Reviewer's note: I judge books by their covers and I do so with shameless and reckless abandon. That being said, I never would've purchased this tin of my own volition. I acquired it second-hand, after my buddy tried it said said, "This tastes like shit... You want it?" After such an endorsement, how could I decline?
Giving the tin a whiff, it put me in mind of a highly trafficked cattle barn. I knew that perique was known to exude such an aroma, so I attempted to set my initial judgments aside. After all, this is a highly rated offering, so far as the reviews on smokingpipes.com are concerned. So, I loaded half a bowl and figured what the hell.
At first, I was pleasantly surprised. The first few puffs were mild and agreeable. Grassy, with a piquant kick. Those downwind from me informed me that the odor was neither pungent nor appealing; just a general, "Yep, that's tobacco." For perhaps two whole minutes I felt like my initial judgment was unfounded. Maybe this blend was okay. Not great, not even good per se, but okay.
To its credit, once this crumble cake is lit, it takes nothing short of a New York City fire department to extinguish the flame, with a constant smoke so dense I'm apt to think of it as smog. In that regard, it's an all-day smoke... In theory.
Once the Kake hit its stride - about two minutes in - I found that my unsuspecting tongue was set upon with napoleonic fervor. Don't get me wrong... this wasn't tongue bite. The leaf was not moist, nor was the temperature unbearable. No, this sensation was akin to sipping on sulfuric acid like it was whiskey. Perhaps this is what the tin meant by "spicy?"
I kept smoking anyway and finally, after about two more minutes, the assault and battery acid sensation subsided and I was able to examine the blend's flavor profile with a keener sense of just what was transpiring in my mouth.
The acidity gave way to a saline rush, as though I'd downed a pound of Morton's iodized table salt. I've found that most blends involving perique maintain some saline aftertaste, but it's not generally so off-putting. After all, many of my absolute favorite blends feature perique for that reason - as a condiment, such sensations tie a blend together. This, however, was salty to an egregious level.
A great perique blends makes you feel as though you've been transported - if not teleported - down to the parishes of Louisiana. You can taste the complexity of the soil, the eccentricities of the fermentation, and you might feel as though the very act of smoking forms a quasi-spiritual connection between yourself and the rural farmer who lovingly crafted this special leaf. With Kajun Kake, you might've just licked the full workday's sweat right from the aforementioned farmer's balls.
Perhaps if you snagged a tin and aged it until it could petition for voting rights, this would be a splendid smoke. I highly recommend this tin to my bitterest enemies, but for everyone else... just buy Escudo.
Giving the tin a whiff, it put me in mind of a highly trafficked cattle barn. I knew that perique was known to exude such an aroma, so I attempted to set my initial judgments aside. After all, this is a highly rated offering, so far as the reviews on smokingpipes.com are concerned. So, I loaded half a bowl and figured what the hell.
At first, I was pleasantly surprised. The first few puffs were mild and agreeable. Grassy, with a piquant kick. Those downwind from me informed me that the odor was neither pungent nor appealing; just a general, "Yep, that's tobacco." For perhaps two whole minutes I felt like my initial judgment was unfounded. Maybe this blend was okay. Not great, not even good per se, but okay.
To its credit, once this crumble cake is lit, it takes nothing short of a New York City fire department to extinguish the flame, with a constant smoke so dense I'm apt to think of it as smog. In that regard, it's an all-day smoke... In theory.
Once the Kake hit its stride - about two minutes in - I found that my unsuspecting tongue was set upon with napoleonic fervor. Don't get me wrong... this wasn't tongue bite. The leaf was not moist, nor was the temperature unbearable. No, this sensation was akin to sipping on sulfuric acid like it was whiskey. Perhaps this is what the tin meant by "spicy?"
I kept smoking anyway and finally, after about two more minutes, the assault and battery acid sensation subsided and I was able to examine the blend's flavor profile with a keener sense of just what was transpiring in my mouth.
The acidity gave way to a saline rush, as though I'd downed a pound of Morton's iodized table salt. I've found that most blends involving perique maintain some saline aftertaste, but it's not generally so off-putting. After all, many of my absolute favorite blends feature perique for that reason - as a condiment, such sensations tie a blend together. This, however, was salty to an egregious level.
A great perique blends makes you feel as though you've been transported - if not teleported - down to the parishes of Louisiana. You can taste the complexity of the soil, the eccentricities of the fermentation, and you might feel as though the very act of smoking forms a quasi-spiritual connection between yourself and the rural farmer who lovingly crafted this special leaf. With Kajun Kake, you might've just licked the full workday's sweat right from the aforementioned farmer's balls.
Perhaps if you snagged a tin and aged it until it could petition for voting rights, this would be a splendid smoke. I highly recommend this tin to my bitterest enemies, but for everyone else... just buy Escudo.
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