It’s no surprise that many a pipesmoker starts out with some kinda cherry-flavored aromatic. Same road I walked down myself. My first stop was McLintock’s Black Cherry, and I tell ya, that stuff was about as pleasant as tryin’ to wrestle a wild boar in a Sunday suit. A mess of black cavendish that felt more like black tea than tobacco. Damn thing wouldn’t catch light, flavor was weaker than watered-down whiskey, and it burned like it held a grudge. Learned me a valuable lesson, though—never trust an aromatic made with black cavendish.
After that misstep, I wandered into Lakeland territory, and once I got a taste of what they had to offer, I figured I’d left cherry aromatics behind for good. But life’s got a funny way of bringin’ things full circle. While explorin’ Gawith’s portfolio, I stumbled across Cherry Cream Flake. Virginia flake, cherry topping—it sounded downright curious. A cherry aromatic made with straight Virginias, pressed into a flake? Had to see it to believe it.
So I picked up a couple ounces. Tried it. Fell head over heels. Now, I ain’t one for cherry aromatics, but when the mood strikes for a fruity smoke, I’d reach for Cherry Cream Flake without a second thought.
The flake itself? Beautiful as a sunrise over the open plains. It’s pressed so tight and neat it’s practically a damn rectangle. Feels like a rock in your hand—ain’t no quick-rubbin’ this stuff out, let me tell ya. You gotta take your time with it, peel it apart like you’re unwrappin’ a secret.
Now, take a moment to admire somethin’ like that. A flake of such quality—do you reckon you’d get the same if you ordered GH tobaccos today? Nah, I wouldn’t bet a dollar on it. Seems like Gawith’s let their standards slip somethin’ awful.
But I digress. The Cherry Cream Flake smells like a proper cherry ought to—tart and fresh, none of that chemical rot you find in lesser blends. Takes about an hour to dry it out just right, but it lights up easy enough. Thing is, you gotta tread careful with it. Unlike some other GH blends, this one bites back if you rush it. Slow and steady wins this race, and when you get it right, you’re rewarded with the sweet, creamy Virginia flavor, with the cherry sittin’ just in the background. The room note’s somethin’ else entirely—smells like a basket of ripe cherries, fresh off the tree.
It’s a goddamn shame this blend’s been discontinued. A real work of art, tossed aside like yesterday’s news. I remember when Gawith used to care—when they made tobacco to please all kinds of palates. Now? Seems all they care about is cuttin’ corners, savin’ time, and chasin’ profits. Quality’s gone downhill faster than a wagon with no brakes, and they’re pushin’ GH into mediocrity, one blend at a time.
For those of us who once loved Cherry Cream Flake, the best they offer now is few mixtures with black cavendish in it or some twist that ain’t worth its name. Damn shame, I tell ya. Damn shame.
After that misstep, I wandered into Lakeland territory, and once I got a taste of what they had to offer, I figured I’d left cherry aromatics behind for good. But life’s got a funny way of bringin’ things full circle. While explorin’ Gawith’s portfolio, I stumbled across Cherry Cream Flake. Virginia flake, cherry topping—it sounded downright curious. A cherry aromatic made with straight Virginias, pressed into a flake? Had to see it to believe it.
So I picked up a couple ounces. Tried it. Fell head over heels. Now, I ain’t one for cherry aromatics, but when the mood strikes for a fruity smoke, I’d reach for Cherry Cream Flake without a second thought.
The flake itself? Beautiful as a sunrise over the open plains. It’s pressed so tight and neat it’s practically a damn rectangle. Feels like a rock in your hand—ain’t no quick-rubbin’ this stuff out, let me tell ya. You gotta take your time with it, peel it apart like you’re unwrappin’ a secret.
Now, take a moment to admire somethin’ like that. A flake of such quality—do you reckon you’d get the same if you ordered GH tobaccos today? Nah, I wouldn’t bet a dollar on it. Seems like Gawith’s let their standards slip somethin’ awful.
But I digress. The Cherry Cream Flake smells like a proper cherry ought to—tart and fresh, none of that chemical rot you find in lesser blends. Takes about an hour to dry it out just right, but it lights up easy enough. Thing is, you gotta tread careful with it. Unlike some other GH blends, this one bites back if you rush it. Slow and steady wins this race, and when you get it right, you’re rewarded with the sweet, creamy Virginia flavor, with the cherry sittin’ just in the background. The room note’s somethin’ else entirely—smells like a basket of ripe cherries, fresh off the tree.
It’s a goddamn shame this blend’s been discontinued. A real work of art, tossed aside like yesterday’s news. I remember when Gawith used to care—when they made tobacco to please all kinds of palates. Now? Seems all they care about is cuttin’ corners, savin’ time, and chasin’ profits. Quality’s gone downhill faster than a wagon with no brakes, and they’re pushin’ GH into mediocrity, one blend at a time.
For those of us who once loved Cherry Cream Flake, the best they offer now is few mixtures with black cavendish in it or some twist that ain’t worth its name. Damn shame, I tell ya. Damn shame.
