Happy Pipe, Happy Life
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Fred Brown - Feb 1, 2023
- 5 min read
Walking about a rock-strewn riverbank, flyrod in hand and pipe clenched firmly, it came time to just sit and observe life around me. It was a misty morning, coolish, water rushing on its destination to, where? Maybe the Gulf of Mexico, or to join one of Tennessee’s great river chains.
A pensive moment among the hoary rivers. Moss-covered rocks, patched in green rugs and teeming with unknown squiggly activity, caught my eye.
As did a blue heron (Ardea Herodias). The given avian sex, male or female, escaped me as I watched this great fisherman bend its lean neck and long dagger-shaped pointed beak close to the water’s surface.
Faster than the eye could follow, the heron stabbed a small fish, leaving me in wonder about what else swam below the rushing mountain stream.
Memories of past fly-fishing adventures flooded over me as I smoked my pipe.
The peaceful process of pipe smoking presents a more thoughtful approach to life, methinks. The entire script of packing, lighting, puffing, tamping, and relighting, adds to (with many remorseful apologies to Mr. E=MC2) a more thoughtful approach to our existence on this beautiful blue orb floating in the black vacuum of time.
Albert Einstein’s theories of relativity (and, yes, he smoked a pipe tobacco blend named Revelation, shadowing the name of his theories), and quantum mechanics are the basics today for modern physics (Pundit was once overcome with trying to parse physics in Dr. Neill G. Whitelaw’s Physics 101 class).
The spring 1960 issue of Presbyterian College Magazine has one of the best quotes about Dr. Whitelaw that sticks with the Pundit to this day:
“Ask any Presbyterian College graduate of the past quarter-century to name PC’s toughest taskmaster, and his likely reply will be Dr. Neill G. Whitelaw.”
Ah, yes. And to add to Dr. Whitelaw’s luster in the Pundit’s memory is that his classroom was his laboratory. Across the top of the spacious room was a shelf, lined with empty tobacco cans: Half and Half, Granger, Prince Albert, Bond Street, Velvet, Tuxedo, Dial, Four Roses, Dunhill’s Baby’s Bottom, St. Bruno, Carter Hall, and, of course, Revelation.
These are just a few names locked away in the Pundit’s memory of those days long ago lost in Physics 101, attempting to understand not only Dr. Whitelaw but also his friend, Albert Einstein!
And Pundit has always admired Mr. E=MC2’s quotes on the subject of pipes and finding the sublime existence surrounding us:
I believe that pipe smoking contributes to a somewhat calm and objective judgment in all human affairs—Albert Einstein, 1950.
A pipe is the fountain of contemplation, the source of pleasure, the companion of the wise; and the man who smokes, thinks like a philosopher, and acts like a Samaritan.
And hopefully, the Pundit isn’t becoming too Kafkaesque here, but over the years, pipes have become a psychological as well as a philosophical buttress for me.
Mayhaps Pundit has been reading a bit too much over the holidays and early weeks of the New Year. Trying to catch up on his education, as it were.
Now, this epistle is no Kafka “Metamorphosis” in which the main character becomes an insect. I have known a mean creature or two across the decades. But I have yet to confront a two-legged insect, except on one or two occasions on lands far, far away.
Ahem, and where is this taking us today? The simple answer is this is to get us off and running for a spanking new season of pipes and tobacco.
And as we all know, our pipes and tobacco blends are both a bit psychological and philosophical, if only in a very basic sense.
I’m positive you possess a pipe or three you consider indispensable to your well-being mentally. I do. Pundit has a rather large galley of best briar friends.
This, after years of smoking my beloved pipes, brings me to the question of just how this all happens. What is the precise connection?
In the beginning, the pipe can be a bit sour, overpowering for a newcomer to the leaf. Then after break-in and conversations with veteran pipe smokers, the vision and some fresh understanding beam up to the frontal lobe.
It takes time for the new pipe smoker to find just the right pipe and a go-to blend of the precious leaf. Revelation, by the by, is a recommendation for rookies of the leaf! Not too strong, not too sweet. Just right.
That’s the fun part for the frontal lobe, don’tcha see. Reasoning, creativity, and a host of other executive functions filter through that part of the brain. Providing you were blessed with a big brain. Just sayin.’
Ok, class, this part of the lecture is complete. A pop quiz comes at the end of this session.
And just to prove the Pundit walks the walk and talks the talk (people who know me well say it’s yakity-yak all the time), new pipe orders and tobacco are on their way to the herd and closet.
Make no mistake, the Revelation Match is among the orders.
And just in case you are interested PipesMagazine.com had an interesting discussion in its forums section a couple of years ago on Revelation and other long-gone blends.
As for the Pundit, I enjoy Cornell & Dihel’s Epiphany, a match for the old Revelation.
For one of his great in-depth reviews, check out Jiminks on Epiphany.
And now for our pipe-smoking author and poet of February: British-American poet, W. H. Auden, born in York, England, Feb. 21, 1907, and died Sept. 29, 1973.
Auden was an occasional pipe smoker and won the Pulitzer Prize in 1948.
And from one of his poems these words of wisdom:
The most important truths are likely to be those which society at that time least wants to hear.
Now from the Pundit: Here is to hoping we can enjoy our pipes more in this New Year. Happy pipe, happy life.
Written by Fred Brown
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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 century’s 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 hasn’t 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 microscope—Sutliff’s 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. It’s certainly Latakia-forward, with the stoved Rustica doubling up on the rhythm section like a second bassist. 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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 prepare—I prefer mine with a bit of drying time. The out-of-this-world tin art for this episode in the series is Major O’Meara smoking a cavalier. In the absence of confirmation, I’m going to hazard a guess he’s 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 pushed—this is where one’s 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 Rustica’s 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 I’ve 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 Katerini’s 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 doesn’t 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 it’s 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 can’t effectively catalog them all. Our pet adding machines are exceedingly good at this, however, and someday soon they’ll 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.
