MEETING OF MIDDLE-AGED PERSONS INVOLVED IN COMBUSTING VEGETABLE MATTER

Yesterday evening several people got together to plot the overthrow of the monarchy. The air was blue with smoke and dense with intrigue, as dastardly plans were hatched.

And there was beef jerky present.

In actuality, it was the monthly meeting of the G.G.P.C. in Marin. And we are no closer to solving the world's problems than we were before. The three closely related samples of a potential club blend that Greg had kindly put together for us were discussed -- I happen to like number two, though numbers one and three would also have been godsends when I was still living among the heathen in Valkenswaard, and number three will be divine after four or five years of maturing -- and we discovered that all of us are unique individuals.

Additionally, we found out that no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
Or the comfy pillow. You'd think by now they would, but they don't.
No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

We all agree that it was some of the best beef jerky we have ever tasted.
Even I agreed, but that was basically because I recognize that attention to detail and a profound knowledge of meat went into the making. I didn't actually have any, as I was engaged on a bowl of something with meaning by Peretti in Boston, very nice, and I wasn't going to interrupt my smoke.
But I know who made it, and I'm certain it is good.

We still have made no decision about the club blend. One person smoked something I had concocted and opined that he would prefer it, but I have smoked Greg's candidates (sample no. 2 is quite amazing and perfect in a multiple number of ways, being the kind of medium-full Latakia mixture that I dream about), and I will gladly yield the floor. If it goes into production under a different name I will definitely acquire a few dozen tins.
It's good. Real good.

Greg knows what keeps me happy.

We also decided that we're going to take the club to the next level. I'm not entirely sure what that means, and I know we're not ready for intergalactic space. But there are documents to be filed, and somewhere further down the line I will have to remind people that their dues are due.
No problem, can do.

Up till now I've been able to swan about at our meetings as mister opinionated. Apparently more, much more, is required.

George, who only smokes Dunhill London Mixture, graciously gave me his congratulations, having only just realized my election victory. But I'm fairly certain he was there when the vote was held.



All three of the samples were excellent. They're very closely related, but number one has a touch of bright Virginia, and comes across as English provincial metropolis tobacconist circa thirties through fifties. No. three is somewhat Scottish in tone, with a fuller more robust Virginia. Number 2
is perfect. The Virginias give a red impression, and the interplay between flue-cured and sooty Cyprian is evocative and luxurious.
I vote for number two.


Port, rocking chairs, and two women of character.
Truly, a very fine meeting indeed.
These are the minutes.


MIDNIGHT SNACK

You make tasty Jalapeño Salad exactly like you would make tuna salad; mayonnaise, chopped celery, capers, salt, cayenne, black pepper, and a dash of Tabasco. Except that instead of tuna, you use minced Jalapeños. Serve it on hot buttered sour-dough toast points.
The appropriate wine is Jameson's Irish whiskey.

Healthy, crunchy, and altogether good.


No. 2.

TOBACCO INDEX


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