PARENTAL INFLUENCE

As a young man growing up, I was distinctly odd compared to my peers. Which was entirely without my planning, it just happened. Most young men living in Valkenswaard in that day and age were not reading Nabokov, Bunyan, Voltaire, or Simenon. If anything, they read adventure comics, Asterix & Obelix, and Multatuli, in addition to the sports pages and mechanical handbooks.

[Nabokov because of the elegant prose and refined depravity, Bunyan because of Blake's stellar illustrations, Voltaire because there was a naked breast on the cover of a paperback edition, and Simenon because of the frequent evocative mentions of food and mood.]


I also ended up smoking a pipe. Many teenagers will experiment with such a thing, but I went about it quite by accident. There was a beautiful item in the window of the local tobacconist, which I only purchased because it looked so nice. I was thirteen at the time.
Several weeks later, when I had turned fourteen, I bought some tobacco to smoke in it, thinking that owning a piece of smoking equipment without anything to burn therein was rather silly. It took me about two months of secret burl-fondling to come to that staggering conclusion.

Several months after that the cat discovered my equipment and the jig was up. When I came home, my mother gave me a stern lecture about how smoking causes lung cancer, kidney disease, esophageal scarring, shrunken testicles, slope brows, bad breath, gum and tooth decay, inflamed pustules on the privates, baldness, and severe social damage. She laid it on thick, using all the medical terminology at her command.
Given that one of her favourite books was the Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy, her command was immense. I had read much of that book too, so I knew what she was talking about.

And, because she chainsmoked three Kent Filter Kings during the speech, none of it sunk in.

Then she handed me over to my father, a former pipe-smoker, who lowered his newspaper, disdainfully held up my half-finished tin of 'Scottish Mixture' (fine Cavendish and Heather Honey with a touch of whisky), and informed me: "son, good pipe tobacco does NOT smell like a Turkish cat house, please smoke clean stuff".

All I heard was "please smoke".
So I did.

I had bought a pouch of Voortrekker that afternoon.
Clean stuff; I was in the clear.


PLEASE SMOKE!

In the last few months that I lived in Valkenswaard, my father went to London for ten days, leaving me more than enough money for necessary household expenses and a few small indulgences, an unlocked liquor cabinet, and an empty house, because my brother studying in Tilburg would not return home for several weeks.

This was too good an opportunity to miss!

Empty house! No one to cramp my style! Unlimited freedom!

Huzzah!


No sooner had the VW beetle disappeared from sight down the alley than I raced upstairs to his desk in the hayloft, went directly to the second drawer, and pulled out his box of pipes. Filled the Comoy Blue Riband squat bulldog with Balkan Sobranie, and lit up.

Ten whole days!

His pipes were so much nicer than mine. And they had a special smell.
He had only smoked clean stuff in them.


No, I didn't touch the liquor cabinet, nor did I bring home women.
At that age I had no idea how to approach the female of the species (they still confuse me), and I wouldn't have had quite the confidence to pull it off. But I smoked heaps of Balkan Sobranie (a necessary household expense if ever there was one), drank buckets of strong coffee, and re-read Nabokov, Simenon, and Pilgrim's Progress.

I regret that last one.
It's rather dreary.


Other young men by that time were reading Isaac Asimov and Robert A. Heinlein, and several of them had girlfriends. But, as they did not have Balkan Sobranie, an empty house, tons of coffee, and a fevered imagination, I did not envy them.
The old Balkan Sobranie mixture has not existed since the early eighties when Redstone sold out. But the imagination is more feverishly toxic than ever before.

Caffeinated beverages are (still) excellent.

I have become a man of sober habits.
Yes, it surprises me too.


Let's call it 'maturity'.

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BAAI TABAK

One of the tastes (or smells) that brings back long memory trains is Baai Tabak ("Bay tobacco"), that being what the Dutch call thin ribbon-cut leaf predominantly from Maryland, formerly shipped out via the Chesapeake.
Most of the currently available Netherlandish products in this category nowadays are sauced, often with extractives in the nasty aromatic vein.
Messing with the smell in such a fashion does nothing for the tobacco, and simply offends the rememberant.
It is remarkable that the damned Danes have not figured this out yet.

[All Dutch pipe tobaccos are presently manufactured in Scandinavia, where tobacco traditions are entirely different. Some fine products come out of the frigid boggy north, but many respected names now exist only in fantastically unlikeable interpretations. Good whores, those Danes.]


A real Baai Tabak consist overwhelmingly of plain barn-cured Maryland in a thin ribbon-cut, slightly steamed and fermented, then slow-dried to a proper humidity level for packaging. Flue-cured leaf as well as Burley may be added, provided in proper measure (minor proportions, in other words), and similarly treated.

[Stellar representations of the oeuvre: Echte Friesche Heeren Baai. Taconis et autres.]

The smell of such a product is pleasant, light, slightly nutty, and without the cloying sweetness of cigarettes or fruity flakes. There should be NO added sugar, nor any suggestion of vanilla, maple, chocolate, rum, or any other stinkum. It is supposed to be a clean healthy mixture.
Not a Viking perversion.


Voortrekker, Vier Heeren Baai, Rode Ster Rooktabak, Van Nelle's Echte Baai Tabak, Coopvaert, Echte Friesche Heeren Baai, and Troost Baai.


That last had some very odd leaves from the East Indies, but was still mostly barn-cured, and till the later years of production, unsauced.

The closest thing to Baai Tabak nowadays, given what those damned Danes have done, is probably the type of tobacco sold as Cavendish-cut for rolling into cigarettes. These are slightly broader in texture than regular shag, and for tax purposes categorized as pipe-tobacco. Yes, they roll a decent smoke, but they also perform very well in a briar. Most of these are, naturally, flue-cured leaves. But the "Amsterdam Cavendish" has a slight taste of something a Dutchman would recognize, the "Danish Cavendish" is mild and smokes very pleasantly, and the "Norwegian Cavendish" is quite enjoyable; smooth, sweet, and nutty. All need a little drying for the pipe, as they come finger-moist.
These are good simple products, of a more than decent quality.
Those damned Danes are doing something right.
Straightforward and honest.

Unfortunately, the avidly sought nose memory isn't there. They aren't, at the end of reckoning, from Maryland, where leaves grow that are exceptionally deficient in natural sweetness, like Burley, but also low in Nicotine, nearly at the impoverished level of Turkish.
A little age makes it a remarkable smoke.
Naturally fragrant.

The government of the state of Maryland expends much time and effort on discouraging the planting of tobacco, seeing as they're bucking for most politically correct green and fluffy socially responsible collection of pussy-pukes in the nation, and each year less and less acreage is devoted to the oldest cash crop they have. Once no more is grown there, there will be no reason to even visit them; they don't do anything else worth note.


Some Maryland-type tobacco is grown in Italy.

Baai Tabak today is not the same as it was.

The world is now a colder meaner place.

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HELLO KITTY IN BONDAGE VILE

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but at the most recent meeting of the Golden Gate Pipe Club, both Hello Kitty and The Whore of Babylon were referenced. I shall blame Erik Stokkebye for this. And no, this post has nothing to do with pipes, pipe-smoking, pipe-tobacco, or Eric Stokkebye's four new blends that celebrate the history of his family's involvement with the tobacco industry, though I will state that the 1931 flake is both exceptionally pleasant as well as high quality. It will appeal to smokers of both refined and depraved sensibilities, being rather old-fashioned and English in style.
A product that you can imagine yourself smoking on a rainy day somewhere in the north of England, in a town of modest size.

Most members of the club are men, there are some women.
Many of us are past our thirties, some are not.
A good cross-section of people.

And Hello Kitty.

No, the Japanese Anglo-phile Feline is NOT among our ranks. But she could be. Pipe-smoking veers towards a somewhat British mode. Probably because of the many fine British things that pipe-smokers will likely also like: Scotch and Irish Whiskey, Indian curry, French cuisine, and fine Italian leathers.
And Hello Kitty, as is well known, lives just outside of London with her loving family, and enjoys apple pies and afternoon tea.
Her father, by the way, smokes a pipe.
I'm sure she loves how it smells.


HOLY CRAP, A TALKING DOG!

As many of my friends know, mention of Hello Kitty is a frequent occurrence in my circles, one which I am not responsible for -- we're all legally adult, and responsible for our own safety -- but which nevertheless happens more often in my immediate ambit than I am comfortable with. And, given that so much merchandise has been marketed with Hello Kitty's charming image thereupon, I have occasionally expressed bafflement that none of it is geared toward pipe-smokers.
Are we not human? Do we not deserve Hello Kitty pipeholders, tobacco pouches, pipe racks, storage cabinets, tampers, matches, pipe lighters, polishing cloths, tobacco jars, pipe sleeves, and Hello Kitty man-purses with room for six pipes, two tins of tobacco, a tamper, and cleaners?

In December, my friends Mark and Robin gifted me a Hello Kitty.
I have no idea why. It's not like I've mentioned her much.
Hello Kitty is currently examining some of my briars.
There's something acquisitive about her.
Fortunately, she's small.
Controllable.

If Hello Kitty smoked a pipe, I fear that she would lean toward aromatics, as her favourite fragrances are strawberries, apples, and very likely also melon. Clean fresh essences which, unfortunately, are also used in 'perfumes' aimed at a young female audience.
And please note that grown-ups use more discrete smells.
Something with vetiver, or perhaps citrus.
A faint wiff of gardenias.

We desperately need a Hello Kitty aftershave.


Anyhow, we we're discussing Erinmore Flake, and I remarked that it was actually a good pressed Virginia and Air-cured melange, with an unfortunate Hello Kitty top-dressing, that recalled nothing so much as the Whore of Babylon. Within seconds, I had to defend both of those assertions.
How did I know about Hello Kitty perfumes?
What experiences did I have with the Whore of Babylon?

I had to admit that I have had no personal exposure to the Whore of Babylon, as she passed away before my time, and as for the Hello Kitty unguents and bath products, I had sniffed them at the Sanrio store down on Stockton near Market Street several years ago. Purely out of intellectual curiosity. A friend had once mentioned that when she was an adolescent she had briefly dallied with Hello Kitty personal fragrances.
I have no idea why she told me, but people seem encouraged to bring up their Hello Kitty reminiscences when talking to me. I really hope that it isn't because I remind them of Hello Kitty's dad (a pipesmoker with a sense of humour), or her grandfather (who is very wise, and likes to paint).
Perhaps it's my Londonian air?
Or my animal-like radiance.
And charming whiskers.
Can't be my smell.

All of that must however have prompted one of the other members to tell a tale about two horses and a greyhound who entered a drinking establishment, and the bar-keep asked them how their day had been.
The first horse complained that he had been pulling heavy loads all day, his back ached, boy was he tired, how about a pint of Guinness. The second horse said that he had been at the races when a bee stung him, and he ended up bucking his jockey, stampeding into the stands, injuring five children on a school outing, and whacking his knee severely. He hurt, his knee was badly swollen, he could really use a stiff Scotch. No ice.

The dog said "well, I was chasing this electric bunny...."

Whereupon both horses shouted:

"Holy crap, a talking dog!!!"


On second thought, Hello Kitty should join the pipe club. She'd find it quite as lively and cheerful as she herself is, and she would meet new people and make many friends. There might even be apple pie, which she loves.
We could also make a pot of tea.

We're very English, in some ways.


For your information, I only had one glass of port.
It goes well with both flakes and burleys.

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EVEN MORE REASONS TO MAKE CONTACT WITH EARTH

I've been looking at the empty tobacco tins stacked in a corner of the teevee room. Without my even noticing, they've added up a bit since the last grand clearout of smoker's detritus. Yes, I am a slob.
Or perhaps I enjoy having the evidence that I've been up to something all around.
My apartment mate is a very patient woman.

Well, oblivious too, or she NEVER would have given up on my handsome ever-so-likeable self more than two years ago. Be that as it may, it explains why I like having her here, and why despite having gotten over me and my very considerable charms (stop snickering, dammit), she still likes living with me.
I am a known quantity.
So is she.

She doesn't smoke.


EMTPY TINS

Dunhill 965, enameled tin. A pleasant middle-of-the-road English mixture much suited to middle-aged men who play golf or know Aramaic.
I am neither.
Dunhill Elizabethan Mixture (also enameled tin). Good lord what was I thinking. This product is FAR too eccentric for me.
Dunhill Royal Yacht (enameled). Vile. Possibly degenerate. Suitable for teenage boys.
Dunhill Early Morning Pipe (enameled). A extremely pleasant product. Goes well with strong black tea, spot of milk and sugar. Very civilized.
Wessex Red Virginia Flake. Nice. reminds me of childhood. More innocent times, in any case.
Wessex Brown Virginia Flake. Early adolescence, when I was still pearled with dew.
Gawith Hogarth Ennerdale. What nasty men smoke.
Orlik Golden Sliced. There's that childlike innocence again. Chasing butterflies, sunlight, tall grasses.
MacBaren Virginia Flake. Old ladies, and anise pastilles.
Samuel Gawith Full Virginia Flake. Possibly a slightly degenerate teenage period, but also something that elderly gentlemen can smoke without fear of being molested.
Samuel Gawith St. James Flake. I am become a small dark-haired miss, and there is no one in the house right now. I shall swan about naked.
Samuel Gawith Golden Glow. A lighter Virginia tobacco, springlike. Straw-blonde hair and a lovely summer dress. La la la.
Samuel Gawith Squadron Leader. I say, Pip, Jerry's over the channel.
Samuel Gawith Commonwealth Full Strength Mixture. Let us now sing the songs that students sing in Latin, while taunting the other colleges.
Samuel Gawith 1792 Flake. Something for my more depraved moments. The reason why you haven't read about them in the newspaper is because I am very discreet.
Rattrays Hal O' The Wynd. A spring breeze, an innocent damsel, and amazing self-control. Stay a gentleman at all times, stay a gentleman at all times, stay a gentleman....
Rattrays Old Gowrie. Badger roaming the fields and forest glades.
Rattrays Marlin Flake. Dammit, I need to kill a fish. No, I am not in Hemingway mode.
Rattrays Brown Clunee. Stylish in my skirt and cardigan, and very demure.
Erinmore Mixture. Anything more suggestive of birching would be hard to imagine.
Greg Pease Abingdon. I want a ham sandwich and a glass of sherry.
Esoterica Tabaciana Dunbar. A downtown alley near the TransAmerica Pyramid, late summer. And crows.
Germain's Medium Flake. Young men at twilight.
Germain's Brown Flake. Horny young men, beer at midnight.
Germain's Plum Cake Mixture. Depravities involving unguents. Secretly enjoyable.
Germain's Eighteen Twenty Smoking Mixture. A calm rational man, whom you would enjoy meeting over tea and cookies.

And lastly, Davidoff Flake Medallions. Amazingly happy-making.


I have a rich inner-life.
Possibly an alternative reality.


When the zombie-apocalypse comes, women will flock around me, because as a pipe-smoker I represent stability and common sense.
The living dead will stay far away.

And we will have cups of tea, with milk and sugar.

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A REFRESHINGLY STRONG CUP OF TEA

As you may be aware, this blogger is enjoying some time off. In the entire preceding twelve years I took a grand total of two weeks vacation.
To a certain extent that was because I did not trust my co-workers to do what needed to be done while I was away, nor touch what they should not touch during that same time.
Yeah, both times my operational-paranoia was vindicated.
Shan't blame them, as I would've done the same.

Touch! Touch! Touch! Touch! Touch!

The person with whom I share an apartment is right to be somewhat suspicious of me being on all my own in the house when she's at work. Several weeks ago she complained that I smoked too much, all her clothes smelled like tobacco.
I had lapsed, you see.
I left the kitchen door open too often.
The long-standing arrangement is that I smoke either in the kitchen, OR the crapper. In both cases behind a closed door, with the window open. That way neither her garments, nor her stuffed animals, will end up smelling like a forest-fire.

Fine. Good. Can do.

While she's gone during the day I smoke all over the place. My room. The teevee room. The kitchen, bathroom, and hallway.
I've closed her door. Took the coat off the handle, and snecked it firmly shut. Opened the bathroom window all the way, left the kitchen window wide open, and kept the doors between both areas and the rest of the apartment agape for total ventilation. It's not cold enough yet that the fresh air is a issue.

When the weather becomes more frigid, I may have a problem.

I do NOT look forward to spending time on the front steps of our building freezing my delicate posterior off. I may have to come over to your place to fume.
 Do you have relatives who smoke?
If so, nobody will even notice I'm there.
Pipe tobacco stinks FAR less than cigarettes.
Especially the Escudo I'm smoking right now.
Trust me, you will probably like it.

Get to know a pipe smoker.

It's an opportunity!

Charming, debonair, and sophisticated.
In a trans-Atlantic sort of way.

Anyway, I make sure that there is an interval of several hours between when I stop smoking in the house and when I re-open the door to her room.
Also, at some point between the last smoke and my apartment mate returning, I boil up some extremely strong tea in the kitchen, so that the haunting fragrance of fine tobacco is excorcised, and the exchange between cleansing tea-steam inside and fresh natural car-exhaust slash standard urban funk from outside takes care of the rest.
Might even burn some snow-pear incense.

A moth-ball hidden in a corner works wonders too.

The cup of tea is a three-bagger reduced considerably. Two thirds black, one third jasmine. With milk and sugar, it is exceptionally re-invigorating.
Dang this place smells good!
I'm zipped to the eye-brows.


Seriously, invite me over when it gets colder.
I'm good company, and rather likeable.
A dab hand at making milk-tea!


Your choice of aged Virginias or English blends.
Occasional witticisms in Dutch are included.
Think of it as part of your education.


There's nothing quite like it.

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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.

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OF COURSE YOU MAY ASK!

As I do every nearly every Saturday night, I went to the cigar club to have a few pipefulls.  It is quieter there on Saturday than during the week, because the conventioneers and bankers are largely absent. 
Consequently there is a relaxed atmosphere, and often pleasant company.
There is no other place to smoke indoors in the city anymore.
And a pipe is best enjoyed in brightness, inside.

Plus they have Wi-Fi!  Apparently we aficionados of decent tobacco are devoted to our jobs and must be connectable at all times. 
In fact, I'm thinking of having an electrical cord and several co-axial cables installed in my nether regions so that I can be contacted when and wherever.
Call me sometime, and don't be surprised if I let it ring for a while.

Oh, the excitement!


Often when I'm there someone will ask me about pipes and tobacco. 
Many young men who enjoy cigars (and fresh-faced youngsters should NOT smoke those things, what ARE you thinking?!?) have experimented with a pipe, but never managed to get the hang of it.
What, they want to know, are they doing wrong?
Please explain the process.

Very well.
Here are all the answers.
This is your new religion.

Sometimes I am avuncular, talkative, and resemble a pope.


A PLURALITY OF TOOLS

The reason for carrying around several pipes is that you must let each one rest a bit after use.  The carbon layer inside the bowl will dry out, and go through a series of minor chemical changes.  Allowing it to do so yields a cleaner-smoking sweeter pipe which will serve you infinitely longer than oversmoking just one pipe will.
Nothing is worse than a sodden, dull, sour, nasty-smelling piece of wood which gurgles unpleasantly with each new load, and drips tarry goo.
Take good care of it, and you will be a much happier person.
Oh, and both of you will smell better too.
That's somewhat important.


WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE

The shape does not significantly influence smoking qualities.  Almost all pipes have a very similar internal design. Yes, there are variations, and a broad deep bowl will give a different smoke than a shallow little dipper - but the external dimensions are mostly merely matters of comfort and visual appeal. 


WHAT YOU SMOKE

Virginia tobaccos tend toward sweetness and an herbal fragrance, and must be smoked so slow that they are at the edge of going out.  Oriental blends, which are also called English blends, can be smoked at a faster clip, almost hot-boxed. The smell of Oriental blends tends to startle and dismay many non-smokers, but the exceptions to that are truly exceptional.
In both cases the tobacco will be packed wetter in the tin than is suitable for smoking.  Dry it out until it feels just a little too dry, almost dessicated.

Do not indulge overmuch in aromatic blends.
Unless you have slutty tendencies.


AND HOW YOU DO IT

Do not pack tight, as you can always tamp it down while you puff.
Do not smoke hot, do not puff like mad.  And use pipe cleaners.
Put less tobacco in the pipe than you think necessary, so that the bowl ends on a note of "gee, that was wonderful", rather than "darn, the last ten minutes were an arduous chore".


AND LASTLY

Two things: your girlfriend is looking utterly bored right now.  Good god, she's rigid with ennui. Why did you bring her to a cigar bar?  It's wonderful that she will endure this for you, but it would have been far, far better if you had not subjected her to it.  She's precious, and the fact that she was willing to come along proves that you are a very lucky fellow. 
But for heavens sakes, man, don't prolong the torture. 
Take her somewhere special tomorrow.

The other thing is that hanging around all these cigar and pipe smokers is guaranteed to get that horrible new car smell out of the clothes you had drycleaned like nothing else.
So it would have been much better if you had come here during the week fresh from work, dressed in office drag.
You would leave smelling pleasantly like autumn leaves and a fresh coat of roofing tar, rather than petrochemical byproducts and cancer-causing cleaning fluids.

Trust me on this.
I'm a pope, I can say these things.

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THE TOBACCO THAT HELLO KITTY WOULD SMOKE

Just finished a bowlful of McClelland’s Honeydew.
If Hello Kitty had the exceptionally good sense to smoke a pipe, this is what she would smoke. Now, whereas normal felines have teeth which are not suited to clenching a pipe, necessitating special stems just for the pussy market, Hello Kitty is some kind of shovel-jawed freak, and would have no problem whatsoever with a Dunhill Fishtail.
If Dunhill made a Hello Kitty pipe. Which they should!
Lord knows, if you can find Hello Kitty vibrators, Hello Kitty Vodka, Hello Kitty Chainsaw Massacre Tattoos, Hello Kitty Hamburgers, and Hello Kitty S&M slut-harlot bridal suites, in Hello Kitty Love Motels, you really should be able to find Hello Kitty Pipes.

Tell Dunhill to make it happen.

Maybe Hello Kitty borrows someone else’s equipment?
It would certainly make sense.
But I digress.



McClelland’s 221B Series

HONEYDEW

“A subtly sweet, fragrant flake tobacco in the Irish tradition”

The Irish, as is well-known, have certain issues.

To further quote from the tin-blurb: “The sweet, fragrant Honeydew was all gone by the time Susan Cushing offered the container to Sherlock Holmes, but he was undoubtedly familiar with this fine Irish flake’s gratifying flavor, pleasing aroma and gentleness on the palate."

Manufactured by McClelland Tobacco Company, in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.
I haven’t checked whether they have a Hello Kitty store in Kansas City.
I’m sure they do.


I opened this tin about three months ago, and first described it in a post at that time.

Since then I have finished quite a few tins of Samuel Gawith flakes of various types, and some lovely pressed tobaccos from other houses, including blondes, browns, and red Virginias.
I've also gone through full Latakia mixtures, strange compounds containing Burley, and here and there other stuffs.
As of this writing, the tin of Honeydew is only half empty. When I put my nose to it, it smells like something a refined junior slut would wear, if she were ditching the prom to go work at the upscale hotels on Nob Hill. Precisely the thing elderly businessmen from Japan or the Midwest would love to sniff their dates wearing.
Don't look so shocked - it's NOT like she'll actually 'do' them. She'll simply encourage them to drink a bit too much, dance a bit too much, and live it up for a change. She knows they're married, and consequently desperate for the company of someone considerably younger than the frau who stayed in Osaka or Podunk or wherever while hubbikins went to SF.
She won't even take their wallets when they finally fall asleep tiddly and fully clothed, back in the hotel room. Though she might scrawl something salacious on the bathroom mirror in pink pink pink lipstick.


THE FRAGRANCE OF HELLO KITTY

Underneath the sweet cloy, a foetid acetic odour still faintly lingers. What they've perfumed this product with may not have been a mortal melon. Conceivably a space-age fungus.
Or something developed by the Defence Department.
Psycho-war division.
I would not describe it as a recognizable fruit. But that is probably because many fragrances have a far broader spectrum when fresh, than purified and reduced.
Much dissipates and fades.

All in all, a very decent Virginia mixture, and the funk soon burns off if treated as such.
It has a discreet natural sweetness, and some depth.
Every bowl so far has been quite pleasant, with ghosting that doesn't last nearly as long as I first thought it would, and is easily countered by something in the stinky Syrian category - to which it will add a beguiling oddness. As aromatics go, it is an exceptionally well-behaved product.
Still not something a big butch hairy gay bear should smoke, but very suitable for summer, outdoors, and horrid icky felines.
Like with other such products, I am smoking it ironically.
Though nevertheless enjoying it.
Not because I have a frilly side.
But because I have a mean streak and a keen sense of perversion.

And also, for some reason, it makes me want to purr.
As well lick myself.

Yes, I will indeed buy more of it.
Consider that a recommendation.

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UNNATURAL CHILD BIRTH

Good god, man, why did you pick today to stay away from the wall? Despite your wealth of peculiarities, and that strange personal odour, we actually like you. And you could have flown interference for me.
I am a victim of mister Pink Pants.
Conversationally traumatized!
As well as a refugee from a Somerset Maugham noveletta.

Far too many people in this world are named ‘Dweezil’.


It really didn’t help that Harry suggested clothing adjustments, or that Seeing Eye seconded the motion. Nobody – and I stress this, NOBODY – wants to see pasty male thighs underneath Daisy Duke shorts.
Except for those two.
As Seeing Eye explained “not my outfit, so what do I care?”
He and Harry are sometimes even worse sh*t disturbers, as cigar-smoking deviants go, than you.

The stain on his leg had something to do with a moving man.
No, I didn’t ask. There are some things I prefer not to know.
Apparently the adventure with the movers was months ago.
I shall not remind you in any way of Lewinski’s cocktail dress.


The only bright spot was when Architect George showed up. As soon as he lit his cheroot (can you say “phallic”?), the pigeons started arriving. Several greasy-looking birds circled him at a distance, staring at him malevolently. They obviously remember what a mean bastard he was several weeks ago, when he jumped up and down screaming hysterically and chased them away from his tuna salad sandwich. Mercifully, today A-George was quite unaware of the feathered gangsters on the sidewalk, stalking him below his line of sight.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the birds ganged up on his black leather Santa Booties after I left.
He may be hobbling around even now on bloodied stumps.

Never! be mean to pigeons; they’ve got nothing to live for.

I’m rooting for the pigeons, by the way. They’ve got spunk.


At least we now know what you were up to. You were helping Whippiedip’s young lady give birth.   It’s her first, so we know that it’s difficult.
Baby cigar-smokers don’t come out easy.
That was very white of you, podner, I couldn't have done it.
You probably had to tempt it forth with a Honduran.
Perhaps a Nicaraguan.  Or a pre-embargo Cuban?
How disappointing if it was only a clove cigarette!

All baby pictures look better with a big fat Churchill.

It highlights the dimensions & accentuates the pinkness.


Please congratulate Whippie on our behalf, and for crapsakes stop sending e-mails detailing your recent obsession with goats, and men on all fours. We’re wondering about your sanity. The chicken letters were bad enough.
Honestly, you cigar smokers are an odd lot.


UNLIKE PIPE SMOKERS!

Partook of something delightfully zesty today, heavy on the Louisiana leaf: St. James Flake, by Samuel Gawith.
It’s been three years since I last cracked a tin, and what a pleasure it is.
Full-bodied, with a pleasing Perique tang.
Plums, prunes, fields of golden wheat, and a faint whiff of white vinegar.
It’s a good brown press that will appeal to many VaPer aficionados, but probably not to fans of blonde flakes.
Like all good cakes it should be rubbed and dried a bit before stuffing it into your briar.
Did that yesterday evening. My hands smelled heavenly.

If you are a cigar-smoker, you may not have a clue what I’m talking about.
Please don’t worry.
With assiduous study of ESL, it will eventually become clear to you.
May take a while, though.
We have patience, we can wait.
We’re pipe smokers.

Remember, when cigar smokers die, they re-incarnate as pigeons.

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BALKAN SOBRANIE MIXTURE AND SAMUEL GAWITH'S 'GOLDEN GLOW' BROKEN VIRGINIA FLAKES

Normally you would not see these two tobaccos in the same title, let alone the same article.  But this pipe smoker is often self-indulgent, and at times more than a little perverse (ask me about my praedilections sometime).

Yesterday evening at the monthly meeting of the Golden Gate Pipe Club, we smoked some Balkan Sobranie with quite a bit of age on it.
Brian from Telford's brought a fifty gramme sample from the early nineties, I cracked a 100 gramme tin that I had been hoarding since 1980 or 1981, when I first started stockpiling.
A vertical sampling, in other words.


AGED BALKAN SOBRANIE

Both tobaccos were fairly dry, both were like drifting through an Ottoman haze because of the years.  While it would be hard to distinguish the component leaf in either batch after the passage of so much time, the Latakia was more forward and more noticeable in the older tobacco, though the younger product had a more wine-like tongue, possibly due to changes in the composition (refer to Greg Pease's article on Balkan Sobranie).

Being, as you are probably aware, quite the giddy maniac about this famous smoking mixture, I was in hog-heaven.  Both were excellent experiences, and I am grateful that Brian brought the two-decade old stuff. 
I had not purchased any Sobranie since the early eighties, and had been rather unaware that any was commonly available from around 1985 onward. 
Yes, the Gallaher product and what I had in my hundred gramme tin were not quite the same.
But they were very recognizably close relatives.
I suspect that Gallaher had a heavier hand with the heat, in order to maximize the melding of Latakia into the whole. 
Still, it would have been fun to have smoked this stuff during my North Beach years and afterwards.  Gallaher may have dicked around the proportions, but they produced a decent product.

Again, I enjoyed myself silly.

Mike-the-chef brought along an ancient tin of Three Nuns (haven't smoked the sample he gave me yet), and a mighty fine peach cobbler, Mike-the-host provided goulash with matzoh balls, both from family held recipes. 
We ate well.  We ate very well.
We smoked perhaps a wee bit too much.
We are all waking up this morning with the feeling that an angry camel crawled into our mouths armed with a chainsaw and committed messy suicide therein. 


GOLDEN GLOW BY SAMUEL GAWITH

Described as broken flake, and consisting of moist and reasonably high quality flue-cured leaf. 
As the name indicates, golden Virginia tobacco, pressed to meld.

This tobacco should be approached like a dewey young miss with bright eyes and great curiosity, albeit little actual experience of depravity. 
Please imagine creamy skin and happy innocence.

It's a very mild product, with a front of the tongue sweetness.  It should not be smoked fast, and never hot-boxed.  Instead, calmness and gentleness are recommended.  Let it do its own thing, and enjoy the gradual unfolding of its charms.  Like all pale Virgins it has goodness, but bites when provoked.
I started yesterday's indulgence with this delightful blonde, reached my peak with the zesty Levantine twins, and finished in the arms of the blonde again.
The last bowl of the night just would not stay lit.
The poor girl kept falling asleep.

Before going to bed, I had a small cigarillo and some coffee.
Yes, utterly depraved, I know.
Envelopes.

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MARKETING STRATEGIES FOR TOBACCO

Something that surprises me, given that I’ve blogged about everything under the sun, and have, in fact, presented subjects far more exciting and adventurous, is the popularity of a minor essay composed over two years ago.


NAKED SCHOOLGIRL ON A BED OF TOBACCO


It is my most popular post by a very wide margin. Even my very well thought out 'instructions on raising children article doesn't come close.
The portrait of a naked schoolgirl on a bed of tobacco has garnered many more page views than anything else I've ever written.
The concept fascinates any number of readers from all over the world. Not a day goes by that it isn't visited at least once.


TOBACCO

Obviously, these people are cigarette smokers who are wondering if they should switch to a pipe.
Pipe-smoking has gravitas. Pipe-smoking seems intellectual. Pipe-smoking is a darn fine sporty-looking thing to do.
And it possibly has other benefits - but let's do some internet research first!
Before they know it, they are reading about a naked saleslady with an accordion, as well as butter and soap.
They never knew pipe-smoking opened the doors to such exciting prospects.

A naked schoolgirl on a bed of tobacco is a force for good.


The young lady in question was described as "a lovely Cantonese teenager".
That was a spur of the moment decision, but it could just as easily have been a fiery Indian maiden on a hogshead, or a elfin woman from Iceland wearing a dead swan.
The tobacco was also detailed: Virginias, Turkish, Latakia - what is often termed a medium Oriental blend.

Obviously, for people who aren't partial to such heady mixtures, something else is required. Perhaps a Danish girl advertising blonde flakes - either MacBarens or Orlik Golden Sliced.

A smart-aleck continental brunette for Semois, a Scottish redhead for aromatic mixtures, and 72 naked ladies wearing full-body burkas for either strong Latakia blends or shisha.
Black for the first mentioned, tie-dye for the latter.

Smokers of Burley, as is well known, are more effectively approached by an immense naked fat man on a bale, along with a bottle of cheap Rye.
No naked schoolgirls for them.

Black twist demands an albino.
Cigarettes for children? Hello Kitty Brand!
Smokers of cheap cheroots probably like asses and sheep.
Bankers with Havanas would drool over naughty pictures of real estate.

It's all about brand placement and market share.

And yes, you should switch to a pipe.

Most definitely.


EXPLICATA

Aromatic mixtures: these are usually blends in which natural and artificial flavourings are both steamed into the leaf during Cavendish processing as well as sprayed on as a top-dressing. The best are only mildly flavoured and use high quality tobacco. The worst are horrifying concoctions of fruit and cake perfumes that will leave your pipe gummy and your nearest and dearest refusing to let you anywhere near their children.  
Balkan Mixture: a blend heavy on the Latakia spectrum, with Turkish and Virginia.   Black Cavendish: often an air-cured tobacco which is light-pressed, and strongly flavoured with sugar added, then steam-heated till black. Usually reeks of cheap vanilla and leaves a sticky residue on the fingers and in the pipe. There are some versions which are unflavoured and clean, but they are hard to find.   Black Virginia: ribbon-cut flue-cured tobacco toasted in a closed container till dark and shiny, which develops a mild caramelization.  
Blonde Virginia (Bright Virginia): flue-cured bright-coloured leaf grown on poor soil, which yields an attractive product known for a relatively high natural sugar content. It is suitable for pipe tobacco blends, cigarettes, and producing dark-stoved flakes.   Burley: air-cured tobaccos with a low natural sugar content that are suitable for flavouring, though best when pure. They yield a strong smoke with a nutty tone.  
Carolina: region where some of the best flue-cured leaf comes from.   Cavendish: formerly barrel packed leaf that fermented during long storage, now any type of tobacco which is treated with some pressure and heat, and often flavoured.  
Dark-stoved flake: tobacco pressed and heated till quite dark.   Drugstore tobacco: the cheapest mixtures available, in a span from relatively unflavoured mostly Burley concoctions to candy-stench Cavendishes made by houses that have no shame.   Dutch Cavendish: the best of these are innocuous, the worst are ghastly.   English blend: often a compound of Virginias, Turkish, and Latakia, with slightly more restraint than a Balkan mixture.   Flake: tobacco which has been pressed in block form to meld the flavours, then sliced. Most often a whole leaf blend of various flue-cured leaves ('Virginia'), though air-cured leaf (Burley, Maryland, and Kentucky) may be added, as well as Perique. It has to be smoked really slow, lest it overheat and cause tongue-burn.  
Hello Kitty: drug-slut brain-eating zombie.   Latakia: Dark smoke-cured leaf used condimentally in many blends. In the past this was produced only in Syria from Shek El Bint leaf, nowadays it comes primarily from Cyprus where they use Smyrna seed stock. The taste is not quite the same - the Syrian version was wine-like, sec, and leathery, whereas the Cyprian version is resinous with a sweetish undertone.  
Maryland: a mild relative of Burley, also air-cured. Thin ribbon cut was the preferred smoke of many people during the day when this was commonly available. Combines well with Virginia.   Oriental mixture: a product with Turkish ('Oriental') leaf in noticeable measure, which also includes Latakia and Virginia.   Perique: dark leaf tobacco manufactured by controlled rot in tightly packed barrels, which is particularly useful in small proportion to add sweetness, spice, and mildness to blends. If the percentage is too high it will put hair on your chest.  
Prilep (Perlepe): area in Macedonia known for Turkish tobacco, which though excellent for pipe mixtures is mostly bought by the cigarette industry and bastardized with the usual chemicals and additives.   Red Burley: a type of Burley which is hardly cultivated anymore, the common cultivar nowadays being so-called 'white Burley', frequently simply called 'Burley'. Red Burley is stronger, and not as suitable for many of the treatments to which Burley is subjected.   Red Virginia: sweet and mildly flue-cured leaf, often from Virginia or Carolina, although also grown elsewhere.   Samsoun: a fragrant leaf from the Black Sea coast.   Scandinavian mixtures: the scientific approach to satisfying all tastes, being Burleys and Virginias given a mild Cavendish treatment and often a top dressing that includes licorice extract (narrows the tongue-burn sensation while augmenting the sense of sweetness), anise (also alleviates tongue burn), and other flavourings in often barely noticeable quantities. Some Scandinavian mixtures are quite good, others veer into nightmare territory.   Semois tobacco: a variety of tobacco similar to Burley and Maryland, grown on poor soil in the Semois region of Belgium, and air-dried in barns.    Shisha: alleged to be tobacco, drenched with molasses and fruit flavours, smoked in hubble bubbles.  
Smyrna: a sweet and fragrant Turkish leaf from Izmir.   Toasted Cavendish: fire-cured Kentucky leaf. Low in natural sugars. It adds a mild almost chocolaty characteristic to blends, and combines well with a little Turkish.   Turkish: tobacco grown in the Balkans, Greece, Turkey, Syria, and Russia, and formerly also in Egypt. Also called 'Oriental'. The soil-type must be rocky, so that it absorbs heat during the day and radiates it out at night. These tobaccos are usually small leafed, and highly resinous, though with a low nicotine content.   Twist: leaves spun into a thick cord, lengths of which are sold over the counter. Nowadays there are very few companies that still make such.   VaPer: a mixture of Virgninias and Perique which is often pressed and aged before slicing.   Virginia: formerly tobacco from Virginia and Carolina only, nowadays a common term for all flue-cured tobaccos of that type. It is grown in Tanzania, Kenya, and India, among other places.   Yenidje: a resinous and slightly sharp pale Turkish leaf from the Balkans.

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SEXTANT BY GREG PEASE

A few weeks ago I was at an event which Greg Pease also attended.
He had brought a sample of his latest blend, and several of us dove in happily.
After smoking several bowls in quick succession, I asked for the rest of the tin.
I am greedy and an opportunist at times, as well as a cheapskate Dutchman.
This was too good to pass up.

It's like smoking an orgasm.

Excellent stuff.

I've smoked many more bowls from the liberated stash since then.
And gloated to the Porpoise that it is good.
Really really good.

[The Porpoise is one of the other local pipe smokers.  Not a real cetacean, please understand.  And no one has ever seen him swimming in the bay, although David at the wall claims that he found him making dolphin-like noises.]

A woman I shared some with likened it to filet mignon.
Her eyes closed while she smoked.
Utter bliss.

[She's already happily married (and a cigar smoker to boot), so don't get any ideas.]

Latakia and a number of other tobaccos, including something with a somewhat high nicotine content. Rich and lovely, and very satisfying.




SEXTANT
By G. L. PEASE

"A classic mixture harmoniously interwoven with a Navy flake. Ripe Virginia tobaccos, Cypriot Latakia, fine Orientals, and a touch of dark-fired Kentucky leaf, infused with a hint of dark rum, then gently pressed, matured, and sliced. Rich, bold and satisfying. "
http://www.glpease.com/CompleteList/

This presents a marvelous smell when you open the container.  Deep, dark, and riotously vegetal.
The smokiness is complex but by no means overpowering.  This is not a Latakia dump - I have my own ideas about the percentage - but it will make most Latakia smokers happy, along with a very great number of people who veer towards a broader spectrum of tobaccos than just English blends.
It is smooth, but not bland.
The nose-whiff is hard to describe.  Chocolate plum pudding, slightly burnt?  Grilled meat with a dab of sauce?  Chilies drying in the sun?  Old fashioned red-coloured carnauba wood polish?  A peaty single malt?
Something nice in the kitchen?
All of these.
Spring, summer, and autumn all together.

No, I shan't say what I think the leaf components are, nor in what proportion.  Primarily because with a product like this I'm bound to be wrong.  After making the smoker happy, it renders down to a velvety ash.

I do not know if it will age nicely, but I think it will.
Placing an order for ten tins with Cornell & Diehl.
Then pressuring the local tobacconist to stock up.



AFTER THOUGHT

No idea whether my roommate will notice if I smoke this in the teevee room late at night.  If she does, she'll probably think I did something wicked in there.  Especially when she catches the grin on my face.
A knowing self-satisfied smirk, nay, a veritable gloat.
I ate the canary.  I also stole the smoked salmon.
And I found out where you hid the catnip.
The cream is gone too. All of it.
This is excellent tobacco.

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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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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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