AUTUMN FRAGRANCE

For the past few weeks, summery September has faded into a brisk and brittle October, and lately it is chilly from dusk till dawn in the city. No, there will not be many crunchy leaves underfoot; this is the Bay Area, we do not have the classic four seasons, and we are far from a forest in any case.
The ginkgo trees will turn yellow in a few weeks, though, gilding those streets lucky enough to have them -- down near Battery on Sacramento, or up between Leavenworth and Jones on Clay, as well as in front of the projects in Chinatown on Pacific. There may still be quite a few warm days, but they will be punctuated by sweater weather, till at last the rain comes.

Whereupon people will say stupid things.

"I don't mind; we really need the rain"

"It's not the cold, it's the humidity"

As well as:

"Why does everyone smell like wet dog?"


Truth be told, San Franciscans always bellyache about the weather.
Just shut up and be glad we have some.
This isn't New York.


From late summer all the way to early winter is the perfect time to enjoy certain Virginia compounds from our friend the Lat Bomber.
Otherwise known as Greg Pease.
And, unresisting, I have fallen into open tins of two of his blends.
There is immense pleasure among the leaves.
Life is very good.



TELEGRAPH HILL
Virginia and Perique

Spicy, bold even, but not a tobacco that will bash you around on the school yard. It's a mostly flue-cured ribbony mixture that makes itself known without bullying, and might in some ways remind you of Dunbar by Esoterica. There is Perique in here, behaving gracefully rather than thug-like as it so often does. From personal experience I know that several bowls of this can be smoked in quick succession while high as a kite on caffeine, and amidst a social crowd of cigar smokers. We dare not get up and go to the bathroom, because there are vulgarians behind us who will steal our seats. So we light another bowl, and wait for them to eventually leave.
Oh Thomas, one more whisky please! Thank you.

Grassy in the tin -- that's the lighter Virginias -- but I suspect that there is also more than a touch of fire-cured leaf. It hints of toast.


UNION SQUARE
Virginia Flake

Oh yes! This is a classic. The grassy notes shade into a tangy fruitiness, and if this were aged a couple of years you would never share it with anyone, but hide in your basement far away from other pipe smokers.
Go away, I am not home! You don't hear me! I am invisible!

But there is no need to wait. It smokes fine without prolonged maturity, providing a rich soothing medium flake experience, brights and browns with a touch of red. Mid-afternoons wandering around Chinatown are made lovely by this, the time spent lost in thought near the back-end of the Four Seas on Waverly was remarkably productive in consequence. This tobacco is perfect and sweet and enchanting and just dreamy after a charsiu turnover and a hot cup of Hong Kong milk-tea at Hang Fook.

I wonder if that rowdy teenage girl is a delinquent.
Or just likes hanging out with the boys.
She's got a laughing eye.


秋香

It's been a good weekend. I restored several Dunhills and Charatans, plus a Barling Ye Olde Wood Canadian and a Becker & Musico black sandblast military mount. Dinner on Saturday was chicken and vegetable over rice (菜遠雞球飯 'choi yuen gai kau fan') and a tall glass Vietnamese ice-coffee (凍咖啡 'tong ka fe'), on Sunday night I had a petite baguette with Italian meats and peperoncinis, and a latte.


BTW, the title of this post rendered into Chinese to caption the afterthought, is also the name of the bright young missy (秋香 'chau heung') courted by China's most famous middle-aged perv: 唐伯虎 ('tong paak fu' - old uncle Tang). There's a sprightly and entertaining comic opera about that. This is neither here nor there, being absolutely irrelevant to the subject at hand.
Just a happy coincidence.
A fortuity, if you will.

Despite what you may have heard, I am not a middle-aged pervert.
I am, in fact, still quite young.

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EXHAUSTED ROOSTER

Cornell & Diehl are known for their sometimes whimsical naming conventions, having sent several tobacco mixtures with oddball appellations into the depths of the pipe-smoking universe.

Not all fine leaves need to have English images or British-sounding nomens; the Danes, Germans, and Yanks, all manufacture some fine traditional products, and at this point in time there are more splendid Oriental mixtures and pressed Virginias than what Blighty still produces.

The use of traditional bog and sod and teatime and empire jingoism is a rather stale reminder of the glorious era of London between the 1890's and 1960, when all the legendary tobaccos were still put out by respected eccentrics operating shops for gentlemen and factories adhering to mediaeval production codes.

Rather than exposing you here to a selection of Cornell & Diehl's rebellion against stodge, I would rather direct you to their website: Cornell & Diehl, Inc., where you can explore their world at your leisure.
Alternatively, there is a list of all their tobaccos reviewed (*), on Tobaccoreviews.com, which should always be in your flip file.


I will, however, offer a brief description of a product of theirs which I recently revisited.


EXHAUSTED ROOSTER
Pressed Virginias, fire-cured leaf, and Perique.

Presented in a flake form.


Fruity, tangy, and altogether good. This is a lovely product; Cornell & Diehl hit it out of the ballpark on this one. No, I do not know what a ballpark is or why hitting something out might be a commendable thing, I got that from a book.

I had rubbed-out a handful of flakes to air, then jarred them once the correct moisture level (nearly dry) had been reached. Letting it sit for a day or two in its glass tomb allowed the remaining moisture to redistribute and equalize, as well as an aroma to develop.

Mighty fine stuff. If you like VaPers with a blondish touch and just a hint of naughtiness, get yourself some. Life will be sunnier, your mornings will be exciting, and the fact that the big-breasted amazon took off with your credit cards, cuff-links, and the Ferrari will escape your mind. And that is a good thing. You didn't really need the cards and the car anyway, did you?

I do not have a multiplicity of cards or a snazzy crimson convertible. But smoking Exhausted Rooster made me forget entirely that I never picked up a crazy sex-bombe in an East-German dancehall. Nor have I ever worn tailored shirts with diamond cuff-links, or rafted down the river Oder wearing nothing but leopard skins.
Why, it could have happened!

I am not a big muscle-man, and my chest is not excessively hairy. Nor do I shoot elephant seals for fun and profit. But this excellent straightforward flake tobacco pushes all that into the background.

I am NOT an 'exhausted rooster'.
But sometimes my tobacco is.
It is mild on the Perique.
Attracts fruit flies.


Good smoke.


Dinner this evening will be curried chicken.

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FLAKES: A BRIEF PERSONAL INTRODUCTION

In discussion with an internet friend the other day I mentioned flake tobaccos as memory aids, and also spoke of the fruit trees behind the Smeets house in Valkenswaard, the yield of which perfumed their orchard every Autumn.
Earlier in the year we had feasted on the crisp sour apples before they ripened, or braved the wasps for the sweet juicy pears.
I have never been stung by a wasp.
But I've eaten lots of fruit.


The memory of those pears got me thinking about the kind of person who settles on a particular pipe tobacco. But here's the problem: most pipe-smokers are more multi-faceted than that, and eventually explore other aspects of their personality, with other blends.

As an example, I will cite my friend Spiros, who is NOT a pipe smoker, but does sometimes indulge in cheroots. If he were a pipe smoker, he would probably have a fondness for Bracken Flake, by Samuel Gawith -- a dark pungent powerhouse of a blend sure to offend all strict Vegans and opinionated Bohemians. But with his occasional glass of Jameson's Irish Whiskey, he'd probably stuff his briar with Erinmore Flake, to be enjoyed ironically. Or something English, just to piss some other people off.

[Bracken Flake: Kentucky and Virginia leaf, pressed and steamed till heady. Do not change a light bulb while smoking this. Jameson's Whiskey: a remarkably fine product, even though it is becoming the drunkard's shot of preference in San Francisco, having knocked Jagermeister out of the top spot. Erinmore Flake: excellent Virginia and a touch of air-cured leaf, steampressed with a bizarre fruity topping that smells of pineapple. It is the quintessential Irish product, whose reek must compete with the frowst of a mildewed people in a soggy place. Quite good, once the pong wears off. Smoked slowly it will not poison your pipe. Smoked fast, it may poison you.]

You can see that there are multiple facets there. He reads Dickens in between obsessing over baseball literature, and to the best of my recollection eschews poetry.

Your tobacco might say something about you.


FLAKES

There are four companies that represent the genre, plus several exceptional oddments by other manufacturers. These prime four are Samuel Gawith, Rattrays, Wessex, and McClelland.
Not surprisingly, I have a number of tins representing their oeuvre stockpiled, as well as similar products from other companies.
I'm afraid I'm rather obsessive that way.

SAMUEL GAWITH

At the top of the heap is Samuel Gawith, a stodgy firm in Kendal, far from the modern world, which was founded over two centuries ago. Their products appeal to bright young individualists as well as antiquated old fossils.

Samuel Gawith 1792 Flake: A dark flake made fragrant with Tonquin oil, which must be smoked really slowly.
I have reason to suspect that the regular smoker of this product obsesses about panties. Spotlessly clean examples of feminine underwear, ironed, and mounted museum-style on acid-free board. With a tiny label, in flawlessly elegant copperplate script, telling the viewer something about each piece. Which is odd, because the collection will never be shown to anyone else.
I am fond of this, but do not smoke it often.

Samuel Gawith Full Virginia Flake: Medium strength, with a note of richness, slight spice, good fruit. The smoker of this knows what he (or she) likes, and is not embarrassed by it. Probably has excellent taste in a number of other fields, but does not show off or puff himself (or herself) up. May have a fondness for red wine or Assam tea.
Studious, reads Russian and German authors.
Intense and delightful.

Samuel Gawith Saint James Flake: Top quality pressed Virginias and Perique. Full-bodied yet surprisingly smooth and pleasantly sweet.
The smoke for a dashingly daring individualist. What that mysterious person wearing the grey trench coat out at the far end of the field in the rain smokes, while observing the lads playing soccer and wrestling in the mud, in homo-erotic play as encouraged by all physical education experts.
The less said about high-school exercise classes the better. There is an offensive preening and smirking quality to its teachers. Ugh.
It's really darn good tobacco.
I own a trenchcoat.

Samuel Gawith Golden Glow: A thoroughly enjoyable brown flake made mostly from sweet Bright Virginias, but not a very delicate product. Possessed of a lovely Autumnal fruitiness combined with summery hay notes. Perfect for cold days in San Francisco, the aficionado of Golden Glow probably identifies in several ways with all of the most memorable characters in Vladimir Nabokov's oeuvre: Franz ('Frank') Bubendorf, Sebastian Knight, Charles McBeth, Humbert Humbert, Van Veen,
Charles Kinbote, Hugh Person, Mr. Vivian Badlook.
I am smoking it right now.
Delicious.

RATTRAY

Charles Rattray started a tobacco company in Perth over a century and a half ago, which to this day provides the gold standard of English style flakes. Despite it being of Scottish provenance, and its products now manufactured by an estimable set of Prussians over on the continent.

Mr. Rattray wrote a long and windy 'booklet on tobacco blending', the reading of which convinces me that I would not have gotten along with him. He may have been excessively opinionated and neurotic.
But his very fine flakes show a more feminine side.

Rattray's Old Gowrie: deeply earthy and fruity, the addition of Kentucky provides notes of chocolate. A broken flake. It is mellow, albeit not mild. Men who dream on Saturday afternoon.
An addictive pensive smoke

Rattray's Marlin Flake: Soft, smooth, oozing personality. Tangy and tart. Raisins, dark drupes. Slightly monochromatic, but that does not dilute its excellence. Long strips of pressed tobacco folded in the tin.
I find this strangely appealing.

Rattray's Brown Clunee: A fine but not complicated ready rubbed flake, that would be a good all-day smoke for someone who only lights up two or three bowls a day. It can have surprising character.

Rattray's Hal O'The Wynd: Peaty, fruity, herbal. Hint of hay. A red Virginia compound of great character, which can be over-indulged in, much like chocolate, caviar, and strong tea. Sensual, very much so.
It reminds me of my mis-spent youth. Which I wish were considerably more mis-spent. I'll have to open up another tin soon.

WESSEX

Kohlhase & Kopp, who manufacture the entire Rattray's line, also do Wessex, about the origin of which I know nearly nothing. The brand name suggests Marketing Department inspiration, the label art is quite uninteresting, but the products are stellar. This line is one that even a sour old grumpus could grow quite fond of, as certain younger grumpuses indeed have. I am not a grumpus.
Despite what you have heard.
But I like Wessex.

Wessex Brigade Campaign Dark Flake: Nutty and woodsy, fragrant and mild. Oaty. Slightly topped. It must be considered a medium -- an even balance between the sweet sweet darkness and a bit of nicotine whomp -- and is stylistically comparable to Rattray's Marlin Flake.
Verbose people will like it very much; it brings out their prolixity.

Wessex Brigade Classic Virginia: Red, red, red, and possibly a touch of something else. Hay, fruit peels, apples, a soft medium-bodied broken flake of middle-dark appearance.
Finding a tin of this is like finding a tin of orgasms.

Wessex Brown Virginia Flake: A middle-of-the-road product, which is not very complex, but ages exceptionally well. A solid product.
Late at night, when my tobacco-despising apartment mate is asleep in her room, I will light up a bowl while reading. Boruch Hashem she has a lousy sense of smell, and most of the year is allergy season. Latakia, dammit, she will notice even though deep in slumber. Virginias hardly invade her dreams, but to be on the safe side I will open the window.
If I ever end up in a relationship we'll probably need a far bigger space, so that the apartment mate can be not two but four or five rooms away. Together my companion and I will light our pipes at night, while the Savage Kitten falls asleep quite untroubled by the dense fogs perfuming the darkness at the back of the building.
A man can only dream; this product makes it possible.

I need to find a woman who enjoys a pipe.

Wessex Red Virginia Flake: Yes, this product is topped. No idea with what. But that does NOT detract from a fine tobacco. Earthy, toasty, tangy. Enjoyable, and you will find yourself going through the tin at a rapid clip. Share it with friends of the same bend.
It brings back memories; some quite perverse.

MCCLELLAND

For over a generation, McClelland Tobacco Company in Kansas City have been sustaining the desperate and depraved, who yearn for fine British Flakes as the market shrinks and venerable firms bite the dust.
The desperate and depraved are profoundly grateful.
McClelland wisely do not have a contact page or e-mail addresses. One does not want love-letters from the desperate and depraved.
Being neither desperate NOR depraved, I enjoy them for what they are: manufacturers of some of the best tobacco ever seen on this planet.

Blakeney's Best Bayou Slice: Small-sliced matured flakes with a noticeable Perique presence. It has more depth than you would think.
A fine product.

Blakeney's Best Tawny Flake: Medium brown Virginias, rather old-fashioned, not very complex. Perfect for Spring or Summer -- though not in San Francisco, where those seasons verge on a Caledonian nastiness, and the sun never shines.
Wait for Autumn, when the weather is better.

No.5100 Red Cake (bulk): All the fruitiness you expect from reds, but very satisfying. One of the most popular bulk tobaccos in the McClelland line-up. Figs and other vegetals, only moderately sweet. Appeals to bearded middle-aged gentlemen who lack the imagination to find their news on the internet. Surgeons and the like.
Decent old farts.

Dominican Glory Maduro: Dark cigar leaf pressed with reds and blacks. Once aged a bit, it is exceptional, as the maduro element will have learned how to play well with others. I would say that this is for peculiar bachelors and eccentrics, but I do like it.

Boston 1776: One of the club blends, this is a complex and busy patchwork of reds, brights, and everything in between. The end-result is a medium brown flake. Similar to Epitome, but needs a lot more age. It left me with a mouth that felt like shoe-leather, but that was because I kept smoking it wet. Bad move.
Not actually a bad product.
Needs more age.

Matured Virginia No. 24: A somewhat robust dark combination of Virginias with a touch of something Turkish or Greek. It is perfect for surreptitiously smoking late at night, when everyone else is asleep and will not scream that you should be out near the abandoned church one block away, with all the winos and drug-addicts. But it might be splendid there too, as it performs well outdoors.
Nicely pungent and bold.

Matured Virginia No. 25: Reds and blacks, with a smell that promises good times or adventures with someone you should've avoided.
Sweet, like the fragrance of baked desserts.
It delivers on the promise.

Virginia Woods: Reds, Blacks, Brights. Fully teased after processing. Malty, figgy, fragrant, and like pencil shavings. All in all a very nice ribbony smoke that inculcates reveries if treated nicely, and forms one of a continuum with other McClellands products like Arcadia (same reddish tastes), Yenidje Highlander (similar to Arcadia, without the stinky Syrian), and Orient 996 (buckets of the stinky Syrian).
All of these showcase the best features of red Virginia paired with black Virginia, but Virginia Woods is the palest of the four. Inexperienced smokers may suffer headaches and tongue bite, but people with a sense of humour will find it very pleasing indeed.
VW is the most unusual and likable of the four.
Good for an afternoon of passion.
Creamy



EXCEPTIONAL ODDMENTS

Firstly, I have to mention Greg Pease, known as 'The Dark Lord', by some sections of the pipe-smoking coterie, because of his huge spectrum of blends featuring Latakia. To many people all of his blends seem like Lat Bombs, and they disregard his talent for combining flue-cured leaves.
This is unjust. Greg understands like few others that no matter how Oriental the end-product, what holds it together and makes it distinct is the interweaving of different Virginias to present a splendid portrait. Over the past several years he has explored the flake world with a sense of adventure and finesse that speak well of the man, and sometimes makes one wonder at his sanity.

G. L. PEASE

GLP Fillmore: Complex, interesting, and well-made. Highlights the fact that Virginias are more than just sweet notes.
It is an excellent product.

GLP Jackknife Plug: Virginias and Kentuckys in a block that must be sliced by the smoker. This is an insane experiment gone frightfully right. Good for the brain, and deeply satisfying. This is NOT for dilletants or society hostesses.
Exceptional and unusual.

GLP Navigator: Predominantly red VA, with a touch of yellow, brown, and some aircured leaf. For Virginia smokers this can be quite alluring, addictive and seductive even. Medium strength, and refined enough that you will not notice till it is too late that you are drunk on nicotine, dusk has fallen, winds have picked up, and the attractive young lady has fled your embrace.
You wake up with a headache, and resolve to do it all again tomorrow.
Good stuff. I've stocked over a dozen tins.

GLP Stratford: One of his earlier Virginia and Perique blends, in a ribbon cut. A lovely offering worth keeping a few tins of on hand.

GLP Telegraph Hill: Once aged a bit, this is complex and exceptional.

GLP Triple Play: Another plug, with whole buckets of likeability. Mostly Virginias. Sweet, semi-full, intoxicating. Do not allow this man near your sister. She'll end up buying Charatans and Dunhills.
A clean pure tobacco compound, which I highly recommend.
It is not depraved, but it could be decadent.
I've stored several tins.

GLP Union Square: a medium flake that touches all the right notes. There was a sample tin at Telfords in Marin County, but don't bother heading over there to try it, as over the past few months I've "sampled" the heck out of it. There's none left. It was extremely nice.
I smoked all of it.
Hah!

CORNELL & DIEHL

Cornell & Diehl, who manufacture Greg Pease's blends to his exact specifications, also produce some might fine products of their own. Craig Tarler, alas, is no longer among us (passed away last year), but the company he created carries on, gloriously so.
A fitting memorial to a remarkable man.

C & D Opening Night: a lovely short thick flake that rubs out to fragrant ribbons, this is the perfect medium-mild Virginia.

C & D Exhausted Rooster: A peculiar compound sure to appeal to English public school boys, elderly degenerates, the decadent and depraved of any age and place, and nearly everybody whose company is thoroughly enjoyable.
Virginias, Fire-cured leaf, and Perique.
More full than medium-bodied.

C & D Kajun Kake: Heh heh heh.

Heh heh heh.

A solid square block of dark-pressed crumble cake of Cavendish and Perique that benefits enormously from a year or two of aging.
Better use someone else's best chef's knife to slice it.
It is rich, fecund, and surprisingly mild.
Delicious tinned perversion.


Recently, Cornell & Diehl have produced four new blends for Castello, a very well-respected Italian pipe maker.
The blends represent different styles of tobacco, to appeal to a full spectrum of smokers.

Castello Old Antiquari is a full English with a surfeit of Latakia. It will find plenty of fans.
Castello Collection represents a mild ribbony mix of red and bright.
Castello Sea Rock is a frightening Eury aromatic.

Castello Fiammata: A delightful sparkly Virginia and Perique flake, medium and reddish, which being the desperate degenerate that I am, I truly love for breakfast. I have several times smoked two bowls in succession, and been bright and vivacious afterwards. It tingles on the tongue. Tangy, herbal, slightly fruity, and very exciting.
Fiammata is a brilliant product, and a wonderful addition to the VaPer category. Both Cornell & Diehl and Castello outdid themselves.
Stockpile this one. Go utterly ape.

AUTRES

Other flakes worth experimenting with are Orlik's Golden Sliced (mild bright Virginia with a top-dressing), MacBaren's Virginia Flake (even milder blonder Virginia, hint of anise seed perfume), Stokkeby 4th. Generation 1855 (a partially broken mild-medium blonde flake with a lovely grassy note), Stokkebye 4th. Generation 1931 (sliced flake with an odd top-dressing that suggests something between a dedicated old fiend and a schoolgirl who wishes to be bad), as well as some of the Channel Islands tobaccos (Germain's Brown Flake and Germain's Medium Flake).

Capstan, a medium to full flake with a distinctive taste which had been unavailable for centuries in the civilized world, is back, now made by MacBarens. Quite a nice smoke. The sample tin is empty. The Golden Gate Pipe Club members devoured every shred of it, leaving nothing for anyone else. Damned animals.
Three Nuns is also back. Very tasty.

PERETTI

Lastly, I must mention the firm of L. J. Peretti in Boston. A fellow Dutch-American who hails from there has over the past few years introduced me to their fine products. Which might make me think of moving to Boston.
The climate, which is like a frigid San Francisco summer all year round, prevents me from even considering it.

Boston Slice: a mild offering, good for early in the day.
Cambridge Flake: not strictly speaking a Virginia.
London Flake: tangy,  with a touch of Perique.
Oxford Flake: rich and robust, very rewarding.
Scottish Flake: full bodied, fruity top-dressing.



AFTERWORD

Most of this modest essay was written on Thursday afternoon. I had two bowls of Samuel Gawith Golden Glow while working on it, then followed with a bowlful of Luxury Twist Flake, and a load of Kajun Kake to finish.
Plus three strong cups of coffee, black.
I ended up high as a kite and woozy.
Nothing to eat till tea-time.

Breakfast is for wimps.

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WICKED LOVE

My dear, I had no idea that your Teddy Bear was so degenerate! Really, hanging around at the abandoned church with the louts, with a pipe sticking out of his jaw. And I'm fairly certain he was smoking an aromatic. Possibly Erinmore Flake, which has a distinct odour of pineapple in the topping. That is NOT a good sign. Pipes and perfumed tobaccos pave the road to ruin, I'm fairly sure of it. Those things are indications of indolence, degeneracy, and a decadent mindset. Most unsuitable for a small domestic ursine! You need to talk to him.
I think he would probably like Erik Stokkebye's 1931 flake as well.
There's a lovely spicy-fruity wuft to it, very old fashioned.

What do you wish to do on a warm and lazy afternoon?

Something that involves the teddy bear, of course.

May I suggest dragging the couch out into the orchard, so that you can have tea there with all the stuffed animals that live in your bedroom -- especially including that sinful bear -- while white white apple blossom petals drift down in the gentle breeze? There you will be, surrounded by fuzzy love, with delicate hints of flowers and fresh grass all around.
Perhaps with a wedge of pie.
À la mode.
The bear, meanwhile, is setting light to a bowl of rubbed blonde leaves with hint of.... I really don't know what that smell is. Maybe it is a fragrance that was popular among lively young ladies before the war. Did someone spritz this discretely between her bosoms before going dancing? Or maybe dab a touch on her wrists and along her collarbone after the bath?
Both maidenly and daring, all at once.

Say, how old IS that bear of yours? He can't possibly have lived through all that, can he? Are those his memories, or has he been reading that salacious novel you hide under your pillow? No, I refuse to even mention what else is sequestered there. It should not be mentioned lightly, just share it with an intimate friend sometime. It isn't anything to feel guilty about, but yes your mother would never understand. She'd misinterpret everything.
The older generation has done too much stuff.
No wonder they have evil thoughts.
Richly depraved lives.


As twilight approaches, a wind picks up, swirling the petals in that orchard of yours. It isn't unpleasant, just far cooler than the hours before. Your skin feels interestingly prickled, and maybe it's time you should go inside.
Between your fuzzy friends and you, the couch gets dragged indoors again, the antimacassars arranged upon the back, and the cushions re-plumped.
Faintly an echo of apple blossom still adheres to the fabric, along with the merest trace of your Teddy Bear's newly discovered flake tobacco.
He smiles dreamily, remembering an afternoon in the warm sunlight; you bury your face in his stomach, and sniff deeply of his warm soft fur.
You are very fond of his fuzzy touch and reassuring presence.
He's a bit of a wise-guy, and rather eccentric.
But never the less a fine ursine.

Outside, clouds of petals swirl and eddy under the trees.
Like snowflakes or ghostly butterflies.
Springtime haunting.




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AN AFFAIR WITH A FUSILIER

To quote a startled fellow pipe maven: "what the heck?" And that indeed seems apposite. The product in question is alleged to be an interpretation of the legendary Bengal Slices pipe tobacco. Seeing as the legend has been off the market for a generation, one could compare it to almost anything, without much squawk. I still have a little of the Bengal left, which is significantly changed from when I first opened the tin.
The very last of it.


FUSILIER'S RATION
Made in the USA exclusively for
www.pipesandcigars.com
Blended by Hearth & Home Tobaccos
russo@pipesandcigars.com

"lightly scented it with an old fashioned top dressing and hot pressed "

I doubt that very many fusiliers reeked of snuff-casing. The top dressing may be tonquin, but without a laboratory I shan't go out on a limb. Personally I think that Blakeney's Best Latakia Flake produced by McClelland comes far closer.
But I may be biased -- I took a sniff of the tin of Fusilier just to try and identify the odour, and promptly had a sneezing fit, so on second thought it may not be essence of dipteryx odorata (cumaru) -- Samuel Gawith's 1792 Flake has never forced me to shampoo thick rivulets of snot out of my whiskers.
I am somewhat offended. More than.
I am not allergic to tonquin.

Hell no, I'm not throwing it out! Perish the thought! It is in its own way far too interesting and amusing a product. And I won't keep it for curiosity value alone, I shall smoke it.


Just for comparison, here are some actual fusiliers:

SUCH MIGHTY MANLY MEN


[Source: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vRJyjevRao.]


Maybe the fusiliers referenced in the name of the tobacco aren't English, but French or Swedish. Quite a bit more poncy and decorative.
Mighty queenly men.
That would explain the addition of perfume.
Another English blend containing Latakia and a top dressing is Samuel Gawith's Westmoreland Mixture, from the Kendal Mayor's Collection. Distinct nose of tonquin. Very nice. Pleasantly velvety in the mouth, and pleasingly perfumy, in an old dame fashion. She's ensconced in the snuggery, discretely having herself a quiet smoke.
There's a row of rum bottles in the bookcase, behind the encyclopedia.
She'll come out for tea when she's good and ready.
Not one moment sooner.
She smells a bit.

My problem with most flakes containing Latakia and Turkish is that they're always too damned smooth. Yes, the creosote dominance is there, but it's almost like whiffing air. Very enjoyable at three o'clock in the morning, in summer, when your windows are open and you are resolved to not get up on time. Spot of sherry, someone snoring softly somewhere else in the house, silence all about.

It's lovely then.

That doesn't often happen. For one thing, my neighborhood has too many drunken twenty-somethings yotzing about at all hours, loudly celebrating their escape from points further east. For another, those intemperate blonde party animals across the way might cream in their easy-off panties at a whiff of fusilier.

Jump the poor bastard and succubate him to death.

So caution is advised.

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NAVIGATOR

Some things are ethereal, yet in combination with other elements leave a lasting impression. Without fully realizing how it happened, the mind is permanently marked, and what had been cannot be called back.
Progress has been made, developments have taken place, things have become different.

I'll probably always associate Greg Pease's most recent product with smiling women, being whacked to the gills, and marked improvements in the weather.

As well as a sudden surge-remembrance of old friends long out of touch, whom I last saw in a small town in the Netherlands.

But perhaps mostly with Chinatown.

Not, however, with rum.


NAVIGATOR
Old London Series

Tin blurb: For centuries, men of the sea have known the pleasures of fine Virginia tobaccos, pressed and aged with a drop of rum. The addition of rich dark-fired Kentucky leaf brings a new dimension to the flavour and aroma of this timeless combination. Chart your course for a new world of enjoyment, light a bowl, and set sail with Navigator.
-----G. L. Pease.


It's an easy smoke. Perhaps a bit generous on the nicotine, which may leave one lightheaded, but soft and smooth on the palate. It consists mainly of a gentle Red Virginia, with a touch of bright and other flue-cured leaves, given an intriguing nose with a light touch of fire-cured Kentucky. The rum facilitates the melding of the leaves, but it is barely noticeable in the tin, even less so after rubbing out, and almost entirely absent in the smoke.

Especially once you're near the end of the tin.

This tobacco is not strictly a powerhouse, but too much might leave you somewhat nicotine crazed. After one bowl, you will not want to wait to light up again.
Slightly sweet, and soothing in a not-quite-red-flake kind of way.
It works best in a generous size.


VALKENSWAARD

The hint of Kentucky, combined with the red Virginia fragrances, reminded me of Herman Ritter, Peer van de Palen, and Tom Bouten, who lived together in a cottage on the Kromstraat in Valkenswaard. Three bachelor music-afficionadoes who made and repaired instruments. Watching Herman Ritter gently heating up rabbit's hide glue and steaming a sheet of wood, then carefully applying an even ribbon of paste ere pressing the wood in place, was always fascinating. Effortlessly, as if it were part of the process, he would tamp down the tobacco in his pipe in between his several other hand movements.
The red Virginia reminds me particularly of him. That hint of Kentucky calls Tom Bouten and Peer van de Palen to mind; smokers of dark Dutch shag, the spicy reek of which permeated the house as much as Herman's paler pipe tobacco.
Though not at the same times.


TONG YAN FAU

I've smoked this every day since I got it, often while strolling around Chinatown. The weather is nicer than it was at the beginning of the month, and while the aroma truly benefits from a crisp chill, the smoker himself is happier this way.
More folks are about. Perfect people watching conditions.

Two pipe-fulls on Jackson near Powell, during mid-afternoon. An elderly gentleman pushing his wife up the hill, slowly and painfully. Once past the entrance to Adele Court, she got up and together they inched further afoot. It was obvious that she did not want to be such a frightful burden, equally obvious that he did not mind at all. He was mighty pleased to be with her.
There was a gentleness to their faces.
Especially the eyes.

Teenagers leaving the bubble-tea place on the corner scattered down the block, twittering like birds. One said "oh, pipe" when he saw me.

A little tyke going food-shopping with her mom stared in goggle-eyed fascination, swivelling her head almost like Linda Blair in the Exorcist in her attempt to keep the apparition (me) in view from the top of the block to past M. P. Seafood Market (銘發海鮮 Min Fat Hoi-Sin) at the corner of Trenton Street.

The day was more golden because of the tobacco. Possibly the spiced fragrance worked upon the subconscious, likely the various stimuli sparked the mind.
Marvelous.

Do I remember the waitress with the warm smile?
Of course I do. Her charm was more noticeable with a jolt of nicotine, the flavour of the tobacco made more sweet because of the memory.

No, still not going to pursue that woman. She is far too young, and I'm smoking a tobacco that suits a mature man. But inextricably her complexion and this fine leaf intertwine in my mind's eye.
Definitely a maiden for Virginias.

Hardly any coffee this week. Instead I've been swilling extra-strong Oolong as if there's no tomorrow. I'm more attuned to certain smells after a few bowls of this tobacco. It's a strange interplay I cannot explain.


I'm whacked, but not tweaky.


Down to only four tins.
Need to order more.

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MANHATTAN AFTERNOON

This blogger is a restrained and abstemious person.
I only have good habits. Nothing peculiar.
Nothing I do qualifies as 'bent'.
Especially smoking.

If you see a dapper-looking middle-aged dude walking in your neighborhood with a handsome piece of briar sticking out of his mouth, that might be me. Especially if you live in Sany Francisco, north of California Street; anywhere between Van Ness Avenue and Chinatown.
I like to wander around Nob Hill with a pipe.
Sometime between noon and tea-time.

That's 'San Francisco'. Not 'Manhattan'.

One of the things I'm currently smoking is 'Manhattan'.
Manhattan-ish. Between noon and tea-time.
Hence the title of this post.


MANHATTAN AFTERNOON
Manufactured by Cornell & Diehl.
From the 'Simply Elegant Series'

Tin blurb: Naturally sweet Golden Virginia leaf with a drop of honey sliced into flakes.


The tin I opened dated from 2009.
It bulged in a disturbing way.
Which is a good thing.
Nicely fermented.

It was destabilizing one of the stacks of tins on a bookshelf, so I had to open it. Rubbed it out fully and dried it to the moisture level that I prefer.

The slices of flake where beautiful, of a hue that indicated a lot of deep brown goodness. The aroma was intoxicating, though not overly so. Rubbed out, the constituent tobaccos are somewhat evident, though guessing the proportion of blonde to brunette would be difficult. Some blondes are at heart brunettes.

[Never trust blondes. Good rule to live by.]

I'm about half-way through the tin now, it does not pall. Unlike finer-cut flakes it needs a bit of attention, but the pay-off is well worth it. Smooth, sweet, with a very pleasant rich taste, and an excellent room-note. The drop of honey is more noticeable in the tin-aroma than in the smoke, by a wide margin. And unlike gooped-up blends it does not leave a layer of skank in your bowl.
Remarkably, it is both tangy and creamy at the same time.
Blondes can be a bitch, but this one is very nice.

Smokes down to a fine ash that sounds crisp when stroked across the walls.

Blondes benefit from maturity. This product proves it.

I still have one tin of that vintage left.


*      *      *      *      *      *

I've always admired the attention to detail that the Tarlers of Cornell & Diehl showed in their products. Craig Cornell Tarler passed away on Tuesday, September 4, 2012, aged eighty-two.
He was an all-round good man, and the fraternity will miss him.
Morganton, North Carolina, is a less exciting place now.
R.I.P.

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PIPE SMOKING LADIES - FLAKE AND DARK TWIST

Yesterday evening I marvelled over the good fortune of a friend of mine, who has found a person with similar tastes, interests, and cigar-smoking habits. How wonderful to go through life together with so much in common!
She is one very lucky woman.
His and hers cigar cases.

She was enjoying a Partagas from Cuba while watching the game.
He had a maduro wrapper 'Presidente' while sitting beside her.
Even though the broadcast bored me, because I am completely deficient in any sports excitability whatsoever, I envied them.

As you may have noticed, there are very few pipe smoking women. At least not in the United States, where the vast majority of women with whom I am likely to come into contact happen to reside.

So the nearest I'll come to something approaching the happiness of the couple I mentioned is sitting on a hill one day on the leeward side of another person, smoking my pipe - probably a mild Virginia, so as not to bowl her over with sooty clouds of Latakia - while together we watch a dragonfly cruising past bisecting the view. Early on a summer evening, while the sky is still pink.
With quite a bit of luck she will not mind the slight reek of burning leaves, nay, she will actually enjoy sitting next to a badger-like coot with a pipe.
Who likes hearing her talk about politics, food, and literature.
The principles of democrats, and international relations.
Charsiu, bitter melon, noodle soup, and shellfish.
Jane Austen, Dickens, Yourcenar, Nabokov.
Mere hypothetical examples, of course.


Did I mention the dragonfly flitting past?
A reincarnated bureaucrat, released from human drudgery, briefly experiencing freedom and a splendid summer before being reposted as ...... a person who will grow up to be a bureaucrat.


Ideally, and this is the ulterior motive that I have in mind, I would corrupt her and lead her astray. Spoil her entirely, and bind her closer to me, as if it were an addiction that she could not and would not want to break.
A constant need, a fevered heartache, a fiery longing.
First a Virginia flake in a fine Comoy.
Then a bit of dark twist. In a bent Sasieni, very elegant.
Soon a sandblast of excellent grain definition, filled with aged Dunhill's London Mixture - I have numerous tins that have matured for years.
Why, I'll even crack open a canister of Balkan Sobranie purchased three decades ago. Together we will experience the perfumed Levantine haze, drifting in and out of Turkish dreams with sooty creosote. Evening fades to black, as we recline upon our hillside enthralled with magic fumes that have not been smelled since the eighties.
After which we will descend from Olympus, and find a restaurant that serves the juiciest charsiu, crisp fresh crunchy bittermelon with a hint of garlic and blackbean sauce, rice stick noodle soup redolent of cilantro and porky bits, and steamed oysters of surpassing tenderness, creamy and custard-like.

She will smile with happy delight, and the lights will reflect off the cutlery, her glasses, and the pearl necklace.

Enchanting.

Later we shall slowly stroll home through the now fog-veiled streets, deep in thought and comfortable in each other's presence. She with a dark mixture by Germain and Son in an old Charatan, I smoking Rattray's Old Gowrie or Brown Clunee, both manufactured by Kohlhase & Kopp from Germany, most likely in my favourite bent.
We will probably hold hands.
Very romantic.



I deliberately mentioned pearls, because I believe that all bright young ladies should wear pearls. It's exceptionally feminine.

The steamed oysters are essential at the restaurant I propose. There is something utterly delightful about cooked bivalves, and most normal women love seafood dishes.

Even though they would excite my gout, I shall not mention that.

Why spoil her happiness?



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WESSEX RED VIRGINIA FLAKE

There’s a fragrance there that brings back memory-echoes. But while the era remembered is relatively clear, the actual product seemingly recalled is not.
Perhaps something from the tobacconist next to Priem's bookstore?
It smells somewhat like a Theodorus Niemeijer product.
At that time I wasn't smoking very good tobacco in my pipe.
Couldn't afford it, and wouldn't have known what to do with it.

But this is entirely different.


WESSEX RED VIRGINIA FLAKE

Fine compacted little sheets that need to be pullicked apart. When rubbed out they render to thin pliable shreds. Yes, there does appear to be a top-dressing, of an old-fashioned sort. But it is very mild and does not in any way detract from the smoke.
I'm not entirely sure that it adds anything to it either.

Wessex Red Virginia Flake is a mild to mild-medium smoke with an appealing tangy sweetness on the tongue. As flue-cured tobacco goes, this is one of the most charming little flakes in my cellar. The tin I opened up recently must have been several years old, though, and that may be why it pleases me so.

Underneath and above the added fragrance is the perfume of plums and herbs, ethereal and discrete, which subsumes into the smoke once lit.

I would put this in my pipe even if it didn't play on moods and images grooved in my subconscious decades ago, as it is an excellent product.

Like with all flakes, I rubbed it fully out and aired the tobacco a bit before putting it into a small storage container. Flake is often too wet to smoke right out of the tin, and this is deliberate. Were such products the right moisture level for immediate consumption, they would more than likely crumble into unsmokable crud in the hand. A few days in a tobacco jar after frazzing up the flakes allows the leafy odours to redistribute, careful and not too tight packing yields an effortless and enjoyable smoke.


ADDED BENEFIT

Rubbing out an entire tin of flakes leaves one's hands smelling quite yummy.
Come here, little girl, would you care to guess where my hands have been?

It's a profoundly old-fashioned aroma.
Likely to piss-off earth-mother types.
Who can't enjoy life unless indignant.
And instinctively despise fine smoke.

Dot - dot - dot

Mmm, my fingers smell like I've been touching someone.
Oh don't look like that, it's quite innocent.
Holding hands with a young lady.
Clean and glowing.

She's wearing cotton.
I'm sure of it.

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A FONDNESS FOR MR. GAWITH

One evening last week I was in conversation with a British gentleman a few years my senior, who also smoked a pipe.
He assured me that pipe-smoking prompted a remarkable number of positive comments from the distaff side, who would wistfully remark that it reminded them of their grandfathers.
He didn’t particularly like being compared with someone getting on in years, possibly even senescent or deceased, but he certainly enjoyed having conversations with the granddaughters.

The tobacco which sparked their reveries qualifies as an abortion.
A lakeland Cherry – Vanilla abortion.

I may have remarked on this blog that quality does not stink like a Turkish cathouse.
If I haven’t, please accept that as a given.

I am still looking for a young lady who likens the fragrance of my pipe to the manly man of her dreams, the dashing Prince Charming who one day will sweep her off her pretty little feet.
She’ll look deep into my eyes, and both of us will lose ourselves in each other’s dark dark pupils.
Almost imperceptibly I feel her soft hand touching my fingers.
Yummy.

Then we’ll go have a nice cup of tea somewhere!

It’s the delicate masculine scent of real tobacco, you see.
Nothing says ‘vibrant youngish middle-aged codger who is completely ready for a relationship with an intelligent woman of taste and discernment’ than the upstanding fragrance of excellent leaves.

You can scarcely find products more English than the fine pressed flakes of Samuel Gawith, an estimable firm located in Kendal, Cumbria. These are the tins that you would find on your favourite cousin’s desk, or cluttering up the table next to the comfy easy chair in the study. Perhaps on the night stand for that last smoke of the day while reading in bed.
One of your uncles might keep some in a kitchen cabinet, to enjoy at night while the rest of the family is upstairs fast asleep.
That handsome fellow who lives in the next block also smokes Samuel Gawith, especially when he’s studying for exams – it quiets the mind while improving concentration.


SOMETHING NICE, MOSTLY FROM VIRGINIA

I’ve had a fair amount of Sam Gawith’s products, so here are half a dozen short reviews.
Keep in mind that these flakes will require rubbing out, which is best done while they're still moist.
You may have to dry them considerably before packing them in a pipe - just spread the tobacco out on plate for a while.
Cats will be fascinated by this procedure - close the door and ignore the mewling.



ST. JAMES FLAKE

Virginias and Perique combine to make this a race horse of a tobacco. Not particularly strong, but exceedingly enjoyable right out the gate. Just trots along. The Perique strikes just the right note. The aroma is a little sharp.
In the tin it smells figgy, sweet, and rich.
A magnet for a woman who likes to dance – not that arms and legs flailing crap that people do at raves, but waltzes, tangos, schottisches, and reels.
I might have to take dancing lessons.


BEST BROWN FLAKE

Straight Virginia. A remarkably consistent product with a pleasing sweetness. The tobacco has a fragrance reminiscent of hay, but also veering towards plummy. Smokes on the creamy side.
I’ve used it as a blending tobacco with excellent results. It’s a lovely smoke, but requires carefulness in some bowls. Milder than the St. James.
This product would probably attract young ladies who go to the opera, and know all the words in Italian to something rousing.


FULL VIRGINIA FLAKE

Woody and spicy at times, it buzzes along without much effort. Nicotine-wise it punches a bit, but the slow and contemplative puffer should have no problems.
I’ve smoked many bowls in the television room while my housemate was asleep. I still live there.
It lacks a particularly strong smell
Think in terms of a neat librarian with glasses, rosy cheeks, and an utterly fabulous mind.


BRACKEN FLAKE

Kentucky and dark-fired tobaccos. Earthy, woody, and leathery. Some people might think that an odd flavouring has been added, but they’re probably tasting one of the characteristics of the darker leaf. This is a strong tobacco, and the young fellows should be advised not to gyrate on ladders while indulging. Leave the rain gutter cleanup for another time.
Unless, of course, you have a nice pile of soft garden waste to fall upon.
In which case you just might want to lie there staring at the sky with your best girl by your side.
She probably thinks you’re very manly. Mad, but very manly.


GOLDEN GLOW

Lemon Virginias, mostly. Satisfying if you like such things. I seldom smoke the paler flakes – it takes just the right mood - but like all Samuel Gawith products it is very well-made. Let’s call it ‘subtle’. Something that an elderly librarian might indulge in, while listening to Italian opera late in the afternoon. The French doors are open, a zephyr caries in the fragrance of the fields beyond the wall.  Smooth and uncomplicated, but because of the brightness of the main leaf it must be smoked slow. Coddled, in fact. The room note is excellent.
About the only type of woman that I can imagine being attracted by this tobacco is someone’s granddaughter. She probably has wavy blonde hair and a rambunctious sense of humour, and might even like to have a cup of tea with the pipesman.  Beware of her cigarettes - she chainsmokes.


1792 FLAKE

Dark-fired African tobacco, made profoundly darker by its treatment in Kendal. A tarry eccentric, and actually a very attractive product. But some people look at it all cross-eyed, due to a remarkable strength.  It is also deceptive, because it smokes so well that you might not notice your head spinning until you hit the floor.
The tin note is of tonquin, sweet and spicy. With an underlying hint of sphagnum.
A lady who is attracted to this probably also likes sniffing your old leather jackets.
With you still in them.



All these tobaccos should appeal to thoughtful women, who don’t mind their man whiffing a bit old-fashioned. Men used to smell like tobacco, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
As long as they bathe on a daily basis, and don’t douse themselves with buckets of aftershave and designer fragrances - quality does NOT stink like a Turkish cathouse.
Or like a Cherry – Vanilla microwave strudel.
Remember that.

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OLD GOWRIE: PERFECT PIPE TOBACCO FOR BADGERS

Per Wikipedia, "Gowrie (Scottish Gaelic: Gobharaidh) is a region and ancient province of Scotland, covering most of the eastern part of what became Perthshire. The province is the home of such ancient Scottish royal sites as Scone and perhaps Forteviot.
Its chief settlement is the town of Perth. Today it is most often associated with the Carse of Gowrie, the part of Gowrie south of the Sidlaw Hills running east of Perth to Dundee."

[Read more here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gowrie.]


OLD GOWRIE

The reader will now recognize a resonance; this explains why Charles Rattray named one of his tobaccos thus.
Perth is where mr. Rattray opened his own shop after several years in the trade elsewhere.
There is no tobacco grown in Gowrie, the climate is unsuitable.

The product is described as Virginia with a hint of Perique, and fully rubbed out. That isn't strictly accurate, as to my mind it requires a little more reduction to make it pack properly in the pipe. Fortunately it is moist in the tin and can be handled without crumbling.
Let it dry a while ere lighting up.


As with most of the Virginias I have been enjoying of late, the best smoke is the one I have after having a bite to eat in Chinatown on the weekend. These are the contrast, the capstone, and the dessert rolled into one.
Virginias have a sweetness on the tongue and a sparkle on the palate which can be utterly enchanting, and I have long associated them with young ladies of wit, charm, and strong character.
Sparkling eyes, expressive faces, and a hint of fruits and herbs.

There is no young lady in my life at present; a relationship of many years came to an end in 2010.
I wish it hadn't. But what is done is done.
While there is nothing else, good pipe tobacco ameliorates much.


Mr. Badger had a chicken bun and some siu mai for lunch today, followed by a full bowl of Old Gowrie while sitting in the sun. Old Gowrie has a sweetness similar to Marlin Flake, albeit with a somewhat browner profile and broader flavour-spectrum. The smell in the tin is fruity-spicy, definitely reminding one of the colonies.
A very fine product made with much more flue-cured tobacco than some of the popular English pressed tobaccos, and consequently no need for the degenerate funkums which mass-market manufacturers spray on their leaves.
It isn't really a VaPer ("Virginia - Perique blend"), and therefore might not satisfy the afficionados of that type.
Who are troll-like people of ursine build, with fur on the outside of their chest, and hair on the inside.
No, they will likely not be pleased.

But civilized creatures, like badgers, beavers, and even some ferrets, will find it quite delicious.
On sunny days they will leave their burrows, wearing a nice tweed coat or a jaunty cap perhaps, and amble through the tall green grass of early spring, humming to themselves while whisps of smoke trail behind them. Life is good, that siu mai was truly excellent today, very juicy. Then they will sit for a while on a fallen tree trunk (in my case, a concrete bench), enjoying the warmth and brightness, while the remainder of the bowl attracts their attention.
Sweet, fragrant, soft.......

A suggestion of plum, of prune, of apricot. Tea or chocolate.
Old Gowrie possesses an almost syrupy quality.
The Perique is just a subtle hint.
Flue cured dominates.


If Old Gowrie were a human, she would be youthful, slim shouldered, and vibrant. Possibly wearing a dark blouse and a pale skirt - one can imagine a little black brassiere underneath, with a matching pair of panties....... nothing visible, but she knows about them, and she can feel the smooth cool fabric against her warm silken skin.
For innocent middle aged men like myself, thoughts of such things provide a sweetness to the day as delightful as Old Gowrie itself.
And at least I've got the pipe tobacco.
That is a reason to smile.


Emptied out the ashes after my smoke and headed East along Washington Street, past the insane man standing on a bucket chanting "happy happy happy", past the park where a Chinese violin prefaced an air from a Cantonese opera. The singing sounded better when I got a block further down, distance having mellowed the static from the amplifiers and softened the edges of the song.

It was one of the most enjoyable lunches I've had in a while.

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RATTRAY'S VIRGINIA TOBACCO: OLD GOWRIE, MARLIN FLAKE, BROWN CLUNEE, HAL O' THE WYND

Brash young boys and elderly roués smoke strong Latakia mixtures or Turkish blends. Scholars and well-bred young ladies, however, vastly prefer good solid Virginia flakes.
I am somewhere in between youthful brashness and aged rake - where exactly depends on my mood - but there are also times when the pressed flue-cured tobaccos hold my attention.
For the past four months I have smoked a fair amount of such.
Particularly products manufactured under the Rattray name.

Charles Rattray of Perth made four stellar Virginias which have become standards, and which have attracted fans for generations.
It is not known how many of those aficionados were intelligent little women with sharp intellects.
One suspects rather an awful lot.
Those that didn't smoke Rattrays may have instead preferred Samuel Gawith, but Rattrays was nevertheless a standard in their universe.
One or two of them may have loaded their pipes with a navy flake, but they were just asking for trouble.
Probably liked dark twist and shag tobacco too.
Some people are eccentric.


Even today, here in San Francisco, there are probably numerous bright-eyed bespectacled misses who keep a canister or two of Charles Rattray's fine leaf in a desk drawer, to be stealthily enjoyed while their older sisters are out of the house or their parents are asleep.
When all is quiet, and the rest of the family has gone off to that dreary clan-association banquet at the large restaurant on Pacific Avenue near Stockton Street, they pull a favourite book from the shelf, fill a bent sandblast with tobacco, and settle down in the battered wicker chair behind the pantry for a good long read.
One match. Puff. Tamp.
Ah, heaven!

Let us explore the tobacco preferences of brilliant demoiselles in the descriptions below.


OLD GOWRIE
Broken flake.
Slightly comparable to Escudo and McConnel's Scotch Cake, earthy with a fruity tin aroma.
Hints of molasses and chocolate due to a Kentucky leaf addition, low level of Perique.
Clean and rich, if puffed slowly. It is mellow, and a good solid smoke.
Leaves one a bit light headed if too much is smoked.
Renders to a fine white ash.


MARLIN FLAKE
Long folded strips of pressed tobacco.
When fully rubbed it provides a soft smooth smoke with considerable character.
Not really similar to McClelland's or McBarens products, though some have drawn comparisons, possibly because a prune - plum - fruitcake redolence.
Mixed mostly dark and flecks of bright. Toasty, tangy, slightly tart.
A milder flavour than Hal O' The Wynd, but seemingly more nicotine.
One can smoke a full deep bowl, or two pipes in succession.


BROWN CLUNEE
Ready rubbed brown flake.
Semi-sweet, spicy and toasty. Reminiscent of good black tea, with a natural aroma of fresh-mown hay and summer fruits.
Delicately spicy. A fine Virginia (perhaps with a touch of Kentucky?), and a mighty good introduction to its class.
Burns easily, requiring little thought. Soft and smooth, simple and straightforward for the most part .
There is a slight darkness near the end of the bowl, a hint of hidden complexity and character.


HAL O’ THE WYND
Ready-rubbed Red Virginia flake.
Presents a spectrum somewhere in between peaty, fruity, herbal, and earthy.
Zesty and complex, but with a straightforwardly satisfying quality. This is a tobacco that has both brightness and a very likable character.
In many ways the most old-fashioned of the lot, with a beguiling room-note.
Probably the one which this smoker will open up again and again.


The type of young lady who smokes any one of these four products probably also has a favourite tea cup and saucer. Maybe willow pattern, if she has a sense of irony, or a lovely mille-fleur for the sparkly type, even plain ivory glaze with a blue line around the rim café style, or celadon for a sense of summer.
Her tastes are neither loud nor brash, and she tends toward quietness.
What's certain, however, is that she is unique among her friends and kin, and does not read the same books or pursue the same interests.
An independent type, of considerable character.
Charming, attractive, but self-contained.
Keen, strong-minded, and resolute.
Someone worth knowing.


NOTE: a few years ago I spoke ill of Kohlhase & Kopp in Germany who now manufacture the Rattrays product line, based on bad experiences with some of their products. Since then I have been quite favourably impressed. Not only by their approach to Charles Rattray's legacy, also by other horses in their stable.
Consequently I must take back what I said then.
It was undeserved.

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RATTRAY'S HAL O' THE WYND

Miss Lodewyks was a small, almost frail looking girl, with a kind face and hair that captured the glow of sunlight. There always seemed a note of amusement in her eyes whenever I came around, and she was anxious that I should have a cup of coffee with milk and a cookie. She wanted to spend some time with me. And we would pleasantly talk a bit first.

But this post is not about her, even though she was my own age, and a very nice person indeed, far nicer than I was at that age.
This post is about her father, mynheer Lodewyks, whom I had really come to see.
Every week we would spend an hour with my French textbooks from high school, before taking two hours to wade through the volumes on his bookshelves. Rama and Sita came back to life for a small while, Yudisthira journeyed northward through the wasteland with his faithful dog Karma, Gatotkaca blustered his way through a horde of sub-trolls...... a railway got built to Pakan Bahru, the Alifuro came down from the hills to harvest heads, a farmer traded his precious karbau for some beras......
Once or twice he mentioned the camps, but those memories did not glow.
Much revolved around language, phrasing, spicy shared vocabularies.

Shortly before the 'lesson' ended, his daughter would come in with a tray on which there was some more coffee, and a plate of cookies.

I really did not need the cookies...... but another cup of coffee, and a smile from her, was quite the perfect cap to the afternoon.

After she left the room, the old man would reach over on his desk and grab a pipe, fill it, and touch a match to the tobacco. For the last half hour we would take it easy, discussing what a word may have meant several centuries ago, what its descendants might mean now.
Not only English adopted wandering orphans from other languages, so did Dutch. Though in Dutch they may have acquired a garb that belies their foreign roots entirely.

Most Dutch, for instance, might not recognize 'fruit' as a borrowing, to say nothing of 'koffie', 'tabak', 'sigaar', or even 'pisang', 'pasanggrahan', and 'pinda' (Malay for banana, a lodgement along the Great Post Road, and a West-African word for peanut respectively).

I almost never smoked my own pipe in his study, because I liked the gentle reek of his tobacco, and did not wish to dilute the fragrance or spoil the mood.
A mildly sweet grassy incense, that marvelously complemented the afternoon sunlight streaming in on a summer day, or the dark wet twilights of a Dutch winter.

This post, then, is actually neither about his daughter or him, but about his tobacco.
He filled his pipe from a cannister of product unavailable locally.
Qua texture and appearance it strongly recalled the standard Dutch cavendish products I was familiar with: Sail, Amphora, Van Rossem.
But there the similarity ended.


HAL O' THE WYND
A pure Virginian tobacco of "a most unusual share of strength"
Blended for CHARLES RATTRAY (of) Perth, Scotland

It's a quality Red Virginia Flake, rubbed out for ease of packing.
Made in Germany, distributed in the U.S. by Arango Cigar Co.


My first bowl of it, when mr. Lodewyks offered me some, did not please me. Unlike the Dutch pressed Cavendishes it so seemed to resemble, it needed more skill to keep lit and bit me ferociously.
Truth be told, my smoking habits when I was fifteen years old were not attuned to the subtle approach. Stuff it in, fire it up, and suck.
There's no way I could possibly enjoy it then.
Most unsuitable for a growing boy.
But I would not say so.

Mighty fine tobacco, sir. Thank you!

In actual fact, it was only in appearance that it resembled the Dutch Cavendishes - like them it was ready rubbed. But there it ended.
Dutch Cavendishes are composed of Burley, Maryland, Indonesian, some Virginias, and God only knows what else, plus added sweetening, aroma, and incendiary aids to keep it lit.
Rattray's Hal O' The Wynd is pure, a very high quality fish indeed.
Blessed with a far more civilized room-note than any Dutch weed.

This is a lively maiden among the leaves, very lovable company.

There's something about the fragrance of a fine Virginia which stirs the mind and conduces reverie.


I shall now holler various evocative terms at you, attempting to stimulate your affection for this tobacco of which I have had several bowls recently:
Yeasty, malty, slightly sweet, heavy, bright, faint caramel, springtime, leathery, medium brown, zesty, hay, robust, consistent, peaty, dried fruit, tweed, herbs, straw, earthy, old barn wood. Dark coffee, tawny port!

You must smoke it slowly, like an adult. Not fast, like a child.

Dried out a bit and not jammed in but springy-packed, it is most rewarding.

Good stuff. Very good stuff. I have several tins of it, but none that are open.
The stuff I'm smoking now came from one of the tins for sampling at the local tobacconist.
You see, like a typical cheapskate Dutchman, I saw opportunity. They allow customers to take a bit of the tobaccos in a little plastic bag to get a better impression of the product - at today's prices, that's a profound kindness - and seeing as they had popped a one hundred gramme container of Hal O' The Wynd, there was plenty to spare.
I took a generous sample while one of them was working, then came in the other day when someone else was working to get another sample. A very generous sample.
And I told both gentlemen exactly what I was doing, too - "I'm afraid I'm going to be awfully greedy now, it isn't a pretty sight, taking huge whomping handfulls, best you look away ".
Paid for my actual purchases, left happy.


This is not just a tobacco for opportunistic Dutchmen and elderly linguisticians.
It will also appeal to intelligent young ladies studying for their history exams, craftsmen, musicians, confirmed bachelors, and self-assured women who wish to spend a quiet evening reading.
Anyone with a contemplative streak, in other words.


In retrospect, I should probably also have associated more with mr. Lodewyks' nice daughter.
It would have built character and made me a better person.

TOBACCO INDEX


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