A BAT ON NOB HILL

The night I dined on Italian sausage with Shanghai bokchoy over pasta, while coming home along Washington Street I saw a bat. And that made me rather happy. You see, bats are rare in the city. Years ago I had occasionally observed some of them swirling and swooping around the lanterns on a block nearby, but it has been a while.

And, as you might very well shper, the middle of winter is not optimal bat sighting time.

[The Italian sausage was grilled in a hot pan, then removed to cool and for the juices to "recompose". Slivered ginger was briefly seethed, then the Shanghai bokchoi was added in two stages to that pan; chopped pale crunchy parts first, shredded leafy parts later. After that the sausage and cabbage were briefly combined, with a glop of lemon grass sauce, manufactured by Lee Kum Kee in Hong Kong. Hot sauce (home made, no link) and a smoodge of shrimp paste were stirred in, and the amalgam was dumped over al dente rotini. I knew you were curious.]

I am quite fond of bats. Entirely aside from their lamentable habit of relieving themselves all over themselves, because they are hanging upside down, and too darn comfortable to get up (down) and go fly over some pigeons.

After seeing the little fellow flitting around, I stayed on that stretch of street for a while, hoping that he would return. Maybe he did, but if so, too quick and flickety to notice. Especially after the sun had set.

[People who read Chinese will understand why I wanted a peach while standing there, and also why I then remembered a story by the Master of the Five Willows (陶潛 Tou Chim, 365 – 427 CE) at that time.]

The weather these past few days has been very nice, for this season.
I've opened a tin of a pipe-tobacco I smoked at the same time last year, the fragrance of which one year or so ago prompted intense memory replays, made more vibrant because of the nicotine level. Greg Pease's navigator has increased in fruitiness after nearly twelve months of age, but the subtle sting of a fire-cured leaf is still perfumily present.
Nicotine is a stimulant, and works on the memories.
There is no connection to peaches.
But yet there is.




I prepared dinner long after coming home. I would have enjoyed another pipefull after that, but it was rather late. And, because of an apartment mate who is, remarkably, not into bats, I would have had to step outside to enjoy it. There is little fun wandering around in the chilly dark night, by oneself, and not even able to see the bats.
Though one might hear them.





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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.

TOBACCO INDEX


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NAVIGATOR - SMOKING ON THE EDGE OF CHINATOWN

I remarked to Dante that if one had a choice of service with a warm smile from a pretty woman, or haphazard attention from a not very bright uncle, it was always better to go on a night when the person who is pleasing to the eyes is working.
He agreed. As, naturally, any man would.
And I will admit that I tend to go to that restaurant ONLY when the pretty woman is working. The food seems to taste so much better that way.

That, possibly, also affects my present perception of Greg Pease's latest tobacco product: Navigator. I smoked a big, BIG bowlful after dinner.
But I had let enough time pass that the residual taste of the bitter melon chicken rice (凉瓜雞球飯) was long gone, though not the memory of the keen intelligent eyes and sincere smile.


GREG PEASE'S NAVIGATOR
[Sixth in the Old London Series.]

No, the person in question does NOT resemble red Virginia, neither in ribbon cut form nor lightly pressed flake. But if they began featuring charming women on tobacco posters again, she would be in the running.
Certainly my first choice.


'Smoke a blend of predominantly red VA, with a touch of yellow, brown, and something aircured plus a demure and mysterious extra note;
smoke GLP Navigator!'



I think we can all agree that my skills as an advertising copy writer leave something to be desired. But don't worry, she would be fully clothed. Shirt and v-neck sweater (it was cold last night), plus jeans. Although we'd have to shop around a bit for the jeans, leastways a better fit.
The sweater made her look very fresh and collegiate, and crisp white cotton shirts evoke innocence and clean living. The hair was perfect. Long, black, clean and shiny, with a clip keeping it out of her face.
She'd be the ideal poster-girl for a pure and generous tobacco.

Navigator tastes velvety in the mouth, with a good balance of boldness and complexity. Yet it is more subtle than you would at first think. This is the type of mixture that, if you smelled someone else smoking it, would inspire you to reveries, and might colour an entire period of your life, or bring back brilliant memories of an era long ago.

The pipe was a biggish Barling billard, and it sang. Perhaps overly optimistic of me to load such a large pipe to the brim with a product laden with nicotine (flue-cured leaf and Kentucky tend toward wallop), but an hour and a half later I was happy as a clam and high as a kite.
Nicotine stimulates quite a bit.
Navigator, a lot.

It was a splendid evening, what all Saturdays should be.
Good food, good company, good cheer.
Plus something evocative.


I'm wondering whether I should first order eight tins, or twelve. Or place two separate orders.
This tobacco will age well, I think. And it will likely end up in my regular rotation. Smokes down cool and clean, delivering graduating spectra of complexity, then quietly departs, leaving naught but happiness and a fine white ash.

 

TOBACCO INDEX


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TASTEFUL MATURITY

Through the kind agency of a friend, I have been able to smoke some of Greg Pease's latest mixture. Which has, as of this writing, not been released yet. Greg's own website does not indicate when we will see it on the shelves.


Navigator: Red Virginias and orange and yellow leaf, with a bit of beautiful dark-fired tobacco,
then softened with a little dark rum.
[Descriptive data lifted from this site: G.L.Pease.com ]


This one will not knock your socks off. Instead, it will grow on you. The first bowl was okay -- and I must mention I had smoked several bowls of other stuff that evening, so I could just as well have put some smoldering rubber in my pipe for all the tastebuds that were still alert that I had left -- but the second bowl a day later was extremely satisfying, and the third bowl yesterday after dinner induced reverie, as well as a great greedy sadness.
I had only enough for three bowls, you see.
It's gone now, and I want more.

My fellow pipe-mavens know that I own enough pipe tobacco to survive the coming zombie apocalypse. Many different blends and brands. So I should, really, be able to satisfy all my cravings without needing to acquire a stash of yet one more smoking mixture.
Logically speaking there is no need.

That, of course, makes no difference whatsoever.
I anxiously await the availability of Navigator.

Fullish, yet ethereal. A pensive tobacco, with gentleness, and a haunting fragrance on the nose. Navigator is a blend for mature men.

TOBACCO INDEX


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