I’d sat expecting a melt-in-your-mouth-medium-rare-ribeye. But in ritzy, downtown Los Angelos at three times market price—one fancy dry-aged steak went back to the kitchen. I wasn’t impressed by that steak—nor was the LA restaurant manager impressed by me.—Nor the cook. I mean, “Chef”
I told em to have Bobby Flay or whomever hold the next one up to a light bulb to scare it bit and plate it... was still mediocre to me.
And so it goes. Price, fancy clothes and high expectations don’t always cut it.
So, I finally opened that swollen, bulging old can of Granger. Whomever believes that burley cannot improve with age and fermentation, may wish to reconsider.—Read on.
The smoke off—Granger vs Granger
Into my cob went the dust from my near empty granger jar, just enough for one last bowl.
Into my 1989 Stanwell went the aged baccy—which signaled its eagerness to exit it’s rusting, bulging can with an audible puff and a pungent scent of raisiny, rich aged Kentucky rough cut burley.
I smoked each bowl side by side.
The DM1989 Stawell has become my go-to-pipe of late. It smokes like a dream and Wow! —So richly flavored that I hardly recognize it as Granger! The side stream, the retro, the taste, the creamy mouth feel... everything seems richer. So much so, that If it were a blind smoke, I may have unceremoniously dumped it —believing my Granger replaced by some heavily cased and topped mystery blend. But I smoked on, knowing that this strange alien tobacco actually is Granger.
At mid-bowl, I set down the Stanwell containing the foreign substance.
I took a sip of my coffee and gave char light to the cob full of jar scrapings. Ahhhhhhhhhhh, there you are, Granger!
I’m glad I’m a simple bastard who enjoys a simple smoke, a simple steak and respects American cobs. (Not like that honey smothering, rim-scorching cob-destroying maniac with the initials @shermnatman)
But I digress.
Just give me simple pleasures—A favorite blend, a fresh, unmolested cob and a pair of well worn blue jeans, strong black coffee and a peaceful hour to drink it all in.
My hope is the pungent aroma will tame with time. Whatever witchcrafty fuckery occurred inside that bulging granger can may be quite desirable to some, perhaps many. But I like my Granger simple.
I told em to have Bobby Flay or whomever hold the next one up to a light bulb to scare it bit and plate it... was still mediocre to me.
And so it goes. Price, fancy clothes and high expectations don’t always cut it.
So, I finally opened that swollen, bulging old can of Granger. Whomever believes that burley cannot improve with age and fermentation, may wish to reconsider.—Read on.
The smoke off—Granger vs Granger
Into my cob went the dust from my near empty granger jar, just enough for one last bowl.
Into my 1989 Stanwell went the aged baccy—which signaled its eagerness to exit it’s rusting, bulging can with an audible puff and a pungent scent of raisiny, rich aged Kentucky rough cut burley.
I smoked each bowl side by side.
The DM1989 Stawell has become my go-to-pipe of late. It smokes like a dream and Wow! —So richly flavored that I hardly recognize it as Granger! The side stream, the retro, the taste, the creamy mouth feel... everything seems richer. So much so, that If it were a blind smoke, I may have unceremoniously dumped it —believing my Granger replaced by some heavily cased and topped mystery blend. But I smoked on, knowing that this strange alien tobacco actually is Granger.
At mid-bowl, I set down the Stanwell containing the foreign substance.
I took a sip of my coffee and gave char light to the cob full of jar scrapings. Ahhhhhhhhhhh, there you are, Granger!
I’m glad I’m a simple bastard who enjoys a simple smoke, a simple steak and respects American cobs. (Not like that honey smothering, rim-scorching cob-destroying maniac with the initials @shermnatman)
But I digress.
Just give me simple pleasures—A favorite blend, a fresh, unmolested cob and a pair of well worn blue jeans, strong black coffee and a peaceful hour to drink it all in.
My hope is the pungent aroma will tame with time. Whatever witchcrafty fuckery occurred inside that bulging granger can may be quite desirable to some, perhaps many. But I like my Granger simple.
