IT'S RIGHT FOR A WOMAN

Year ago someone remarked that the idea of my having a feminine side was frightening, downright depraved and unbelievable. Part of that was the fact that my feminine alter ego would be a pipe-smoker, like my masculine self is. Women, in his or her conception, had absolutely no business smoking pipes.

I beg to differ. One of the nicest females with whom as a young man I was acquainted smoked a pipe. She had a fabulous collection of classic shapes, enjoyed Latakia blends, and brooked little nonsense from men who thought that unsuitable for a lady.

There have always been women who smoked pipes.


That said, it might be worthwhile to consider what kind of woman I would be. Precisely like my male side, she would be bored to tears by sports. Quite likely beer would not be her alcoholic beverage of choice. Burgundy or Pinot Noir. During the day oolong or lapsang souchong. Perfume? Oscar Jasmine by Oscar de la Renta.

Given that I am more of a whisky person, and happily swill Hong Kong Milk Tea as well as Pu-Erh, we might find ourselves disagreeing on some minor matters, necessitating two teapots in that alternate universe.

The hardest part of imagining myself as a woman is deciding what kind of pajamas I would wear. Which would probably be flannel in cold weather, linen in Summer.
Plus fluffy vampire bunny slippers.



Late lunch today was 支竹牛腩 over rice. In the company of several women. Who were all at different tables eating alone. I had not noticed before that that place seems to be comfortable for the feminine gender, especially in mid-afternoon.

I did not ask them whether they themselves were pipesmokers, or if any of their relatives were. For all I know the moment they were out of sight they all whipped out fine briars and lit up.
That would not surprise me.

Well, except for the elderly one who needs too much attention.
I've got her pegged as a secret cigarette smoker.
Probably has an ivory holder.

Fine Virginia compounds, especially Rattray's Brown Clunee, Hal O' The Wynd, Marlin Flake, or Old Gowrie, are exceptionally suitable for women. Refined, classic, and straightforward. Please imagine the usual tall yellow hundred gramme tin on a writing desk, not hidden at all, just part of the minor clutter, with two or three briars discretely tucked into the envelope slot. Plus wooden matches and a three piece tool.

Some pipes evoke quiet evenings with a book.
A pot of tea ready on the side table.
Pajamas and a bathrobe.

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WOMEN AND PIPE SMOKING

Some dingus found this page by searching for "pipe smoking sex ladies". Which is a somewhat unusual request. The post he found (naturally assuming it is a 'he') had absolutely nothing to do with sex.


This blogger encourages women to smoke pipes.

The pipe should be reasonably good briar, of fairly normal dimensions and a conservative design. The tobaccos that I recommend are standard English ("Balkan") with a fair amount of Latakia, OR Virginia mixtures, with or without Perique. No aromatics.

Most of what estimable brands such as Rattrays or Dunhill produce are excellent choices for women. Greg Pease's tobaccos are also splendid, but as he is more of a niche, tins might be harder to come by. The same stores that stock Pease also carry Samuel Gawith products, several of which are also very nice.


Aromatics, most of which are horrid fruity concoctions smoked by tattooed degenerates, crotchety old farts who never learned better, and childish people of undeveloped tastes, are far better entirely avoided.
Room note in an age when you cannot smoke around other people is no longer relevant, except insofar as a pipe which has not been cleaned in a while may pong a bit.

You will probably wish to be a bit discreet about enjoying a pipe, though, because most people are conditioned to freak the hell out when women do certain things. Which can be annoying after a while.


All of this also goes for juveniles who "borrow" their dad's or an uncle's old pipes, with the further cautionary note that good clean unfruited-up tobacco smoked calmly and evenly is far less likely to bugger up the old man's pipes and lead to discovery. Also be advised that you cannot buy tobacco online if you are not yet twenty one years of age, and in many states you cannot even walk into a tobacconist yet.

You can do all of your research on line, though.

Here are some links to get you started:


The Briar Files

Cornell & Diehl

DUTCH PIPE SMOKER (in English)

Firecured - all things Tobacco

GLPease

PFEIFE-TABAK (in German)

Pipeculture (in German)

Pulvers' Briar (Sherlock's Haven)

Reborn Pipes

Tobacco Reviews dot com


Of these, Dutch Pipe Smoker and Pfeife Tabak are great reads, Tobacco Reviews is the go-to site to find out more about blends and whether you might want to try something new (or not), and Pulvers' Briar is always worth visiting for a look at quality briar and as source for second handers.
Marty Pulvers is a grand old man of the pipe business, informative and knowledgeable, and the most honest merchant you will ever know.


If you are still legally a juvenile, you should probably have an adult relative be your intermediary for all transactions.
Perhaps your aunt.


I am not her.


DON'T SMOKE AROMATICS!

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THE PROPER FEMALE TOUCH

As you know, I am not a cigar smoker. I do indulge occasionally, but given that most American cheroot-huffers are loathsome swine, vulgarians, right-wing bozos, and carry typhoid to boot, it just ain't my natural métier.
It is not something for individuals who appreciate subtlety.
Such as, opportune example, pipe smokers.
The detail oriented.

My apartment mate is such a person, but I have never been able to talk her into smoking a pipe. She has quite an eye. Incautiously I commented about a bauble on a television show, and promptly got the half hour disquisition on the finer points of gold smithery.
No, I did not take notes.

She's a jewel, but seriously Aspy.
I can't remember the show.
A sixties series.
Spy drama.


She paid keen attention to everything that showed up on screen, including the platinum thingy the actress wore around her neck, as well as the black dress of peculiar cut. Sodium pentothal, miss Brooks, and captain Kovicz. Oddly, what I noticed was a painting of a rabbi on the wall of the palace, probably chosen because it looked Eastern European.

I am a man, and as such a bit unconcerned with precious stones.
Paintings, however... Maybe the Alter Rebbe.
Strange prop department.


PLEASE NOTE: This essay is NOT about cigars, in case you haven't figured that out, but about women. And pipes. I've had quite enough of the cigar smokers this weekend; every time someone puffs a stogey now I see the loyal stormtrooper boots of a bloviating egomaniac in the smoke.
They were screaming in the lounge today, oafs cheering a cretin.



WOMEN AND PIPES

Red Panda. Sanrio's newest creature. "Aggressive Retsuko".

I felt that a binge-drinking death-metal karaoke singing office lady needed a quiet and civilized habit. So I led her into Aged Virginia territory.

Welcome to the dark side.

Two tobaccos come to mind: Dunhill Ready Rubbed, and Dunhill Dark Flake. Delightful, but not overstated. For some reason several reviewers of the first believe that there is Turkish in it, possibly because having read somewhere that some of the leaf comes from India, they jumped to conclusions about the type.

Conclusions are things to which one should not jump.

They are flue-cured, and quite good.

Personally I think that any well brought up red panda office lady would naturally appreciate both of these fine Dunhill products. The sensibility required is such that it does not tolerate charlatanry ('Trumpismo').

[The Dunhill pipe tobacco portfolio is presently held by Kohlhase & Kopp in Deutschland; the quality is better than when Murrays (known for sticks, twigs, crud) bollicksed up the blends.]

The pipe, as you might suspect, is a Comoy, Canadian shape. Perhaps a Grand Slam or a London Pride. A lovely design, and perfectly suited to a person of excellent taste, even if she does belt out hard pounding horror lyrics when swilling beer or sake after leaving the office.
That's just a passing phase. Youthful.
Or a reaction to yutzes.


Young women who take up pipe-smoking need to have more than one briar, of course. Six or seven if it is a daily pleasure, just two or three if an occasional indulgence. But preferably several.

[My own collection contains over a hundred and fifty exemplars, of which around forty or so show up regularly in the rotation. I have numerous Comoys.]

Nice women really should not smoke cigars.

Dangerous women enjoy pipes.

It's lovely.

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DRUCQUER'S BLEND 805 AND CULTIVATING A FINE WHITE ASH

Years ago I knew a small Chinese woman who smoked a pipe. No, it wasn't a bold statement that she rejected her parents' heritage and value system, it was merely late-teen experimentation gone horribly right. She liked it.
But she didn't flaunt it brashly around the old-folks.

She introduced me to Drucquer & Sons most stellar product: Blend 805.

Drucquers, in that day and age, still did personalized blends for its customers, but the selection of standard mixtures that they made was excellent. Robert Rex had bought the store from Maurice Drucquer a few years before I started working there, and knew his tobacco inside and out. Much like today he knows wine; he's growing grapes somewhere in the foothills, east of here.


THE FULL ENGLISH MIXTURE

Blend 805 was fifty percent Latakia, twenty five percent Turkish ('Djubec'), and the remainder a balance of three different blending Virginias which are now entirely unavailable. Drucquers hasn't existed for two decades, and the proportions 50 - 25 - 25 are fairly standard, so this isn't a great trade secret being incautiously revealed. Besides which, the staff often informed customers of the proportions of Latakia and Turkish.

[I really wish I remembered more about those Virginias!]


If you liked the Balkan Sobranie Smoking Mixture or Dunhill 965, or even Dunhill Standard Mixture, Rattray's Black Mallory, or several of the oddballs that have long since been discontinued from small British companies, you would like Blend 805. Possibly to the exclusion of anything else.
It was the Virginias, you see. Just the right flavor-spectrum and strength to play well in so heady a barnyard.


The small Chinese woman mentioned earlier had started working at Drucquers while she was in college. By the time I got a job there, she knew more about pipes and tobacco than nearly than any other person. And she had excellent taste, a discerning palate, and extremely high standards.
I will gladly admit that working with her was an education, which, so many years later, I still appreciate.
She smoked 805. Rarely anything else.

It was from her that I got my distaste for aromatics, and learned to pack and smoke properly, as well as how to take care of my pipes so that they remained sweet and clean.

We lost touch during the nineties. No, I shall not mention her name, as there is reason to believe that she is a very private person, and would not wish a spotlight.
But no doubt her taste is still excellent, and her standards as high as ever.


She'd probably be somewhat shocked -- startled, at the very least -- to find out that nowadays I smoke mostly Virginias, VaPers, and flakes. But she always suspected me of strange vices anyway, so it might not be too big a surprise.


Still, in retrospect, Blend 805 was truly one of the very best mixtures on the planet, and it is sad that it can no longer be found. I still have some left, sealed for thirty years. Probably aged nearly beyond recognition, but never-the-less very likely wonderful; a Levantine haze.

Until three years ago my own blending experiments veered between medium English -- like Drucquer's Red Lion, and some of the milder Rattray's Scots mixtures -- and full English, which would be represented by 805, Trafalgar, Levant Drucquers) and the Dunhills already mentioned. Plus, of course, Balkan Sobranie, which went out of production in the early nineties.

[The new Balkan Sobranie, made for Arango by Germain and Son in the Channel Islands, is not the same, not quite. Their product is thinner, stringier, and wetter, and I suspect that the exact blending leaves once used can no longer be found. Plus the recipe they are using may be one of the later Gallagher modifications. Still, whenever I find it, I buy it, as I have a great fondness for it. It brings back memories, because in many ways it is somewhat close.
The nose tingles awake in recollection, the mind replays the past.]


Since 2011 my blending has been variations on the VaPer (Virginias plus Perique) theme; some of the results have been extraordinarily enjoyable. The mind required for such products is different, as is the pleasure of smoking them. They're very old-fashioned. Strong tea, books, throw rugs, and long walks across the blasted heath in foul weather, that last being represented in San Francisco by the urban densities of Nob Hill, Chinatown, and Russian Hill. In lieu of scones and clotted cream afterwards, Hong Kong style milk-tea and red bean pastries or charsiu turnovers.

Like Balkan Sobranie, I am the same as I was, but not the same.
I've changed. There's a possibility that I am more mature.



I don't miss Berkeley; the place has become a priggish hell-hole. But I miss some of the people I got to know through the tobacconist on University Avenue there, as well as their insights. Most particularly do I miss a small Chinese woman who smoked a pipe and had high standards. She was a formative influence; I still read the books she recommended.



Please note: It took slightly less than one pipe-full to write this essay.
Afterwards, I stirred up the ash to coat the inside of the bowl.
Which promotes an even cake formation.
As well as drying.

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I'M A GIRL PIPESMOKER

You, dear reader, know that I'm not at all what the subject line of this post says. I am not a girl pipesmoker. But had I actually been born a woman-person, I would be. Of course, I might ALSO be fed up with the reactions of both non-smokers and fervent smokers alike.


Non-smoker: Aaack, it's the anti-Christ, a sign of the end times! Do you know how BAD smoking is for you? You'll NEVER find a husband if you persist in that horrid habit.

Fervent smoker: Aaack, how delightful, there IS a god! Do you know how utterly ATTRACTIVE you are? Please PLEASE go out on a date with me, I know a place where we can light up.


Loyal readers know that I'm more likely to fall into the second of those categories than the first. Given that I myself smoke a pipe. Many pipes. Over one hundred of them. Significantly more than.
Closer to two hundred.

I have several that have never been smoked, however. Seeing as I have a rich fantasy life, in which I eventually find a nice young lady who would look perfect smoking some of them, and we might, if the universe goes terminally strange, end up with children, of either gender, who would appreciate being given an unsmoked collectable briar upon graduating summa cum laude.
That way they would not have to keep surreptitiously borrowing her or my smoking-equipment when we're not looking.


The dream of a soul-mate who not only does not disapprove at all of pipe-smoking, but actually does it well herself, AND remarkably would like to put up with the peculiarities of a middle-aged Dutch-American in San Francisco, is persistent. As well as magical, and incredibly enchanting.

I did say that I have a rich fantasy life, did I not?


A girl pipesmoker, one with spirit and good taste in briars, and a strong streak of individuality, would probably cause furrowed brows among the masses. Girls, they know, are not supposed to smoke pipes.
Pot, tattoos, piercings, and whore-goth make-up are all fine. Ignorance about world affairs and real literature? Also good. A shoe and handbag collection that represents the demise of several thousand endangered animals? That too is normal.

A perfect sharp-edged sandblast from a reputable maker, filled with a smoky Latakia mixture?


Aaaack!!! Aaaack!!! Aaaack!!!


Common sense dictates that you would rather know a girl pipesmoker than the pierced and tattooed shoe and handbag freak. If your daughter smoked a pipe, it would make you happy. Possibly even deliriously so.

Better she should collect briars than sexual partners.

Some things you only need one of.

Pipes, quite a few.

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MANIFESTING FEMININE INDIVIDUALITY: WOMEN AND BRIAR

One of my favourite people is an elegant-looking woman who smokes Oliva Series V and other cigars. She and her husband sometimes share a cheroot case, often each brings their own selection when they visit the smoking place in the Financial District. It's very cute. His and hers cigar sleeves.
It shows that they have different but compatible tastes.

Many years ago a woman I knew had one of the best pipe-collections I have ever seen. She smoked a mixture that was fifty percent Latakia, twenty five percent Djubec (Turkish), and twenty five percent Virginia.
No, I do not remember what the Virginias were. And they're all unavailable now, because the industry has changed enormously since then.
So all in all the exact blend cannot be reproduced.
But the equivalent can be found.
Full English.


And with both of those examples, the concept that pipes and cigars are not for women is shot out of the water.


It is in fact a fond fantasy of mine that all over the world there are women, ranging from the teenage minx all the way to the superannuated great grandma, who are fond of their pipes, and when the disapproving stares of the moo herd are absent, light up and enjoy something spicy and medium full-bodied. Perhaps they're hiding out on the back porch, or in that little room off the library where the French literature is kept. Maybe putting on a fedora and an overcoat, and wandering around Russian Hill after dark, collar up and with a determined stride. "Don't you dare bug me, stranger, I'm a grouchy person! I will blow smoke at your wussy face if you speak!"

Personally I have a preference for pipes.
But cigars can also be nice.


Pipe-smoking in particular evokes a kinder and gentler age, when people still habitually read books, had a spot of tea now and then, took long walks, and might have a little sherry later in the day. Extensive moorlands, autumn leaves, a typewriter on a desk with a big glass ashtray, plus a cup and saucer, half of the black coffee now having gone cold.

Sunlight slanting in, reflective flickering.

A vase of flowers on a side table.

Quiet, and comfort.


If you disapprove of women pipe or cigar smokers, you likely also believe that they shouldn't vote. Or hold down serious jobs at equal pay. Or, for that matter, concern themselves with anything other than raising the kids and slopping the hogs.

And while I wholeheartedly support hog-slopping -- the pig is one of my favourite animals, so round so plump so packed with goodness -- it must be pointed out that many people who perform that altruistic service are in fact men, and plenty of them smoke. You have heard of corncob pipes? Yes?
They go perfectly with overalls, boots, tractors, pitchforks, and pigslop.
Despite being nowhere near a farm, I possess several cobs.
They are very decent smokes; sweet and mild.
Relatively durable, too.
Good value.

A woman should probably not smoke a corncob, though. Too much of a frisson. It smacks of hills, hollows, baling twine, and bad whiskey, when a woman lights up the old Missouri Meerschaum. You almost expect to see her shooting a varmint or driving a beat-up pickup through the woods.

Women should smoke real briar, standard shapes, well-made, and preferably of top-quality brands. Charatan, Dunhill, Sasieni, Comoy, GBD, BBB, Peterson, Stanwell, Butz-Choquin. Admittedly nearly everything I just named is no longer up to the extremely high standards of the past, as those companies have mostly been absorbed into a giant cheapazoid pipe-combine whose name I shall not mention, but there are several Italian companies that have sprung into the breach and now manufacture superior equipment.
Two great names to remember are Savinelli and Castello.

Mastro De Paya, Mastro Beraldi; also excellent.

Whereas your pipes are from Southern Europe, your tobacco naturally needs to come from the North. Italy is NOT known for decent mixtures, the Danes and the Germans are. Formerly all the best pressed aged Virginias and full Orientals were manufactured in England, now most of the famous brands have been farmed out to Kohlhase & Kopp (in Germany), Orlik, and Macbarens (both in Denmark).

Three notable exceptions are the firms Samuel Gawith and Gawith-Hoggarth in Cumbria, and J. F. Germain and Son in Jersey who in addition to their own products also put up the Esoterica line of tobaccos. These three English companies make splendid stuff, but their production is limited, and due to increasing popularity in the United States -- let's call it by it's real name: desperation -- supplies are more often than not bottlenecked, with frantic aficionados sometimes travelling hundreds of miles to deplete the one store in the entire territory that has any left.

You can't really go wrong with products from Kohlhase & Kopp. They hold various brands, like Astleys, McConnell, Rattrays, and Wessex, to name but four. For aged Virginias and pressed flakes, manufacture is farmed out north of the german-Danish border, where Orlik still operates steampresses, spinning machines, and heavy block cutters.
Nothing quite says refined femininity quite as well as a medium flake.
Last week I was smoking Orlik Golden Sliced - on the light side.
Yesterday I opened up a tin of Marlin Flake; medium-full.
The tin aroma is almost plum-like, rich, fruity.
Well aged, and a tactile pleasure.
Utterly perfect.

*      *      *      *      *

I've been rediscovering my favourite female authors lately: Marguerite Yourcenar, Mary Rennault, Nadine Gordimer. Among Dutch-language writers: Annemie MacGillavry, Maria Dermoût , Beb Vuyk, and Madelon Szekely-Lulofs.

There's just something about these books that demands fine flue-cured leaf, smoked slow. Stimulating, and requiring thought. Perhaps it's a memory of the pipe-smoking woman I mentioned earlier -- she introduced me to the first three authors -- or possibly it is the carefully constructed texts themselves that suggest calmer tobaccos.

Today I finished re-reading A Coin In Nine Hands.

Soon I'll be heading out over Nob Hill, to find a hot cup of milk-tea and something to nosh on. Afterwards, a long walk with a pipe.
It's late Autumn. Smoke weather.

Yellow ginkgo leaves.

Heaven.



AFTER WORD

For the unbearably curious -- and who could not be so after considering the text above -- there are a few posts you might find interesting.

A SUITABLE PIPE TOBACCO FOR A WOMAN
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/03/a-suitable-pipe-tobacco-for-woman.html
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Opinions about women, tobacco, and the tobacco that women might like.

BREAKING IN A NEW PIPE
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/02/breaking-in-new-pipe.html
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Advice on a crucial matter, which is fundamental to all later enjoyment of the habit, and must not be casually approached.

PIPE SMOKING LADIES - FLAKE AND DARK TWIST
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2012/10/pipe-smoking-ladies.html
Friday, October 19, 2012
Fantasy. Dragonflies and pearls are mentioned. Fantasy.

VALKENSWAA​RD: THE FRAGRANCE OF CIGARS
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2011/11/valkenswaard-fragrance-of-cigars.html
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Narrative. Remembering a woman who smoked cigars.

FLAKES: A BRIEF PERSONAL INTRODUCTION
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/08/flakes-brief-personal-introduction.html
Friday, August 09, 2013
Sorry, it's not really brief. Except if you take into account that the vast majority of available flake is not mentioned at all. Nearly forty products ARE described, however, and that's as good an overview as any.

BALKAN MIXTURES
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2013/09/balkan-mixtures.html
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
An essay about full smoky mixtures that include Latakia, in which several good products are described.


And, as a lagniappe, here's the site of someone else who writes about pipes and tobacco:
DUTCH PIPE SMOKER
http://dutchpipesmoker.wordpress.com/
Unlike my own blog, which veers off into tangents, he stays on the subject.
He's readable, witty, and all-round decent. I like everything he's written, and many of his essays are more in-depth than I have the patience to be.
Very highly recommended.

*      *      *      *      *

As you can see, there is a lot more to enjoying a good smoke than merely combustion. If you decide to investigate, or even take up the habit, please drop me a line; it would be encouraging to know someone who does not consider pipe-smoking something that only elderly men do.

I am not an elderly man, by the way.
Possibly not even grown-up
Though I am male.

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A QUESTION OF TASTE

Some things are just too lady-like for a man. Irrespective of his gender-preferences. This has little or nothing to do with praeconceptions about 'male' behaviour or the habits of the typical masculine entity -- which allegedly include big bloody steaks and strong beer, along with chomping cheroots while watching brass-pole dancers cheer on the Patriots in their epic battle against the Dolphins (and who the hell cares about baseball anyway?), or setting fire to garbage cans in the middle of the night while stealing the Axe (this is a gratuitous Berkeley reference), plus hooting animalistically -- but rather with a sense of balance, justice, and everything right with the world.

There are two unsmoked pipes in my collection which would be perfect for a lady. They are a little unsuitable for me. Both of these items are extremely handsome, but my face just doesn't look right for them.

However a sparkling young lady smoking them would look very nice.
They would flatter her face, and emphasize her femininity.
Either that, or perhaps a fresh-faced young lad.

They are flawless. High quality briar. But, alas, too civilized in appearance. Aesthetically they appeal to me, but I learned a long time ago that I should stick something a little bolder and more commonplace in my mouth.
It is a question of facial structure, hand size, and glowing skin.
No matter how hard I try, no one will ever mistake me for a lady. And if I wore pearls, it would not highlight how beautiful the skin near my neck and collarbones was, or any haunting delicacy of features, but instead suggest to people that I secretly vote the gun-nut ticket.

Some things just aren't suitable for a foxy middle-aged Dutch-American.


Those two fine pipes will have to wait for a suitable person. And while a fresh-faced young fellow would be quite perfect -- someone like Leslie Cheung, for instance -- a young lady would be far more suitable.
If a person who resembled that beautiful boy Leslie Cheung were to hang around me, people might justifiably doubt my commitment to the Patriots OR the Dolphins, along with big bloody steaks and strong beer, or even heaven forefend whether I really wished Berkeley to seize the Axe (and damnation to Stanford, yay), whereas the adjacency of a brightly vibrant woman would say "this crusty old fart must have something, even if it's only black magic and good habits". It would also state that she's strong-minded, stubborn, and definitely a force to be reckoned with.
These are all good things.

Besides, good briar, if properly taken care of, will last an entire lifetime. That's a key concept.
She'll look ever so lady-like when she's silver haired, smoking either of those pipes, as the light glints off the strand of pearls which emphasizes her delicacy and femininity more glowing than ever.


It's an aesthetic thing.

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A SUITABLE PIPE TOBACCO FOR A WOMAN

Back in the seventies many manufacturers started producing tobacco mixtures with what can only be described as whore-house scents.
At that time it was virtually unthinkable that a well-bred woman would smoke a pipe in public, and such people were clearly not the intended audience for these noxious concoctions.
Their dissolute older brothers were.
There is something very unnatural about a cavendish that reeks of strawberries and coconut. It's Frankenleaf.

Unsurprisingly, such things appealed to men of questionable tastes.
As well as highly individualistic clothing choices.

Back then such people did not have tattoos or piercings, and the poor dears had to express themselves in a different vulgar fashion.

One of the selling points of these perfumed monstrosities was that they would not offend the gentler sex. It is more than likely that they offended so well that the anti-smoking movement was given a boost beyond all reason.
Even pipe-smokers like this blogger were almighty upset.
For years, whenever I smelled burnt cherries or chocolate vanilla and boiled nicotine exudate bubbling in the unclean brier of some macho degenerate half a block away, I was outraged, and resolved to give the hairy savage a piece of my mind. Of course my youthful indignation was tempered by the realization that it is useless to lecture such people, as it only makes them more convinced of their own irresistible sex appeal. They will puff up, and think to themselves "dang I must be studly....... because of this wonderful aroma of tropical fruits and nuts!"
It was usually a balding dweeb with a beer gut.
Pathetic, but let the man be.
He's got issues.
Idiot.


If a man shouldn't smoke crap, then a woman should not either.


A WOODSY SORT OF SMELL

In the early eighties I knew a woman whose taste in pipes and tobacco was beyond compare. One of her prizes was a Sasieni sandblast that made men swivel their heads when she entered the room. To my knowledge, she never ever smoked an aromatic therein, solamente full Latakia mixtures (Drucquer & Sons Blend 805 -- now no longer made). The fragrance was heady and sensual, and added more to her attraction than she could possible realize.
Because of her, all over Berkeley there are middle-aged men who still associate the smell of certain tobaccos with likable lovable women. Especially bespectacled brainiacs with a ready wit and impeccable taste.
She didn't drink, by the way. That wasn't her thing.
Good books, fine pipes, excellent tobaccos.
Absolutely ladylike. Well-bred.

Nice women should smoke nice tobacco. Leave the questionable fruity stuff for questionably fruity boys.

Go for smoky Latakia blends and good pressed Virginias. Perhaps something full and dark, or a robust British flake. Even a Burley mixture for solitude, and also if you have a fondness for corncobs.
In fact, there is nothing wrong with a corncob; properly cared-for these will last for years and yield an excellent smoke, especially if you stuff air-cured leaves in them. Burley and a cob are miraculous.

But under most circumstances, the well-bred young lady should probably tend toward fine tinned tobacco with a noticeable Latakia content, up to nearly half of the mixture. These inspire thoughtfulness and vibrancy, and abundantly reward the woman of good taste. Nothing adds to a good book as much as a nice long smoke, quietly by oneself, while any relatives or roommates who lack understanding are off gallivanting about elsewhere.
If you were to have a spot of sherry or a cup of oolong tea while thus engaged, that would be excellent too.


Looking around my own rather crowded living quarters, I can spot several tobaccos that would be utterly perfect.
Wilderness, Legends, Three Oaks - made by McClelland.
These are well-balanced full Latakia mixtures.
Over two hundred tins of G.L.Pease tobaccos, mostly somewhere in the Oriental spectrum, ranging from mild Latakia and Turkish content all the way up to Westminster, which is a lovely full mixture with a profoundly old-fashioned character, splendid with a strong cuppa.
Samuel Gawith and Germains are well-represented - again, full Orientals, additionally various lovely Virginia compounds.
A three year supply of Rattrays, mostly the Virginias, but also Accountants, Black Mallory, and Red Rapparee.
Several boxes filled with tins by Cornell & Diehl in Morganton; full Latakia, exotics, and Burley blends.
More boxes, containing various Dunhill tobaccos, nicely matured.
And of course numerous jars with my own blending experiments, the majority of which range from 20% Latakia to 42.5 percent. Given that I do not have access to the range of raw leaf that commercial blenders can command, I seldom go beyond the low forty range in my Oriental mixes.
My best blends are around one third Latakia or slightly more, and one of which I'm particularly fond is only in the low twenties. In all cases I rely on a good solid Virginia flake to give spirit to the blend; that is key.

After you've had one or two bowls, and before your housemates come home, air the place out a bit, and wash your face. If necessary, fry up some bacon to confuse their sense of smell.
Yes, you will still have an echo of a dark perfume.
But it will be mysterious and alluring.
Quite complimentary.
Enchanting.

A few good pipes, a selection of tobaccos, a favourite tea-cup, and a private place to smoke. That, and a book you cannot put down. Can you imagine anything nicer?

If your room overlooks a garden, open the window one summer evening and enjoy a bowl of flake in the twilight. It will be magical.


AFTER THOUGHT

Of course it is not a good idea to drink tea late at night, and while sherry or singlemalt are nice, you might not have them on hand.
And perhaps you do not drink alcohol.
In that case, I recommend a glass filled with equal measures of ginger ale and cold water, pepped-up with a squeeze of lime. The slight sweetness and the acid will prevent dry-mouth or minor discomfort on the tongue, and will also help bring out the flavours of the tobacco.

TOBACCO INDEX


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BREAKING IN A NEW PIPE

Someone commented recently that he was hesitant about revealing to his girl-friend that he smoked a pipe. I could not understand why, as pipes are far more likeable than cigars. One of my friends even remarked, while lighting her stogie, that pipes are a total chick magnet.
Unfortunately, that particular woman is married.
To another cigar smoker.

Which, you will agree, rather casts doubt on her assertion.

"Pipes are a total chick magnet."

And some people, alas, are negatively charged.


People who find pipes and pipe smokers interesting tend to be folks who fondly remember a relative who smoked, with the possible exception of English voters who chose Harold Wilson during the seventies.
If they are men, they will likely take up the habit themselves. Such is largely my case; my father was a pipe smoker when I was small, as were several other admirable people in our circle.
If they are women however, they may be too hesitant to take that leap.
So far, three ladies in the past year have ogled my equipment with a fascination that was deeply disturbing to their husbands. Who should themselves purchase pipes, if only to enchant the women in their lives.

I've never understood why women usually don't go for briar.

They ought to.

It's such a gentle habit.

Maybe they are scared to go into a tobacconists and ask for advice?

If that is so, the problem is easily dealt with. Do some research on line, find out about brands and qualities, and boldly go in. Then lie through your teeth. Announce to the clerkiwerkie that you wish to purchase a briar for your uncle Whizzo, and could you please see some standard shapes within a certain price-range. Discuss the pluses and minuses, pay for the selected item plus a few tins of tobacco from reputable brands, and leave.

[Standard shapes: Sensible pipes of non-extrovert design; classic dimensions, sound manufacture. You do not wish to be known as an eccentric. Normal-looking pipes smoke very well, and their attraction will not pall. Whereas strange freehands and Nordic oddities will eventually leave you wondering why you bought that monstrosity.
Reputable brands: One tin of Best Brown Flake or Golden Glow from Samuel Gawith. One tin of Westminster from G.L.Pease, one tin of Kensington, also from G.L.Pease. Note that both of these are English (Latakia) mixtures, which means that they are on the smoky side. Additionally, one or two tins of Rattray's, either a Virginia or any of the Latakia blends, whichever hits your whim; and one tin of a McClelland flake.
Read about all of them here: Tobacco Reviews
A few tins: Because this will give you a good selection with which to experiment while you familiarize yourself with smoking a pipe. One of them may eventually become your go-to blend, they are all excellent, and you don't have to finish the tin -- you can set it aside to re-discover later, just make sure it doesn't dry out in the interim.]

Also acquire a pipe-tamper ('three piece tool') and a packet of pipe-cleaners.


THE FIRST SMOKE

On an afternoon when you have the time and will not be disturbed, take some tobacco out of the tin, and dry it till it is nearly crumbly. Then fill your new pipe loosely, slightly less than half full. Press the top surface of the tobacco smooth, and light it with a match, gently pulling smoke into your mouth till most or all of the surface is lit. After puffing a little more, tamp down the burning surface slightly, using the three piece tool. Smoke slowly, relight if necessary. It is better that the pipe go out than that you drag furiously to keep it lit.
Re-tamp as needed to compress the burning area.

That first bowl will not be particularly enjoyable, because it takes a while to get the hang of the process, and the pipe is not yet broken in (conditioned). If you don't finish all the tobacco in the pipe, don't worry. Just remove the remnant, chase a pipe-cleaner or two through the shank, and set it aside for a day.

It's a good idea to have a cup of tea or a glass of fruit juice to drink while smoking, as it will soothe the mouth and prevent discomfort.


SUBSEQUENT PROGRESS

Over the next several weeks build up to smoking a full bowl.
By this time there should be a layer of carbon inside the pipe, which will make the pipe smoke cooler, and protects the wood. This is called 'the cake'. When it gets too thick (more than a nickel), you should pare it down gently.
At that point you're probably ready to buy a second pipe.

When the time comes that you smoke more than once a day you should have three or four pipes, so that they can rest between use.

You really do need more than one, as rotating them will make them last for years longer. But we all started with one. And, as our tastes in shapes and qualities changed, that first pipe may have eventually faded out of daily use.
When I was sixteen I got by with eight, only one of which I still have, though I've acquired others since. Bear in mind that pipe-smoking is perfect for neurotic packrats, so the urge to buy just one more will keep recurring.
Rather like shoes and handbags.

If you oversmoke a pipe it will inevitably get soggy, and likely turn rancid. But even the most over-used pipe can be restored to sweetness by filling the bowl almost entirely with non-iodized kosher salt and adding a few drops of liquor to make it pull the tars and cooked-in gunk out of the wood.
Put a pipe-cleaner into the shank before you do this.

After a day's rest you can repeat the treatment, but the final part is removing the salt, rinsing the bowl with liquor (I use whatever whisky I'm drinking), and then running pipe-cleaners moistened with liquor through the stem and shank till they come out clean, which may require quite a considerable number. Take care not to get the alcohol on the outside of the bowl or stem.
After this, rest the pipe for a week. You'll be surprised at how clean and sweat it will taste.

Do not rap the pipe against hard surfaces. Do not leave it in sunlight or warm places. Do not wash it. Do not sand it. Do not lend it to pot-heads.
Do not casually jam it into the tool-drawer. Do not smoke aromatics.



A NOTE ABOUT VIRGINIA TOBACCO

Virginias tend toward nicotine, so one medium-small bowl smoked calmly ("sipped") is the perfect way to start the day.
It takes some smokers a while before they can appreciate Virginias. First off, smoke slow. Really slow. It is best if the pipe threatens to go out occasionally. Secondly, let it whisp at you, and enjoy both the grassy fruity fragrance, as well as the tingle of sweetness on the tongue. Thirdly, unlike English blends (Virginia plus Latakia, and often Turkish, sometimes also Perique), it is okay if the entire surface doesn't light. Often enough tobacco will be smoldering that the smoke can progress from that point on quite satisfactorily.
Lastly, feel free to let it go out if it wants to. Again unlike an English blend, it can be re-lit without significant degradation of taste.


Virginias to consider: Orlik Golden Sliced, MacBaren's Virginia Flake, Wessex Red Virginia Flake, Wessex Brown Virginia Flake, Samuel Gawith's Golden Glow, Germain's Brown flake, and Germain's Medium Flake.
For fuller flavour, try Samuel Gawith Best Brown, or their St. James Flake.
As a total oomph overload, experiment gingerly with Samuel Gawith's 1792 Flake or Bracken Flake, and Peterson's Irish Flake, all of wich have a significant inclusion of Kentucky leaf.
The Rattrays Virginias are also extremely worthwhile: Hal O' The Wynd, Marlin Flake, Old Gowrie, and Brown Clunee.

TOBACCO INDEX


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THE OBSESSIVE TEXTS

One of my friends has indicated that I dwell far too much on certain facets of the female human, while another individual claims that my writing is not nearly exciting enough in that regard. As the second person mentioned has indeed published works of an exceedingly rancid nature under a necessary nom de plume, perhaps he might be said to know of what he speaks.

Yet personally, I presume them both wrong. Good scribbling can stimulate, without in any way being blunt or blatant. One can suggest any number of wonderful images, yet not mention anything by name. And physical characteristics need no discourteous descriptions.

In the vignette below I touch upon all these matters.
But I shall assert that it is safe for work.
Totally clean and wholesome.


DE TENERITATIBUS VITIUM

She realized that she needed her Latin dictionary, which was on the top shelf. The study of early mediaeval literature required, always, a review of certain words imperfectly translated into English.
She put down her volume and pushed the ladder into place, then mounted to the top, and reached over. Her pleated skirt ruffled upwards in the draft, and would have flashed a view of an ivory silk petticoat with flowery lace edging, had anyone been watching. Stretching to grab the book taughtened her crisp white cotton blouse and exposed a golden upper arm, and she wobbled dangerously from the effort.
Good thing she had removed her shoes, as even so slight a high-heel would have been risky. She only wore them because they made her feel taller.
In many ways being short was not an advantage.

Her tiny naked toes tensed for traction on the hard rubber of the treads.

She had never seen it described as 'rimula' before. How deliciously depraved! No wonder this dictionary was one of her favourite works!
And why on earth did she keep putting it back up so high? It should be right next to her seat, a constant companion!

It struck her presently that it was time for tea. She went to the kitchen and put on the kettle. Gently her hands fondled the smooth porcelain of the teapot as she rinsed it under warm running water. Definitely a black tea.
But which?
A robust Assamese, or fine Ceylon with that evanescent floral quality?
It was a quandary, and she furrowed her brows in concentration.
Two dark and delicate moth antennae, curved and tense.
Assam, definitely. She craved something strong.
A beverage that required creaming.

When she was back in the living room, she put the second cup down on the table next to the armchair, kicked off her shoes, and tucked her feet under as she curled up comfortably. This was perfect, now all she needed was a smoke. After consideration, she pulled her favourite pipe from the rack -- a flawless Peterson System Standard 303 (that's a full-bent apple shape with a military mount, fyi) -- and opened the tin of Rattray's Old Gowrie (a broken flake). Only a year ago she would have smoked Erinmore, which has a top-dressing that reminded her of a summer orchard where she once played as a child, but she had grown away from aromatic Hibernians since then, and now preferred the pure subtleties of pressed Scottish flue-cured tobacco.
Upon touching flame to the bowl, a gentle whisp of incense-like smoke curled toward the open window. Her face softened, girl-like, as she relaxed. The dark hue of the pipe contrasted marvellously with her pale skin, though she did not know it; the shape of the briar bowl complimented the lovely curving line of cheeks and chin and emphasized a perfect girlish femininity.
Lips parted slightly, as she exhaled a puff of smoke.
Late afternoons were meant for languor.
Flake tobaccos require slowness.
Relaxed stimulation.

Happy toe-twiddling.

Plus hot milk-tea.


*      *      *      *      *

As you can see, it touches upon every single erotic trope known to man: literature, languages, cloth, colouration, toes, tea, porcelain, and tobacco.
Shapes and textures are mentioned, time and place suggested.
One can easily imagine the person and the circumstances: a small woman with a very keen mind, and good taste. She is all alone in the house, wearing nice clothing, engaged in several dreamy activities of both an intellectual and a sensual nature.
There is even a subtle note of charming vulnerability: dangerous wobbling while grabbing the dictionary, which makes you want to reach out to steady her on that high ladder, lest she fall and hurt herself.
In all ways a perfect woman.

What happens next is anybody's guess.

"She anxiously awaited the bowl of mussels in broth which the waiter would bring. It was so nice to go out for dinner with her friend. This was something to which she intensely looked forward, and it was a pity his job took up so much of his time. His presence was enjoyable, his physical proximity exciting."

Or:

"It was fun to go to the cigar bar with a fellow-pipesmoker, especially one with a devilish gleam in his eye. It kept the young single bankers from bothering her, and she especially enjoyed seeing their evident envy.
'How on earth did that old codger end up so lucky', they seemed to think. What they did not understand was that wit, kindness, and the comforting smell of Latakia were infinitely more attractive than youthful arrogance and pin-stripe suits."

Even:

"Both of them finished their smoke at nearly the same moment. It always amazed her that without even consciously planning it, they put just enough tobacco in their pipes to last the stroll over the crest of the hill, so that by the time they reached her street they had cleaned and put away their briars. As they turned the corner and her doorway came into view, she clenched his hand, hard. It was big, strong, and warm. So very lovely to spend a while with him after dinner!
Before she mounted the steps, she leaned up and kissed him. He smelled nice! A smoky autumnal scent adhered to his whiskers. One day, she would invite him in."


I find all of this quite dreamy. Don't you?

The only thing NOT mentioned is a necklace, which you'll just have to imagine.
Perhaps pearls that highlight velvety skin, or a locket that by its pending placement accents a discrete feminine definition.

[The same young lady, or perhaps her cousin, in a very similar book-reading and pipe-smoking scene, can be found here: "What's for dinner?". The novel mentioned there is The Sandglass, by Romesh Gunesekera. Yes, a young lady with a pipe and a book is a recurring theme. 
As well as a pleasant tale-spin tool.]

By the way: all proper young women should absolutely consider a Peterson System Standard 303 as one of their first pipes. It's a shape that can suggest both good breeding and exciting stubbornness, besides accenting the lovely curve of the cheek. Plus it isn't too capacious, so it is absolutely perfect for a mid-afternoon smoke, right around tea-time.



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WOMEN PIPE SMOKERS

Over a year ago I posted a piece about pipe-smoking ladies. Since then, I have met a few. I had always known they existed, and in fact actually knew some of them a long time ago. But they are, as you probably understand, a rarity. More so than female cigar smokers.
Still, that post attracts an extraordinary number of visitors. So there must be women out there who wish to take up the habit. Though they may be flying under the radar.


WOMAN WITH A PIPE

There seems to be a general belief that pipes are the pigeon solely of either serious intellectuals, such as college professors, OR huge hairy men like Hemmingway and Hefner, probably with coarse curly hair cascading down their chest towards the big vulgar gold blingy-bling that repines upon the enormous tanned abdomen. And that anyone who does not resemble those stereotypes is pretentious and affected.
Much more so if they are a woman.
A little teenage miss smoking a pipe is appallingly and utterly misguided, quite the most repulsive and degenerate of Satan's handmaidens.
Why, she should be caned!

Unless she is smoking that pipe on stage of an evening, wearing nothing but tiny pink ruffled panties as part of a show, it is just not so.
I will never admit it, but even I might willingly be among the audience.
Though not to discuss pipe tobacco mixtures with the girl.
More likely to question her choice of clothing.
Bikini briefs, French cut, High cut.
Aesthetic issues.

Please let me know which school is putting on that performance art.

It sounds très avant garde.


Gentlemen, what would you rather see - your daughters growing up to be junior college sluts swilling vodka and smoking cigarettes, OR getting a P.H.D. in an impossibly heavy subject, and going on to lecture with considerable wit, eloquence, and verve at a respected place of learning?
If your mother had smoked a pipe while she was pregnant instead of cigarettes, you would now have a high domed forehead and a Jaguar, instead of a cleft palate, furry palms, and a Prius.

Pipe smoking is far better for your mental health than any number of ciggies huffed out on the pavement in front of your office building during a downpour with all those lower-middleclass droodges from South City. They've largely given up on their dreams, and merely want their thug-brats to finish high-school without a conviction.
It's darned sad.


That said, the new lady pipe smoker would be well-advised to do some research on the matter. While a pipe is definitely an accessory, the primary consideratum in choosing a briar is not how it looks coming out of your face, but whether it's a decent piece of wood, with correct design and proportion for smoking.
Will it be satisfying to use?

Given the desirable characteristics of pipes, it is clear that there is no difference between a woman smoker and a man smoker: they both need the same bowl dimensions, and they should both tend toward practical shapes that 'feel right'.

The beginning pipe smoker will of course start off with only one pipe, to be used occasionally when in the mood. As time goes by more pipes will be acquired, and shape-preferences will be honed. A small collection will grow, which over the years will change as some pieces are given away and others added.

Likewise, the first tobacco chosen will likely not be the regular blend smoked later. Irrespective of whether she started off with an aromatic, a flake, a mild cavendish, or an English blend -- and I would recommend the English blend, because it is clean tobacco and will bite far less than a flake if smoked too fast, as is the tendency when first taking up the habit -- she will soon enough experiment with other products, figure out which work best for her, and end up with a range of favourites, including one or two anomalies that fall outside of type.


Pipes can be a bit expensive -- a decent piece runs anywhere between fifty and several hundred dollars -- but with proper care they will last a lifetime.
I am still smoking exemplars that are decades old, and they yield me more pleasure than you can possibly imagine.
If you smoke two or three bowls a day, you should have at least four or five pipes, but take your time acquiring them, especially if you're in the one bowl every two or three days phase. Develop an eye for fills (small surface pits or gaps obscured by wood-coloured putty) and surface translucence (the glassy semi-transparent look of the lighter grain and it's refractile quality when angled in the light). The first indicates poorer wood, and besides being an aesthetic debit also hints that there may be unseen flaws that affect performance, the latter is a measure of age and quality.

Ancient briar is best. It will smoke sweeter, cooler, drier, and bring out the complexities of a blend far better, than young sappy root.
Comparatively speaking, old wood will feel lighter than a similar exemplar made from young stock.

A good pipe will look more beautiful with each passing year, and you will be thankful that you invested in something worthwhile.
Treat it well; it is your solace and your companion.



AFTER THOUGHT

At present I have over one hundred and fifty pipes. Some of them cost next to nothing, some of them are priceless. Among the pipes in my regular rotation -- currently twenty bowls -- are one or two that are older than I am, a few with decades of service, and others that have been with me for less than ten years.
My favourite is a Benton Select bought in 2007 which cost around sixty dollars.
Yes, it has a few minor fills, and it isn't worth anywhere near as much as the Dunhill Patent Root or the Charatans, but the wood is superlatively mature, and it smokes like a dream. It is the one pipe I am in danger of overworking.
I have to restrain myself, lest I light it too often.

In fact, it is to the left of the computer as I type, and I'm eyeing it speculatively.
Matured cake, perhaps, or a smidge of full English? Maybe one of my own blends? Or something from the row of small glass sample jars behind me: John Cotton's Number 1 and 2 Medium, Bengal Slices from 1981, or the Balkan Sobranie from thirty years ago that I opened recently?
Samovar? No. 622?

Flake. I'm thinking flake. It's early in the morning, a nice bit of Virginia would be wonderful right now.

Flake.

POINTERS ON PIPE SMOKING , TOBACCO INDEX


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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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CAN I TEMPT YOU?

One of the things told about Jim Morrison, the singer for The Doors, is that once on a Greyhound bus crossing the country he noticed a winsome ten or eleven year old girl seated across the aisle, and to pass the time began complimenting her in a rather degenerate way.

"Mah hevvins, little gurl, you shore are purdy!"

This was primarily for the 'benefit' of the bus driver, who was getting more and more disturbed at what he heard going on behind him.

And again:

"You shore are puuurdy, little girl! Mah hevvins!"

This went on for a few minutes, till the driver angrily stopped the vehicle and threatened to throw him off for being a creep. In his normal voice, Jim talked the man down and back into a reasonable state, and promised that he'd behave for the rest of the trip.
The bus started up again.
Then, five minutes later.....


"Jayzus, doll, you is SINFUL purrrdy!"

This, you will understand, is pure perversity, though somewhat justified; rolling across the Great American Outback with a bunch of middle-Americans calls for creative self-entertainment.
Startle them and give them something to talk about back in Podunk.
What with the era, and who he was, one cannot be sure of his intentions.


I, on the other hand, am a decent man.
While I appreciate the sick humour of what Jim Morrison was doing, I myself would not push that envelope.
My tastes are entirely clean and wholesome.

"Miss, do you want to hold my pipe?"

One of my longtime fantasies is that there is a nice young woman who wishes to learn more about briars, tobaccos, and the pleasure of smoking a pipe.
It's NOT as strange as it may seem.
I myself was still quite young when I first lit up.
And the idea of a female person acquiring the habit is magic.

A confident woman should have a mysterious smoky air about her.
Polished wood, sparkling eyes, glowing smile, and a resinous fragrance.
I've always been appalled how few women think of a pipe as the perfect accessory.

For someone who decides to seriously try the habit, there are three truly excellent tobaccos to recommend.
Each of them contains Latakia, Turkish, and flue-cured tobacco, and they all have an intriguing complexity.


BLUE MOUNTAIN
This one is the heaviest, with a rich layering of flavours supplementing the assertive smokiness of the Latakia. Packed and smoked properly, it presents a glorious richness appropriate for brisk evenings.
Formulated by Mike McNeil.

THREE OAKS SYRIAN
A tobacco that became famous a few years ago among those in the know. Spicy, yet extremely well-balanced. This is a wonderful product of which I'm very fond. Splendid after dinner, or out in the garden with a cup of tea.
Formulated by Ted Gage.

WILDERNESS
A medium-full English blend, and likely the quietest of this selection. Smooth, satisfying, and well-suited to the contemplative type. It's what you really need while pouring over textbooks or devouring mystery novels.
Formulated by Fred Hanna.

[Latakia is a fire-cured tobacco with a smoky leathery pong which cools down the taste. Turkish is a resinous leaf that lends fragrance. Virginia, often called 'flue-cured', has a sweetness that complements the other two types in mixtures like these.]

All three of these blends are manufactured by McClelland Tobacco Company in Kansas City, Missouri. If not available at a local tobacconist, you can purchase them via the internet from Cup O Joes or Pipes and Cigars.
Together they represent an excellent comparative spectrum of their type.
No lady could go wrong with these mixtures.


Of course, all beginning pipe-smokers need a bit of guidance. And it helps if there are several pipes in which they can try out tobaccos, which often is not the case when one first begins the journey. The initial outlay is rather a commitment.
I should mention that I have a surfeit of smoking equipment of various shapes and sizes. There's scope for experimentation, and I'm not averse to loaning a pipe out to someone nice.

"My heavens, ma'am, your tobacco sure smells good."

I suspect, however, that if I suggested any of this to a female person, she would smack me viciously with a frou-frou purse before calling the cops.

I don't have much faith in the younger generation, or in modern society.
They just don't seem to have any standards anymore.
And such uninteresting tastes!
It's sad, really.

TOBACCO INDEX


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