared rabbit tips. It is not the rather floral and bright version of the leaf I am accustomed to, and carries itself differently in the company of the other constituents in this blend. The complexion of the smoke drifts and varies refreshingly—indeed, sometimes erratically—over the course of the bowl, giving it enough interest to recommend as a repeat visit to further explore the nuance of the novel ingredients. Overall the blend is every bit as chaotic and unexpected as the theme and tin art would suggest. As the blends are limited small-batch runs, they’re very much worth the effort to seek out and try. Cringle Flake Holiday Edition 2023 Mark Ryan’s 2003 Vintage Perique leads the way again for this year’s Cringle Flake. Stoved Katerini has been added to the blend combined with decade old Red Virginias to create one of the most unique blends available today. The whole leaf is then pressed and sliced into broken flakes. Continuing with the experimental treatment of the Katerini, Cringle Flake 2023 makes use of it to even greater effect in this year’s holiday release. Revealing the thickly-sliced loose flakes of gingerbread-brown tobacco, the initial bouquet is familiar VaPer territory, with just a little something extra—high dry wine notes, bright tart hops, mild astringent, pine soap, and incense fill out the bouquet. The fruit notes here are more pineberry than the usual stewed plum or raisin, with a light floral lilt that translates deliciously into the smoke. The flakes break effortlessly, and are at perfect straight-from-the-tin humidity. A brief nose of lemon-lime soda on the charring light segues to a bready croissant in the top bowl; the mid-bowl depth emerges with a rich umami, the condimental leafs coaxing sweet spice in the range of nutmeg, orange peel and rose hips that continues to a smooth finish, never getting too heavy. The Katerini is, for me, better expressed here than in the previous blend; in full disclosure of bias, VaPers with Orientals are very much to my smoking preference, and this is easily one of the most intriguing I’ve had the pleasure of packing in a bowl. It smokes clean and light after repeated bowls, almost effervescent; piquant, complex, and full of intrigue, with a wonderful nose on the retrohale and waft from the bowl—and all perfectly tempered from the well-aged constituents. For my money, this is an all-star blend. Seattle Pipe Club Plum Pudding Christmas Spirit Nothing says Christmas Spirit like Plum Pudding. The traditional centerpiece of holiday celebrations since the 17thcentury. America’s most popular Balkan, Christmas Spirit is Joe’s gift to luxury tobacco fans everywhere. Delight in our limited 2023 edition of Plum Pudding Special Reserve aged 30 days in charred oak Apple Brandy barrels, pressed and crumble plug cut. A chunk of the barrel rests in every tin. Merry Christmas from the Seattle Pipe Club. The original Plum Pudding is a towering achievement of a pipe blend, and I would have to agree with the assessment that it’s America’s most popular Balkan. This special holiday presentation, aged in apple brandy casks, manages to make perfection just a little bit better. The familiar is there, along with added highlights: strong oak campfire notes form the backbone, wrapped in parchment, grenache grape, Port wine, Lapsang souchong tea. The plug presentation is not as tightly compressed as others, so cutting portions off to crumble the darkly mottled leaf comes handily. The smoke is much lighter in weight than the […]

  • Down Yonder Tobacco Featured
    Seattle Pipe Club Down Yonder Review

    Hot off the presses, quite literally: Seattle Pipe Club’s Down Yonder is our subject for perusal in this installment. Continuing Joe Lankford’s legacy blends with the Signature Series, this tin contains a deceptively simple tobacco: nothing but well-stoved Brazilian-grown Virginia leaf, pressed into crumble cakes. While it still feels a little young in the tin to my palate, with a little bit of time this stuff doubtless has great potential to open up. Advance sneak-peeks of review blends are truly a treasure to tickle the senses. The opportunity to boldly smoke what no-one (or at least only a select few) has smoked before is like Christmas in August. That it was a forthcoming SPC blend that had mysteriously appeared in my mailbox was a double joy. From the tin, adorned with Grant Wood’s American Gothic couple poking out of the roundel: In the country, Down Yonder is far away, often beyond the horizon. And a wish for simpler times. This delicious pure Virginia just might take you there. Rare Brazilian Virginia leaf is remarkably smooth from the unique stoving process. Slow steam and heating ferments and darkens the tobaccos. The aroma is heady and rich with hints of sweetness. Stoving was one of Joe Lankford’s favorite methods. So travel Down Yonder and back to a bygone era. It will be worth the journey.   So what is this mixture about? Well, like the rather rustic name, it’s plain yet evocative. On peeling back the lid from this one-week-old tin, the dark mahogany leaf seems almost trepidatious, unsure about releasing its aroma. When it does, nothing so much as dark, overripe prunes dominate initially, but after catalyzing in oxygen for some time the more subtle nuances of the leaf begin to tease out. The ruddy black color is an indication of where the aromas lie: prune and raisin, paste wax, belt leather, burned coffee, fresh cut maple wood, turned earth, dry milk chocolate. The sweetness, in fact, doesn’t develop in the aroma as one might anticipate from the richness of the leaf; at least not yet, anyway. There is something very classic about the bouquet: it’s the scent of the tobacco stores of yesteryear. It’s almost too easy to smoke, in every regard. The crumble cake presentation is at once both hearty and efficient: the big, chunky logs remind me of filet mignon tips, while breaking them apart and packing up a bowl is effortless. Speaking of filet mignon, it’s perfectly suited to a pre- or post-steak (or burger, or roast, etcetera) smoke—the range of flavors complements meat quite well. Straight out of the tin it’s a bit moist, so give it time to breathe. The flavors of the smoke translate synonymously from the aromas. It takes occasional tending to keep the ember where you want it, but is otherwise as uncomplicated as the flavor. After the charring light, it settles in and delivers the prune and leather and coffee satisfyingly over the palate. The ad copy does not lie when it claims to be remarkably smooth—it decidedly is, leaving a comfortable, treacly flat-cola aftertaste on the tongue. If pushed it may tend toward souring, but is easy to manage and never evinced a hint of bite, even so young as it was. The stoving certainly rounds and enriches the leaf, exactly as touted. Perhaps the only thing better than receiving pre-release tobaccos is sharing them with an old friend. Near the end of my taste-testing week, my old buddy Carlos flew into town, and I was delighted to include him in the tasting regimen. We loaded up our pipes and headed out-of-doors, breaking the law ever-so-slightly to enjoy catching up on a bench in Central Park. After comparing tasting notes, our talk of course drifted to pipes and pipe makers; Carlos had found the perfect traveling pipes in Eltang Basics, and I will admit to just a tinge of jealousy and the onset of a mild case of PAD. I was enjoying one of my old Chacoms, a suitably simple Canadian that always treats Virginias well, this Down Yonder being no exception. We caught each other up on our lives, apperceptive of the lost pandemic years. The weather was perfect and the conversation flowed as easily as the smoke, lasting nearly an hour from a standard bowl, and helping us work up an appetite to continue our conversation over dinner. Though this entry in the SPC Signature Series is not a blend per se, it’s a delicious addition to the lineup both on its own merits and as a component in one’s own blending endeavors, as was Joe’s custom. A pinch added to a bright Virginia blend serves to mellow and smooth everything over gratifyingly; as a base which to add some whole-leaf Basma I happened to have laying around after the last review, it made for an incredible bedtime smoke. On its own it may be a one-note song, but a very good note it is—solid, tasty, old-timey tobacco flavor done right, consistent from start to finish. The room note is mild and, as mentioned, redolent of every tobacco shop there ever was. It is also best enjoyed with old friends to reminisce with, sharing talk of those times gone by, and times yet to come.

Fireside

  • Garfinkel Pipe with Garfinkel Orient Express Tobacco
    FOMO

    I confess. I’m a Latakiaphile. Ever since I first smelled the smoke of the dusky leaf, I’ve been in love with it. I know this is no surprise to anyone who has followed any part of my weird journey through pipedom, but I wanted to state it openly, get it off my chest. Mostly, because I seem to have been in something of a weird state of denial about this fact myself for some months. It started innocently enough during the heat of last year’s summer, a time when I find myself feeling the gravitational pull of lighter tobaccos. While winter weather and bigger, bolder Latakia mixtures have always been my ideal companions in the colder, moister clime, they can be a bit overwhelming to me when the mercury rises. While I enjoy the taste and aromas of those first few puffs, as the bowl progresses, my senses soon feel fatigued, overwhelmed, like putting on a comfortable but heavy top coat and wandering out into the blazing sun. In the summer months, I have always turned to “lighter” blends, sometimes with just a whisper of Latakia, more often with none at all. Virginias, with or without the added condiment of perique or oriental leaf are just the ticket when short sleeves and tee shirts are the uniform of the day. Even burley blends tend to feel more apropos then. I know there are many who smoke the same blends year-round, but I’ve never been one of them. If I’m honest, I am a little jealous of those folks. It’s a bit of a curse to have my tastes tied inextricably to uncontrollable forces of nature. (Though, I do recall a rather oddly delightful experience of finding myself, exactly once, smoking a pipe in the shower. Another story. Another time. Maybe.)  Last year presented no exception to the rule. Once spring had come and gone, I put away the dark mixtures, and turned to the softer, gentler side of tobacco goodness. I always enjoy this little “reset,” but equally, I look forward to the return of the cooler days and colder nights when I can come back home to the comfort of those mixtures that have always provided me with an indescribable solace. I love fall and winter the most, and not just for smoking. I don’t really hate the sun, but I’ve never thrived in its heat; my constitution prefers cooler weather. I’ve always been a fall and winter lover. But, something strange happened last year. Even when the temperatures dropped, even when the air got misty, the rain began falling, and I traded short sleeves for sweaters, I kept reaching for my summer blends. Occasionally, I might dip into the jar of Westminster, prepare a slice or two of Spark Plug, or reach for one of my vintage tins of Orient Express #11 or Bengal Slices, but I found myself routinely returning to the lighter side of things when it was time to fill my bowl.  Nothing about this should be upsetting, of course, but it’s just not who I am. It’s out of character.  It’s like I was subconsciously denying something that is fundamental to the very core of my pipe smoking existence. Looking back on it now, it feels like I was in some strange parallel universe, an alternate reality. It strikes me as just plain wrong. It’s an odd thing. For most of my pipe smoking life, I’ve always enjoyed these forays into the lighter side of things, but at the same time, my craving for Latakia forward mixtures has always ruled. I remember when I first began exploring Virginias, I’d reach the end of a bowl, feeling somehow unsatisfied, and would immediately want something else, something smoky to scratch the itch that remained. As I became more familiar with them, that itch gradually subsided, but never fully disappeared. The pull of the dark side remained strong. I’d spend the summer enjoying my Virginias, but always looking forward to the season’s change so I could once again dive happily into the deep, smoky richness of my most favored leaf. Last year, though, I kept on an almost steady diet of Virginias all summer, of course, but also right through the cold and wet months. On a whim one cool, blue day recently, as the sun revealed itself from behind wispy clouds, I pulled an open tin of my beloved OE11 from the Tupperdor in which the open tins reside, savored the aroma for a few minutes, then filled a bowl with those luscious dark ribbons and enjoyed an almost magical smoke, rich, deep, satisfying, the wonderful incense-like scents enveloping me as I puffed in absolute bliss. Then, reality hit me over the head. With spring teasingly peering out from around the corner, last year’s winter having pretty much come and gone, I realized I’d managed to miss out on all those wonderful cold, damp days and the perfect harmony they create when the misty air embraces the leathery, campfire aromas and rich flavors from my beloved mixtures, and I didn’t even notice. It’s not just that the window of opportunity for my yearly Latakia fest was about to be slammed shut, but, worse, it’s that I wasn’t even aware that I was missing it. It’s not that my tastes had changed, or anything so dramatic; I’d simply fallen victim to the power of inertia. I was enjoying what I smoked, and simply, unconsciously paid no attention to the fact that the season was coming to a close. Hot weather is on its way, and if history holds, it’s probably coming fast. Soon it will be time to return full-stop to tee shirts, cold showers and lighter tobacco fare. It feels like I’ve slept through Latakia season, like I’ve missed out, and I’m feeling a little melancholy about that. I’ve got at most a few weeks to catch up, to make up for lost time. Hopefully, we’ll see a few more days of rain before that […]

  • Greg-Pease-Jumble-of-Pipes
    Passionalization

    “Don’t you have enough pipes? Why do you need another one?” It’s a fair question, though one I’m never happy to hear, especially when it’s coming from a voice in my own noggin. I mean, sure. I have enough pipes. More than enough. By any rational measure, probably far too many. But, pipe collecting isn’t about being rational. Pipe collecting is about passion.  When a pipe speaks our name, calls to us through the mists, singing its siren song, how can we mere mortals resist? Unless we’d have to go without eating for a month, or risk losing the roof over our heads, why shouldn’t we buy “just one more?” Maybe the food thing wouldn’t be so bad (I could stand to lose a few pounds), but it’s the middle of winter. It’s been pouring rain for a week, and I’m pretty fond of having a place with a roof to keep me and my pipes dry. Maybe when the weather changes, I could forgo that luxury for a while too, if it meant answering the call when it came. Scratch that. That’s just silly.  It is a fact that most of us really don’t need another pipe. Most of us probably don’t need as many as we have. No one needs more than a couple pairs of shoes, either, or a week’s worth of socks. Some laughingly refer to it as Pipe Acquisition Disorder (PAD), making it sound like some sort of affliction, worthy of inclusion in the next revision of the DSM and requiring some sort of therapy, or at least an intervention. I don’t. Even after all these years, and, I still find immense pleasure in the hunt for the next addition to the herd. Getting a new pipe just feels good and makes me happy, and that should be enough. Despite this, I do sometimes find myself going through fits of passionalization. There are times when a pipe acquisition hasn’t quite scratched the itch. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately as I spy the mad jumble of briars that I loosely refer to as my “collection.” There are many that continue to speak to me, and some have for many years, bringing me a great deal of pleasure when I look at them, hold them, smoke them. Some are pieces of profound artistry and beauty, others, simple, comforting objects of sublime utility. Either way, they’re sources of joy. Why wouldn’t I want another?  But, there are more than a few that, instead, make me scratch my head. Confessing this isn’t easy, but there are pipes in my possession that I’ve acquired for entirely the wrong reasons.  I have more than once been guilty of getting a pipe because of the “trendiness” of the shape or the maker, because I should like it, not because I do. I’ve smoked them, probably dozens of times, enduring the persistent voice in my head telling me all the reasons I should find it the best pipe ever, that one day, I’ll learn to understand it, acclimate to it, and become one with the kool kids. This rarely goes well. It turns out there’s little traction in getting a pipe in the hopes that one day it will ice pick its way up the ladder to the lofty status of being tolerated. Another side to every coin. There have been times I’ve not bought a pipe that I really liked because silly rationalizations planted themselves firmly in the middle of the road and wouldn’t let me pass. In the very early days of my collecting, a particular shape that I was very much drawn to, and still am, was looked down upon pretty much en masse by many veterans of the pipe community. Though there were a few outliers, and we did talk amongst ourselves about this peculiarity, the majority seemed to meet the shape with abject disdain. I don’t know why and will never understand it; the shape had been around for decades. Why would it continue to be in catalogues if so universally reviled? But, as a young, somewhat insecure newbie angling to be accepted by the old guard, I was afraid to put my own preference ahead of that of the taste-makers, and resisted the urge to acquire certain pipes for fear of having my membership blackballed. Ridiculous? For sure, but it felt pretty real to a pup trying to hang with the old dogs. (We’re lucky to live in more accepting times, I think.)  There were times, too, I may have passed on a piece or ten because the brand/maker wasn’t à la mode. “Those pipes are nice looking, sure, but the briar is young and inferior, and they lack the pedigree of the maker having been around since before the Big War, and you’ll never be able to sell or trade it later. What you really want is something from Y. Now THAT’S a good pipe.” (Funnily enough, some of today’s desirable brands were yesterday’s pariahs, trading hands for relative peanuts because they weren’t from the grown-up firms. I wish I’d bought a bushel of them!) One fellow even told me that I should only chase pipes pre-1920 because, I’m not kidding, “The old vulcanite tastes better when it oxidizes than the modern stuff.” That was one tidbit I did not pay much mind to, though it was, and is amusing to think about. Don’t get me wrong; I learned a great deal from my early influences, and I’m grateful for every shred of knowledge they shared with me. Fortunately, now that I’ve become one of the old dogs, I’ve outgrown the need to impress anyone, and chase what I like solely because I like it, ignoring any real or projected judgment from the taste makers. Many good lessons have come along with the ride from there to here, along with, I admit, a whole lot of pipes, good and bad. Maybe, too many. I refuse to count them. Remember the mad jumble […]

  • Problem Child

    I’ve had a bunch of pipes through the years. A few have been superstars right out of the starting blocks, many took some time to find their stride, eventually developing into fabulous smokers, most have taken their place comfortably in the middle of the pack, and a scant few have been stinkers that never made it across the finish line. Once in a while, I’ve ended up with a pipe that I’ve wanted to love, but that has refused to love me back. Tonight, I had an encounter with one of those, a pipe I’ve had for several years. It’s beautiful. It’s elegant. I’ve had many pipes from the same maker that have consistently delivered the groceries. Not this one. This one is a problem child. This one was germinated and raised from a demon seed. This one is the Rosemary’s baby of the pipe world. I first met it at the Kansas City show in, I think, 2017. A friend had it on his table, unsmoked, and when I showed interest in it, he offered it to me for a very attractive price. The shape appealed to me. The bowl size was within my preferred range. The finish was beautifully done, the stem nicely cut, the drilling perfect. It had everything I look for in a pipe, but for some reason, I passed on it.  As the weeks went by, I found myself suffering from a case of “non-buyer’s remorse.” I couldn’t stop thinking about that pipe, wondering why I hadn’t just paid the price and taken it home with me. The longer I thought about it, the more I wanted it, to the point where I was almost obsessed.  I gave my friend a call to ask if, by any chance, he still had it. He did. The deal was struck, and after a few days, the pipe was in my hands. It was everything I remembered, and more.  When I get a new pipe, I’ll sometimes spend some time in a sort of courtship with it. I’ll hold it gently while gazing lovingly at it from every angle, whispering sweetly into its bowl, asking what tobacco it would like to experience first. It’s one of those peculiarities that some find charming, but most think is just weird. But, my pipe, my fantasy. Leave us alone. After a couple weeks it finally felt right to introduce my new friend to a nice Latakia mixture. I chose a well aged tin, used just a bit of extra care to gently fill the bowl, gave it a delicate tamp, tested the draw and struck fire. Teasing the strands of tobacco with the flame, the first sips were delicious; they always are. Before the tobacco warms, before the briar becomes engaged in the process, before the flow dynamics of the “system” becomes important, all we get in those first moments is the delightful incense of the tobacco’s volatile aromas and a subtle wisp of smoke being drawn through a soda straw. But those first sips offered hope for an hour of reverie as I enjoyed the first bowl in my new pipe.. Charring light complete, fluff gently tamped, it was time to get things going. After a few promising puffs, everything changed. At once, my hopes were shattered as the gates of hell opened, my senses assaulted in a stygian nightmare as hot, acrid fumes flowed over my tongue. Hoping this to be just a transient anomaly, some sort of first bowl mischief, I persevered. The torment persisted to the last tortuous puff. Of course, the first bowl in a new pipe will never be as good as later ones when the pipe has “broken-in” to the owner’s habits of smoking style and tobacco choices. Experience tells me that those early bowls are not always indicative of things to come. One more bowl. Then another. This went on for several days. With only a little improvement after the tenth bowl, I was nearly ready to give up on it, but I desperately wanted this one to be a great smoker, or at least a good one.  Over the next several months, I tried everything – different tobaccos, different cuts, different filling, different smoking techniques. I’ve tried smoking the hell out of it, and giving it plenty of resting time. I performed deep cleanings, hoping to coax out and exorcise the demons lurking within the briar’s walls. I even carefully drilled out the shank in the off chance that some noxious substance was hiding there. Nothing helped, yet I refused to give up hope. While it got better, sometimes delivering a decent smoke, even at its best, it was no friend to my tongue, so I finally put it up and did my best to forget about it. This evening, I found myself thinking about that pipe. Bolstered by hope, I pulled it from the racks to try again. I’ve been smoking through a tin of Regent’s from the first release that’s been delicious, and figured I’d give Rosemary’s baby a chance to redeem itself. No bueno. It wasn’t as bad as my memories of it, but it wasn’t what I was hoping for. Often when I have a “bad smoke,” I leave open the possibility that it might just be me. Maybe my palate is fatigued, or something I’ve eaten has resulted in my tongue being overly sensitive to harshness or off-flavors. I’ll grab another pipe, maybe a different tobacco, in a combination I know to be a winner, and see if I can get a reset, or at least forget the tortuous smoke. I grabbed a pipe that is quite new to me, barely on the road to being broken-in. It was wonderful. I put the troublesome pipe back in the rack. “I’m really sorry, my friend. It’s not me, it’s you…”  Why keep trying? Why not just be rid of the accursed thing? Maybe someone else would have better luck taming the hellspawn lurking within the wood. I […]

The Pipe Pundit

  • Bruyere-and-DUX-Depose-Billiard
    Marching Into Spring

    February’s International Pipe-Smoking Day was more than just another moment of relaxation for Pundit. It took me back to a time in Paris when I was wandering somewhere around the 10th Arrondissement of that great city and happened upon a shop with a sign that read: Tabac. I had to go inside and look around and gaze at the goodies. Inside that delightful French pipe shop I had my first encounter with French pipes of any sort. Pundit was enamored of English pipes at the time and was dimly aware of much else. Let alone historic French-made. The shop owner walked us around his charming very French shop, flooding me with his broken English. My college French had lived beyond its best by date. The owner waltzed over to a counter and showed me a Chacom, of the famous Chacom and Comoy family of Saint-Claude, a small town in eastern France, which is the self-described “world capital of (the) pipe.” For good reason as it turns out. A billiard Chacom was purchased immediately. But now sadly, or perhaps inevitably, that particular Chacom pipe from the Paris Tabac shop has been lost to time. Who knows where or how it disappeared? Traded, perhaps? But the time in that tobacco shop was well spent. It was here that I learned something of Saint-Claude and its pipe history, foreign to me up to then. Never mind it was the birthplace of briar pipes. Yes, there are holes in Pundit’s knowledge of pipe history. Briar pipes were born in Saint-Claude, with Chacom. Giving the French pipe bragging rights as offspring originals of pipes we love today. It’s even more remarkable that we can still find pipes that have been seasoning in the historical air of Saint-Claude for years and purchase them at extraordinarily reasonable prices. Many pipe smokers are attracted to the history of pipes, Pundit included. And those made in Saint-Claude are some of the most genuine, historically relevant pipes that any enthusiast can enjoy. While roaming the “Ville lumière,” the City of Light, in the early 2000s, Pundit felt like a foot-loose expat in Paris, say of the 1920s. For Pundit it was something akin to hanging out with the original expats such as Sherwood Anderson, Ezra Pound, Ernest Hemingway, Picasso, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Miller, and James Joyce, just to name a few of the Pundit’s favs. Naturally, a couple of these literary icons smoked pipes: Ezra Pound and James Joyce certainly. Hemingway—however, there are arguments on both sides of “did he or didn’t he?” smoke a pipe. Since Hem was a Pundit “code hero” I favor the “he did,” side of the question. Now before drawing any wild conclusions, this is no manner of imagination means to infer that Pundit is included in the writing circle of the above names. But you get the idea. The expats of the 1920s were singular. I suppose I became overawed when I discovered Hemingway’s Paris apartment and then later enjoyed dinner in the corner booth of the famous literary restaurant Les Deux Magots where Hem and wife Hadley had night-out repasts. You get the notion, I hope, that Paris was special. And the Tabac shop made it even more of an event of a lifetime. And if you need further reading on the birthplace of briar pipes, I suggest you check out Chuck Station in Pipe Line at SmokingPipes.com. His piece on the history of the Comoy and Chapuis pipe families is simply fascinating surrounding the advent of briar for pipes. And now, some pipe smokers of the past. Let’s start with Albert Einstein, the German-born master of theoretical physics. We think of Mr. E=MC2 as the greatest scientist of any generation. He was also famously known for smoking a pipe, mostly Revelation (of course) tobacco. Einstein was born March 14, 1879, in Ulm, Germany, and died April 18, 1955, in Princeton, N.J. By now you are familiar with Einstein’s famous quote about pipes. If not, here it is again: I believe that pipe smoking contributes to a somewhat calm and objective judgment in all human affairs. Next up is Vincent Willem van Gogh, a Dutch Post-Impressionist. In his masterful works, Van Gogh painted self-portraits of himself smoking his pipe. And you can find some shapes named for him in Ser Jacopo’s Picta Picasso Pipes. Van Gogh was born March 30, 1853, in Zundert, Netherlands, and died July 29, 1890, in France. The famed artist demonstrates how much he loved his pipes with this observation: To do good work one must eat well, be well housed, have one’s fling from time to time, smoke one’s pipe, and drink one’s coffee in peace—Vincent Van Gogh. And to finish with a bit of musical flair is Johann Sebastian Bach was a German composer known for orchestral music such as the mighty Brandenburg Concertos. Bach was born March 31, 1685, in  Eisenach, Germany, and died July 28, 1750. And as we enter the stretch run into spring, here is a parting shot from one of the most celebrated of pipe smokers: In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours—Mark Twain.

  • Peterson-Pipes-for-St-Patricks-Day-cropped
    Of Dear Friends and Pipes

    Fair warning: Pundit is coming in lukewarm: There arises a day, methinks, when it’s time in Pipelandia to thin the herd. I always look to February for the thinning stint to begin. Don’t recall why February, but it just seems another gloomy wintry month is as good a time as any. Of course, this is a moment for additions too, doncha know! It’s not possible to conduct one operation without the other. Especially in dark February, which even attracted the Bard of Stratford-upon Avon: Why, what’s the matter that you have such a February face, so full of frost, of storm, and cloudiness?—from “Much Ado About Nothing.” Emptying is not an easy task. Take, for example, the dilemma of a senior member of Pipelandia. Ahem, yours truly, who has imbibed in our lovely hobby for 40-plus years. Over that span, one becomes attached to those beautiful instruments of briar and leaf. Artifacts of art, perhaps? Yes, I realize we are talking four decades in Pundit’s Pipeworld, but it has been a fun and learning experience, bringing relief to stressful moments, and joy of new celebrations in life and job and conquered horizons. Quite naturally, time has loaded spare rooms with pipes and the cellar with luscious aging tobacco blends. Taking a recent accounting was rather startling. Pipes on top of pipes resting in racks across desks and stashed in old shoe boxes. Gee, it has been a long, enlightening trek. As well as confusing at times. Such as, “What was I thinking when I picked up this pipe and that tobacco plug?” That particular strong plug of Virginia just about put Pundit out on the floor! So in Pundit fashion, I began the February process of thinning. But “ay there’s the rub,” says Shakespeare’s Hamlet. I came across some old and dear friends. How does one turn one’s back on those deep-rooted companions, who shared good times and bad with Pundit? Impossible, but necessary. It’s akin to putting a veteran soldier out to pasture. “Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.”  A legendary speech by Gen. Douglas MacArthur in his farewell to the U.S. Congress in 1951. And as we know, the general loved his Missouri Meerschaums (cobs). You can read an excellent history of the cob and the general at SmokingPipes.com. Yes,  I hear it now about the dilemma of thinning. “Oh, choices can be hard in life.” Erm, yes, true. But we are speaking about old heartthrobs, old loves (talking pipes here, so don’t go making assumptions). The thinning out has always been difficult. Some are in much need of repair and others are still fit for action after deep cleaning. No Dunhills, Petersons, Cavicchis, Ser Jacopos, or Ashtons (William Ashton Taylor era), Savinellis are represented in the thinning group. That collection of pipes is precious and holds a special rank in the herd. You just can’t bid adieu to an Ashton pipe presented to you by the late, great Bill Ashton Taylor, renowned British pipe crafter. His pipes in the Pundit collection are sacrosanct, if not divinely righteous. That leaves, of course, some old lovelies in tucked-away boxes. You get the notion: It is difficult to say goodbye to longstanding allies in life’s many turns. Some in the herd date to earlier days when pipes were not as expensive as today. But economies of time and scale appear to even out over the decades. What seemed rather pricey, say in the 1960s-1980s, would be mega bargains today. I am not fond of this phrase, but it’s all relative. So, the reduction has begun, of course, to make room for more. I know, I am shrinking the assemblage just so I can add more to the crowd. Yeah, that makes sense. Once a pipe collector always a pipe collector, the Pundit says. However, the late Bill Unger (see Kevin Godbee’s Jan. 1, 2013, obituary) said it far better: If you have one pipe, you’re a pipe smoker. If you have two pipes, you’re a collector. Out go some old timers, and in arrive the newcomers. And now time for a pipe smoker from the past: One of my favorite authors, John Steinbeck, novelist, former journalist, and longtime pipe smoker gets the mention this month. And, by the way, there is a first-rate story about the Nobel Prize-winning Steinbeck by Zachary Podl in the Sept. 15, 2023, SmokingPipes.com “Pipe Line.” Steinbeck was born Feb. 27, 1902, in Salinas, Calif., and died Dec. 20, 1968, in New York City. Many of his novels centered on his experiences growing up in Salinas where he worked as a manual laborer in many jobs. What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness― John Steinbeck, “Travels with Charley: In Search of America” And this from one of his quite different works: Men really do need sea-monsters in their personal oceans― John Steinbeck, “The Log from the Sea of Cortez” But before we go, there is one more pipe smoker of the past who needs to be mentioned here. Robert Oppenheimer, the theoretical physicist, and friend of Mr. MC2 (Albert Einstein, of course, another physicist pipe smoker) was a cigarette and pipe smoker. He is quite often seen in photos with his pipe. And from what I can find, he smoked Walnut in his pipe. Now, if you are wondering why Oppenheimer, well there is a pretty simple answer: The movie, “Oppenheimer,” is about to haul in a load of Academy Awards when the Oscars are handed out in March. And the great scientist who brought us the atomic bomb in the Manhattan Project, died 56 years ago this February. A couple of quotes: Genius sees the answer before the question. Science is not everything, but science is very beautiful. One last huzzah from Pundit: A friend over time is dear. But a pipe is dear every time.

  • Bringing in the New Year with the old and something new (Photo: Fred Brown)
    New Resolutions, New Pipes

    A new year and the great titans of Pipelandia are firing up their imaginations, and perhaps cleaning out leftover dust and detritus from 2023’s production. At this new juncture, deities in the workshops and at tobacco blending tables are calling upon the gods and goddesses of Pipelandia to calm the surging tides and bring new wisdom to the design benches and tobacco vats. The quantum minds are at work, fashioning a new year that will find a place on New Year’s resolutions: Promises of new pipes and new tobaccos. Okay, so Pipelandia is maybe a Pundit bridge too far. But you surely get the idea here: New Year, new pipes, new tobacco blends. All is right in Pipelandia world! Pundit is right there with you. I can hardly wait to see new offerings, to appreciate what artisan carvers bring forth from aged ebauchons or blocks of ancient meerschaum stocks. I know pipe puffers don’t take the creation of pipes in stride. We much appreciate the talent and time it takes to produce the pipes we love. The same is true on the other side of our passion for pipes—those prodigious and precious tobacco blends that arrive from the brilliant blending minds who toil to create just the right formulae for a particular taste. Pipes and tobaccos just don’t burst forth like a new year at the drop of a sparkling ball and exploding fireworks. This art we treasure takes time, training, experimentation, and hard work. I believe that’s why in this new year we should support, as often as budgets allow our tireless artisans who much of the time, work away unnoticed until a new pipe arrives at a bricks and mortar retail outlet, or a favorite internet retailer. Pundit remembers a time when a pipe was simply a pipe, a smoking instrument. Nothing too special, except for the occasional Dunhill that made you drool. Tobacco blends were old-timey, mostly, something our grandfathers smoked. Looking back through misty time, say six decades ago, Pundit could walk into a local tobacco shop, or drug store, and purchase a pipe for under $20 along with a pouch of tobacco. Most of the pipes then were machined, and tobaccos relied on burly and Virginias in various forms and flavorings. Yes, it was quite easy to blister a tongue. Pundit apologizes for this brief history review, but we are fortunate today to have dedicated artisans turning out masterfully handcrafted pipe shapes and tobacco blends, which are made to seem not only beautiful but also in some ways simply personal to yours and my tastes. Just as if we ordered it specially concocted and turned on the workbench or blended to our specific notions. That’s why Pundit gets revved up at a New Year: visions of pipes and tobaccos dancing in his head. It is always exciting to see and read about the latest offerings from the many talented artisans in Pipelandia. Perhaps an often dreamed of  historic pipe purchase is in the New Year for you. Pipe dreams are made of such. And now a Pipe Smoker of the Past to kick off the new year is J.R.R. Tolkien, born Jan. 3, 1892, and died, Sept. 2, 1973. Tolkien, good friends with author C. S. Lewis, both dons of literature at Oxford University, Oxford, England, is of course the Hobbit of Hobbits. His Lord of the Rings series continues along its mythical and magical popularity. Tolkien and Lewis (of Chronicles of Narnia fame) were pipe-puffing pub pals who enjoyed bowls of Three Nuns and Capstan tobacco over pints in the Eagle and Child tavern in the 1920s. And one other Pipe Smoker of the past is Joseph Rudyard Kipling, born Dec. 30, 1865, and died Jan. 18, 1936. Kipling was a puffer from an early age and was especially fond of meerschaum. So fond in fact that he authored a poem, The Maid of the Meerschaum. If history were taught in the form of stories, it would never be forgotten—Rudyard Kipling, The Collected Works And, just so you know, Pundit still has some of the old-school about him. I continue to mix and mingle some of the grandaddy blends, i.e., Prince Albert, with an aromatic, or a bit of perique. Just so that I don’t lose touch with my past, doncha know. Here is to a great New Year to all my pals in Pipelandia. New Resolutions, new pipes, and tobacco!

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