A Celebration Turned Sour
Well, folks, let me tell ya somethin’. This here Brown House Roll Cut was meant to be a celebration, part of the so-called Reunion series, markin’ the grand ol’ comin’ together of Gawith Hoggarth and Samuel Gawith. A moment that should’ve been filled with cheer, a clinkin’ of glasses, and the promise of things done the old way. Instead? Well, this story don’t got a happy endin’. Like too many things in this world, that promise turned out to be as sturdy as a house built on sand.First Impressions – A Tobacco Worthy of Praise
Let’s talk about the tobacco first, ‘cause credit where it’s due – this was a damn fine blend. A sliced twist of Virginias and Dark Fired Kentucky, kissed with a touch of maple, and boy, does it smell sweet. Open that pouch and you’re greeted by pure, honest-to-God tobacco—deep, rich, with a whisper of red fruits, almost like a fine, aged tea.
Preparation and Performance
The appearance? Sliced coins, some keepin’ their shape, others broken apart, but nothin’ to complain about. Prep is easy as pie, no stubborn stems gettin’ in the way, and a bit of dry time – maybe an hour, no more – sets it up just right. She takes to the flame with ease, burnin’ steady, no need to nurse it like some sickly old nag.A Masterful Flavor Profile
And the taste? Superb. Rich, sweet Virginias lead the charge, aged and full of depth, while the Kentucky lingers in the background, rearin’ its head when the moment’s right. And that maple? It rolls in like a gentle wave, never overbearin’, just enough to tie the whole thing together. A true masterpiece, free of any of that Lakeland ghostin’, just pure, old-fashioned tobacco artistry.The Bitter Reality
But here’s the rub, friends. That Reunion they spoke of? It’s startin’ to feel more like a damn funeral procession. Brown House Roll Cut, along with the rest of its kin, is no more. Discontinued. Cast aside like an old workhorse put to pasture. And let’s not mince words here – they promised to keep makin’ things the way they used to, but that promise done shattered like a whiskey bottle on a bar floor. The quality’s sinkin’ faster than a lead brick in a river, and GH? They don’t seem to give a damn, marchin’ down this road of ruin like a blind man walkin’ off a cliff.A Dying Legacy
So here I sit, nursin’ the last of my stash, smokin’ a relic of a time when they still cared. And I wonder… how in the hell do you take somethin’ so fine, so full of character and craft, and turn it into nothin’ but a memory? A ghost of what once was, fadin’ into the wind.Guess progress ain't always a good thing.