YENIDJE

Much of the mystique surrounding the term 'Yenidje' as used by Sobranie of London revolves around a Turkish tobacco which allegedly gave the product a rare perfume, a sweetness, and a resinous quality.
And part of the problem in correctly identifying that leaf lies in the name itself. Yenidje simply means "new settlement" or "new village".

[The term 'Turkish' refers to all tobaccos grown within the Ottoman sphere, including the Balkans, all of Asia Minor, the Levant, Persia, the Black Sea regions, and Egypt. Nowadays it generally is applied to small-leaf tobacco grown in a Mediterranean climate which is comparatively low in nicotine and possesses a grassy fragrance.
Turkish tobaccos, generally speaking, are a labour intensive crop that varies considerably from region to region and from soil type to soil type.]

So what is 'yenidje'?


YENIDJE

Giannitsa in Greece is in Macedonia near where Alexander the Great was born.
Gennisea in Xanthi is near the border with Bulgaria.
Yanitsa ('yeni shehir': new city) in Thessaly is now named Larissa.
Yenice in Çanakkale Province of Turkey is opposite Gallipoli at the entrance to the Dardanelles.
Yenice in Karabük Province is in the north, just south of the Black Sea.
Yenice in Mersin Province is in the south on the Mediterranean Sea, near Hatay.

These aren't the only Yenidjes of record. In fact, almost everywhere in the Turkic world, including Central Asia and the Balkans, Yenidje in various spellings littered the land.

Tobacco is grown or traded in all of the places named above. Yenidje could therefore mean Macedonian, Bulgarian, Xanthi, Samsoun, something akin to Smyrna, or something else entirely.

NOTE: for an earlier mention of Yenidje on this blog, see this link: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/08/balkan-sobranie-postscript.html.
Mentioned in regards to Balkan Sobranie.


BALKAN

By the late nineteenth century the Balkan region was split among different powers and divided along ethnic, religious, and linguistic lines. Ottoman Turkey, the Austro-Hungarians, Greece, and Russia either ruled outright or meddled in each others' bailiwicks, and intrigue in St. Petersburg, Vienna, Athens, and Constantinople often had consequences in local affairs.
With the Serbians and Russians taking sides in the Macedonian question and the Bulgarian National Revival, the Southern Balkans became of interest also to Russian revolutionaries.
Add the ambitions of the Italians and the Germans, and it is easy to see why the region was an irresistible political tinderbox.

David Redstone of Sobranie Ltd. was originally Dovid Roitenshtein (or Roitenshtern) from Odessa, a political troublemaker who emigrated to England in 1907 following stints in jail for anti-Czarist activity, and subsequently Anglified his name like relatives who preceded him in London.
After a number of years in the tobacco trade on behalf of others, he established a name not only for pipe mixtures, but also for excellent Russian and Turkish cigarettes.
Since words in his hands were both political and cultural more than dryly factual, there is little reason to assume that the term 'Yenidje' meant either a dominant ingredient or an actual specific origin.

Prilep and Yaka tobaccos were cultivated in Macedonia since before 1873 when the Ottoman Tobacco Monopoly started processing crops locally for export, and were I a betting man I would wager that the term Yenidje as used by Sobranie of London (established 1879) was meant to differentiate Balkan tobaccos from Orientals grown further south (Turkey), or even as a marketing gimmick, rather than to identify the main leaf in the blend.
It is quite possible that the term Yenidje was useful to distinguish this 'newer' Macedonian leaf from other more established 'Turkish' varieties.

[The Ottoman Tobacco Monopoly was one of the institutions created to increase revenue in the interests of satisfying foreign banks and whittling down the enormous national debt. Tobacco was one of the few crops in demand for export. Under their aegis, growing areas were expanded, and processing improved.]

Given that geographic source terms such as Turkish, Virginia, and Burley have long referred to three separate styles of tobacco and are used quite generically, except on a certificate of provenance 'Yenidje' might be nearly meaningless in any case.

[Virginia: flue-cured; the tobacco leaf is killed and fast dried in heated barns, which preserves the natural sugars yielding a sweet medium strength leaf. Burley: air-cured, originally from Kentucky and Tennessee; the leaf is dried outdoors, maintaining nicotine and certain chocolate-like flavours. Maryland and Caporal are close relatives of Burley which are often steamed under pressure till dark to further develop the taste.
Nowadays Turkish is used primarily for Greek, Cyprian, Turkish and Levantine tobaccos that are not Latakia.
Latakia, formerly tobacco from the port of that name in Syria, now also comes from Cyprus. What differentiates Turkish from Latakia is the curing process, Latakia being a smoke-cured leaf that is dark, tarry, and crumbly because of the incorporated soot. Both types fall under the heading of Oriental Tobacco - which doesn't include Indonesian leaf, Virginia or Burley grown in India, Thailand, or Indo-China, or the thin and acrid tasting Chinese crops. Russian tobacco can be any one of these types, or even some nasty greenish-black shag of unidentifiable origin, depending on region and process.]


With all that in mind, you will surely understand my interest upon once again opening a tin from McClelland's 'Grand Orientals' series, even though I've smoked the product in question before.


YENIDJE SUPREME
[GRAND ORIENTALS, by McCLELLAND]

Tin blurb: "The finest of Xanthi in this blend comes from the best original Yenidje growing area of Western Thrace. These small, delicately aromatic, top leaves from the mountains (Djebel) and lower slopes (Yaka) have been renowned for their sweet, mild, fresh flavor and delicately tangy aroma since the 1600s. This blend is designed to demonstrate why this particular Xanthi is known as "The Queen of Tobaccos."


Even after leaving the tin open for several hours, the reek of that vinegary treatment to which McClelland is addicted is almost unbearable. Surely there are better mold-retardants and bug repellents than British sweatsocks?
I've often thought that the presence of acetic acid narrows the flavour spectrum of many McClelland products, almost killing those tobaccos which are furthest from fully fermented Virginias.
It is especially objectionable in something that purports to have a "delicately tangy aroma".

The appearance of this blend is of small shreds of medium brown and darker hues, the amalgamation likely steamed to meld the flavours.
Taste-wise, it is a smoke that induces contemplation, and while the pong of vinegar in the tin is unacceptable, when lit little thereof is even noticeable, especially if smoked with a steady pace. Instead, there is an old-fashioned quality that promotes peacefulness.
You should not smoke this if you are a nervous or easily agitated person.

It has a pleasant real tobacco taste all the way down, due to the inclusion of other leaves in the blend. Enough nicotine to satisfy, nowhere near enough to knock your sock off. But if you are smoking this, that isn't what you wanted anyhow.
Reduces to a velvety ash, only slightly gritty.
Rather reminiscent of Virginia Woods, though much more like McClelland's Orient 996. Both of those also contain red Virginia. The smoker of paler tobaccos will find the first a good companion to Yenidje Supreme, the aficionado of darker Orientals will favour the latter in rotation with it.
Goes well with black coffee.

This is not a tobacco for a talkative man. If I were still employed in draughting, this would be perfect to smoke at the office..... if one could still smoke at the office.
Quite possibly my father would have liked it.
I shall have to try it in his old Canadians during a quiet weekend.



AFTERTHOUGHT: TOUTOUN

Most of the lower grades of Turkish leaves, irrespective of country where they are grown, are destined to become cigarettes, and will consequently be treated much like American tobaccos. Usually the factories will augment the sugar-content and steam or toast the leaf to make it fit the flavour-profile expected by smokers, who since the Second World War have been exposed to 'Anglo-Saxon' preferences.
Where formerly there was a large market for the Turkish taste, especially in Central Europe, most brands now cater to smokers of blonde leaf. Exceptions are elderly fossils, hinterland peasants, and intolerable eccentrics - but other than the French and Mittel-Europeaner, these are not a large audience.
Pure 'Oriental' cigarettes are a specialty market. Pretty much the only things that can be said for mass-produced smokes is that both nicotine and sugar will be present; the one for the addictive hit, the other for the smooth taste.

Pipe tobacco is, of course, another story.

TOBACCO INDEX


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ARCADIA - MCCLELLAND

About two weeks ago I popped open a tin of McClelland's Arcadia.
I had been smoking some of their other blends which are medium-heavy on the Orientals - frequent readers will know that I have a thing about Orientals - and after experimenting with British Woods, 996, and Yenidje Highlander, I required another comparison.

You may have heard me rant about marketing departments, hype, poofle, and cutesy-poo images and ideas involved in separating the sucker from his money.
In the main, I believe a product should have a straightforward name, and rely on quality and word of mouth for converts.

For example, Bag balm is perfect in that regard. It is exactly what it says - an unguent for massaging the chafed and chapped udders of cows - and it is an altogether admirable product whose stellar reputation has won it aficionados among farmers, people who work with their hands, and any number of perverts who consider it a perfect topical lubricant.

Very good for users of erotic leather, sailor boots, as well as women who persist in wearing bras that are far too small for their chests.

[Note to women: ALWAYS have your chest measured for a bra, and buy the right size for your rib cage. Nothing is more upsetting than seeing a lady from behind, with her back trifurcated by an unsuitably garment. And frankly the sight of deep grooves cutting through back flesh, which painfully bulges on either side of the mammary control device, is traumatic. Support is NOT in tight constriction, but in sound construction. Bag balm will soothe those crimson wheals. Let me know if you need help.]

Bag balm. You know what've you got. Get it.


Evenso, most pipe smokers are easily won over by image presentation.
Romance, mystique, evocations of distant time and place.
We're easily enchanted by shiny things.
One could probably sell a product by advertising that it was the favourite weed of the last emperor of all the Russias, and was found in the best salons of Paris at the fin du siècle.


CRIMEAN GAVNIYOK
Exotic blend from Samarkand, by license from the household of his majesty in St. Petersburg

'This luxurious and robust mixture consists of rare small-tip Soukashtouka, traditionally harvested by trained gibbons in the poisoned jungles of Tashkent, and reserved for the highest nobles of the realm.
With a mere soupcon of matured Old Belt for an exquisite balance.
Available in fine hotels, and from purveyors to gentlemen.'

Just put a picture of a cavalry officer on horseback outrunning wolves on the label, and watch the sales take off like a rocket. Sixty years later, grizzled coots will lament that it is no longer made, and sniff disparagingly at modern substitutes proffered by the young fellow at the local shop.
"Boy, you should have smoked Gavniyok! My heavens, that was good stuff, everything that tobacco should be. But they no longer grow Soukashtouka, damn' this modern world!"


Okay, enough of my own poofle, now to the product at hand.


ARCADIA
McClelland's 221B Series.

'An original pipe tobacco recipe worthy of offering to one's best friend.'

TIN POOFLE: "It was Dr. Watson's favorite smoke. It was said to be of such arresting character and delicacy that it stopped all conversation. Holmes recognized it by its characteristic fluffy, white ash. We hope that our formula, deduced after careful study of vintage examples of what was known as the original and made available to us by dedicated collectors, will please the most discriminating smokers."


Like almost all imitations of fabled mixtures, there is more magic in the memory than in the actual product. This is McClelland's attempt at reproducing Craven A, and while it is of excellent quality, it just isn't very exciting.
Craven A Mixture consisted of a broad spectrum of Virginias supporting an Oriental component, augmented by Latakia in the proportion that was considered high-end of the scale at the time it was originally compounded. So by our standards, a blend with a somewhat mild level of creosote, albeit having an assertive flue-cured character due to a fermented darkness.

Once McClelland's Arcadia has been allowed to air quite a bit and the vinegar stench has fled, this stuff has a lovely tin-aroma. The first several bowls were uninspiring, irritating even, but it has grown on me, and while I think it not likely to become a regular smoke, I gladly concede that it has a place. This tin dates from 2009.
A bit of age becomes it well.
It is particularly enjoyable, now that the reek of acetic acid has departed, to hold the container to my nose and sniff deeply. At such time it is the incense of Asia and the New World harmoniously combined.

Like many products by McClelland it must be smoked slowly. The Oriental will seemingly not dominate, and the Latakia is scarce noticeable to the English fanatic. Instead, the most prominent feature is the subtle sweetness of the Virginias. Do not overload your pipe, and choose a bowl of medium diameter. The taste will remind you in some ways of strong black tea. As will, remarkably, the appearance of the blend, which has a resemblance to golden tippy Yunnan.

I stress that it must be smoked slowly, and with attention.
It is not bold enough to excite you otherwise.
But it's rewarding, and quite pleasant.
Once you've got the hang of it.
Indeed, a very fine ash.


There are some McClelland products that are sheer dynamite, plus a very large number that are excellent, but rather boring when not exactly your cup of tea.
McClelland is, however, the Virginia smoker's co-conspirator in the United States. They do things that no other manufacturer still does, and without them the world would be a poorer, darker, and far drearier, place.
Arcadia Pipe Tobacco might suit you perfectly.
But if not, give the tin to someone else.
It will probably be appreciated.


'An original pipe tobacco recipe worthy of offering to one's best friend.'


That, of course, is sheer balderdash.
My best friend is Savage Kitten, the woman who until last year was my significant other and better half.
She cannot stand smoke. The last time I offered her a puff she damn' near floored me.
And tobacco preferences are so personal anyway that even if she did indulge, she would probably not like the same products.
I rather imagine her preferring Vapers (Virginia and Perique concoctions).
Possibly even dark twist.
Or Lakeland flakes.
She's perverse.

Quite.

TOBACCO INDEX


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COCKTAIL DEGENERACY AND A PREFERENCE FOR ORIENTALS

Several years ago friend of blog e-kvetcher remarked: "Dude, you are well on your way to becoming the next Henry Darger".
Seeing as he's also on occasion compared me to Marcel Proust, other than feeling mildly flattered I paid it no mind.
Well, besides writing a paean to mr. Darger - how can one NOT admire and respect so magnificently sleazy an obsession?

Henry Darger, it will be remembered, wrote a fifteen thousand page novella about pubescent warrioresses and their very nicely illustrated travails.
It took him several decades to do so.

I am envious of a man with so little Attention Deficit Disorder.


Anyhow, I am reminded of all this because some of the bartenders I know are experimenting with fruity cocktails. Drinks containing pineapple juice, cranberry, apple, peach, various puckers, and assorted sickly matters.
I fear that it's only a matter of time before dry ice and paper parasols are involved.
At which point, they will be catering to the girlie crowd.

Heaven forefend.

The girlie crowd are not adult people.

They have pubescent taste.


The sweet cocktails for which I once posted recipes are, of course, not strictly speaking fit for anyone.
Though I will confess a degenerate fondness for grasshoppers, white cotton panties, and the rare pear martini.

[Note: grasshoppers and white cotton panties are described HERE. Properly there should be a cherry in the panties, but that is argueably optional as far as the grasshopper is concerned. For better effect you can add one ounce of heavy cream to the panty.
Remember the cherry - white cotton panties ALWAYS require a cherry.]


Adults, of whatever gender, do NOT drink fruity-poof drinkies unless they are willingly being seduced.
Real people drink Scotch, Irish, unflavoured vodka, or Cognac.
Bourbon is for trailer parkers, tequila is for marketing types, and gin is for the office alcoholic.
Flavoured coffees and teas, as well as perfumed pipe tobacco, are sure signs of degeneracy, depravity, decadence, and immaturity. Such impure tastes speak volumes about the effete post-adolescent riff-raff that prefer them.
Likely they have strange sexual predilections and unhealthy fetishes.

For instance: bestiality, whips, and teenagers.

Liquor, tobacco, coffee, and tea of good quality do not require additions. And as often whatever is added reeks of whorehouse or Hello Kitty, such augmentation speaks volumes about the people that prefer such.


In the main, I eschew morally questionable tastes.


I will, however, grudgingly admit a strong preference for Orientals.


[Samsoun, Smyrna, Soukoum, and the fabled Yenidje. Plus Djubeck. Toutoun, whether Djebel or Yaka, and even Shiraz. Latakia, though nowadays from Cyprus and thus 'European', was originally from Syria, and qualifies fully as an Oriental by inheritance even in its modern incarnation, being of Oriental seed and process.
And speaking of which, I keenly miss the fine Egyptian ovals produced by Kyriazi Frères, now no longer available in California. Khedive Oriental cigarettes (from Germany) were also divine. To recapture that delicious resinous perfume, you may want to try Dunhill Durbar Mixture in your pipe, or alternatively, Presbyterian Mixture, originally from William Solomon, but now manufactured in Germany. Both products are resinously rich in Oriental leaf.
The Balkan Sobranie Mixture, of course, doesn't exist anymore, lack-a-day.]


APPROPRIATELY SMELLY

The one field where all the myriad flavourings actually serve a purpose is perfume.
Nothing is more alluring than a woman whiffing gently of sandalum and vetiver, neroli, labdanum, agarwood, bergamot, opopanac, or 晚香玉.
Your subtle feminine fragrance is vastly enhanced by the judicious addition of a carefully chosen scent. Far better than spending enormous amounts on eye-shadow, foundation, cheek blush, wrinkle creams, and such like, you should instead invest in one or two bottles of choice aromatic.

Such things are suitable, in fact, for any woman between seven and seventy.
From schoolgirls to soured old harridans.
It's infinitely flattering!

Just avoid patchouli, vanilla, and coconut!

Grown men have been known to turn violently sideways and dab-smack into concrete to get away from that sh*t.

We are not perverts, but purists.

Please in all things remember that.


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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.

TOBACCO INDEX


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IT'S PERPENDICULAR

If it weren't for cell-phones, all the law-office drones heading home on the number one California Street bus would probably talk. Considering how noisy that would be, I am glad that they can scroll through their text messages and stock-reports instead.
I usually wander down to the end of the line to catch the bus as it heads out; that way there's no crush, and I can ensconce myself before it fills up. Walking six blocks east is easier from Chinatown than even three blocks west. Down a gentle slope rather than up a very steep hill.

From four o'clock to seven o'clock, that bus line is pandemonious. By the second stop the vehicle is already filled, by the fourth there is no standing room left, except for a stretch in the back that law-office employees seem to feel is off-limits. The area near the back door is completely cluster-fudged, because many of them think that an entry way is the perfect spot to come to a dead stop, cling on to a pole, and read their e-mails, oblivious to whether anyone needs to get on or off.


SURELY MY PRECIOUS SELF IS INVIOLATE?!?


Well, yeah. But if you get in the way of a little old lady, you're asking for trouble. She's had it with your type. You never open the door, you never move aside, you never say 'excuse me'. You are, like many law-office workers in downtown San Francisco, a rather sorry excuse for a human.

Oh wait; you're a programmer? That might be even worse!

Marketing and Sales types are totally bestial.

As everyone except them knows.


I will gladly confess that I do not like much of modern society. This is a generation that feels entitled, and truly believes that they themselves are far better and more deserving than any one else.

Many of them are not from San Francisco, but hail from hinterland California and all the other states in the Union. Some of them are Aussies or Brits, and a number are technologically educated foreigners.
But as individuals, they are largely interchangeable.
There is nothing truly unique about them.

Of course, not everybody on the bus is like that. A number of the other passengers are middle-aged hatched-faced law-office harridans, angry that they are no longer springy or attractive, and oblivious to the fact that their dark emotions are reflected in their bitter body language.

Gluten intolerance, creativity, entitlement, attitude, ass, and an ocean of ignorance; these are the characteristics that fill the bus during rush hour.
I often seriously enjoy people watching.
But these folks are repetitive.

There is no lightness to their being.

I would take the Pacific Avenue bus over the hill instead, but that's always filled with twenty-something white folks pissed-off that so many Chinese people also want to ride. You can smell their anger-hormones, and tell that they are tightly clenched and seethingly resentful.
Good lord, some of those "Orientals" are carrying food!
How perfectly horrid! Why do they need to eat?
There should be rules against that.
Forbid all food and drink.
Except Starbucks.


I love all of you.



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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.

TOBACCO INDEX


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STOP GIGGLING, I AM SERIOUS

Some well-meaning goobers.., errrm, I mean 'friends', have suggested that the tobacco thing will have to fade by the wayside if I wish to improve the likelihood that some oblivious woman will inexplicably fall in love or lust with me. "Why heavens", they aver, "your chances will increase from near-zero to not at all that unlikely in the long run".
This because today's woman despises tobacco and its users.

Not so. I have actually met women who do not dislike the substance. Not everyone draws away from me on the bus; just super-sensitive healthfreaks, Berkeleyites, and little flowers.

Entirely aside from which, I happen to be associated with one of the last tobacco enterprises still remaining in California. Just imagine what I smell like on certain days.


And realistically, that's an awfully big habit-change to go through on the slim chance that some woman who hates what I like might enter my life.
In anything approaching a positive way.
I do not gamble.


If you are the right kind of person, you now have a fantasy aroma in your mind. Your nose is twitching. Maduro, double claro, fire-cured, fruity, and slightly floral-resinous. A heady almost intoxicating perfume, yet suprisingly subtle.

If you are the wrong kind of person, you are probably gagging right now, or heaving into your embroidered Hello Kitty handkerchief.
Poor little you.


Not only do I presently have NO intention of disconnecting from pipes and tobacco, but if you leave your friends, relatives, or any other suggestible people in my care, I fully intend to seduce them with flue-cured leaves, fine polished briars, aged dark cake, and richly decadent Orientals.

I am not a sexist, racist, ageist, or species-ist. Everybody can appreciate something truly excellent. Except for neurotic types with 'trust-issues'.


It's entirely about having an open mind.


Would you like a cheroot?





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SOLOMON'S PRESBYTERIAN MIXTURE BY PLANTA

There are times when, despite my better judgment, I will smoke something odoriferous in the television room. Years ago I learned that my apartment mate scarce notices a flake if she is elsewhere in the building, but will come bounding in all piss and vinegar when there is Turkish or Latakia in the blend. Fortunately, part of the year her allergies are such that she cannot smell a darn thing, and late at night I can push envelopes I dare not touch when she is still wide awake.
Boruch Hashem she is a heavy sleeper.

I popped open a tin of Presbyterian mixture recently. Despite the name there is nothing dour or severe about this blend. It is in fact so indulgent a product that all stern Calvinists would be convinced that partaking guarantees one a special place in hell.
The truth is far otherwise.



PRESBYTERIAN MIXTURE

This blend exemplifies everything that most women hate about your bestial habits. Oriental tobacco has that effect. Which, of course, is why you should only smoke it very late at night, when your good lady is asleep, or out near the kitchen-midden, amidst the rotting fish heads and cabbage cores.
This tobacco will make your sojourn at the pile of garbage extremely enjoyable. Your wife shall regret kicking you out of the house.

There is Latakia in this blend, but it is by no means a Syrian dump. Rather, the inclusion is more traditional in measure, before blenders realized quite how much smoke-cured leaf they could get away with. The dominant taste is Macedonian, augmented very nicely by Virginias and other New World leaves, and possibly a touch of Perique (though that is doubtful). Due to the high proportion of Orientals it is relatively low in nicotine and will not leave you buzzing. Resinous, of a medium sweetness, and to the person smoking it slightly floral. To the nearest female, however, it is not nearly so divine.
Peaty, yeasty, plummy, leathery.


It is very moist in the tin, and must be aired for considerable time before you stuff into your brier. But it packs well, due to the narrow cut. Once dried a bit, it smokes easily - twixt spice and cream.

[Previously I wrote about Presbyterian Mixture here: Degenerate Man of God.
What I said then was somewhat intemperate. But I stand by it.]

Every time I open a tin, I go through it at a very rapid clip.
I hop around among tobaccos too much to make this a constant smoke, though.
But I do have several tins in my stockpile.

Comparable to Dunhill Durbar Mixture in some ways, also similar to Squadron Leader. Manifestly NOT like Gawith Hoggarth's Balkan Mixture, except in cut.



PLANTA TABAK MANUFAKTUR

Planta in Germany produces a number of fine English blends, Virginias, and several innovative aromatics and pouched mixtures.
Those last two categories are more popular in Europe than normal tobaccos.

From their internet site: "The PLANTA company was founded in Berlin-Spandau in 1956 by Dr Manfred Obermann, who is still the CEO of his company today. As early as 1962 the management of PLANTA decided in favour of the production of foreign pipe tobaccos in Germany under licence. The pipe tobaccos RUM AND MAPLE and WELLAUER’s ENGLISH BLEND proved most successful and soon gained a very good reputation all over Germany. They laid the foundation for our expansion, which required PLANTA to move to its own premises in Hagelberger Strasse in Berlin-Kreuzberg in 1963, where the headquarters and administration are still situated."

Planta blends are carried by a number of internet retailers, in case you cannot find them at your local tobacconist or apothecary.

TOBACCO INDEX


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THREE LATAKIA: MACBAREN'S HH VINTAGE SYRIAN, G.L.PEASE'S KENSINGTON, PETERSON’S OLD DUBLIN

Note: There is nothing Jewish in this post – unless you are a pipe-smoker. In which case you should know that shalom beis may be seriously disturbed by smoking these pipe tobaccos, and that the author considers all three of these mixtures excellent for fragrantly lengthening the last whisps of Shabbes into twilight, far better than a container of cloves and nutmeg.

[How you resolve the conflict is your own affair - but I'll gladly read how you did it.]



HH VINTAGE SYRIAN

MacBaren is known for their spuncuts and mild Danish Aromatics, some sauced, some top-cased. They are not at all known for doing anything daring with Latakia or Orientals. Their previous foray into wife-repellent was ‘Latakia Blend’, which despite the name failed to deliver the promised punch, though it was a decent cut roll-cake Cavendish . Not a bad smoke if you expected typical MacBaren tobacco, but a Syrian would not have recognized it.

The Vintage Syrian is different. Indeed, there’s a hefty measure of Latakia in it – by MacBaren standards. And Oriental. But it should not be considered a full blend, being more on the cross-over point between mild English, light Balkan, and Scottish-Oriental. The grassy component in the tin aroma indicates some air-cured leaf.
By my guess, roughly forty percent Latakia, about twenty percent Oriental, ten percent fire-cured American, and the remainder a mild-medium base of Virginias. All steamed to meld. It is not tinned wet, and can be smoked with little or no drying once the tin is opened.

It does not smoke particularly richly, being a pleasant old-fashioned European mixture with Oriental leaf. Which is shockingly new for the Danes. It is affordable and will not scare away women and children. There is a nice touch of sweetness. By Danish standards it is both risqué and balanced; no mean achievement.

Recommendation: buy a few tins to mature for a few years, but don’t go wild.


G.L.PEASE - KENSINGTON

This blend is reminiscent of Samuel Gawith, both the Squadron Leader Mixture and the Skiff Mixture. It has the fine underlying Virginia tang of Skiff, and the Turkish dominance of Squadron Leader. Latakia-wise, it is right in between. It is a very good blend. Set aside a few tins to age.


PETERSON’S OLD DUBLIN

This is a typical old-fashioned English mixture, and a good exemplar of the type, being a medium-full Latakia blend with a healthy dosis of Turkish leaf, and a shot of black Virginia to round-out the sootiness of the Latakia. It has more Turkish than Dunhill’s Early Morning Pipe, more of the Virginia tone than Dunhill’s Standard Mixture Medium. That would put it in the range of Dunhill’s 965, but it is far better behaved.
Lovers of the Dunhill mixtures will find much here that appeals, as will also the smokers of Esoterica Tabaciana's Margate and Germain’s Latakia Mixture (virtually the same as Margate, which is not surprising, as both are made in the same factory), but it is less wet in the tin. It does need a little drying.

If your wife hates your favourite tobaccos, you wil probably love this.

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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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BREASTS AND THE AUGUST MEETING OF THE PIPE CLUB

Regular readers could be somewhat ired at my frequent showcasing of the perverse searches that bring new readers to this blog, especially as it reflects somewhat less than flatteringly on their own loyalty. Most of my material is refreshingly boring and mundane, they may feel, so why give any airtime to the degenerates, perverts, and Presbyterians?
Surely those folks do not deserve it?
There's more to life than that.


Well, there is.  But one recent depraved search is near to my heart.


TEENAGE JAPANESE CLEAVAGE

Good lord, man, how on earth did that bring you to this outpost of the internet? Teenage Japanese cleavage has never been a theme here, though it may have been mentioned once in connection with a discourse on Manga meant for a young Japanese male audience. And even then there were no pictures, diagrams, or schematics.
No actual descriptions either.

The internet is filled to overflowing with sites far more devoted to bringing you your fetish titty, as well as food, and kitten pictures.

There may even be a bosom or two somewhere in the bowels of I CAN HAS CHEESBURGER. Whether it's attractive or not I cannot say, it depends on you. It might even be Japanese. Go there and investigate. Give it your best shot. Peruse. Examine. Research.
Do your due diligence.

Just google it if you don't know where it is.

Oh wait. That's a mistake. Doing so brought you here.
Where there is no Teenage Japanese Cleavage.

Yes, I know; you are farklempt.
I sympathize.


AND NOW, SERIOUS REPORTAGE

Normal readers will probably be wondering why I am sitting in front of the computer at this hour on a Saturday night, when by all rights they should expect me to be at the local cigar bar with my Scotch and water, lighting up a pipefull of matured Virginia tobacco, and sagely holding forth on the ills of the world.
Gaza, Iron Dome, starving Yazidis on a hillside in Irak, the European depravities, Russians shooting down plane-loads of Dutchmen and Malays, Tofu, Vegan plots, and the latest rape scandals in India.
Crap like that.

Normally I would be.

Except that on Wednesday I managed to poison myself. I'm still a bit affected by it. Not entirely up to my usual fifty-five year-old snuff.
And not quite as full of piss and vinegar.

See, there were over forty pipes that needed cleaning, so I removed the carbon rubber stems and dumped them in bleach for two hours, which loosens the oxidation. Afterwards you can simply rub off the grime, and though the rubber will feel gritty (the oxidation was part of the material, consequently its removal leaves microscopic pits), it will now be suitable for buffing the crap out of to make it gleam all shiny black again.
What I do while the stems are soaking is pour alcohol into the bowls to loosen tars and carbon, so that a quick ream of the cake (carbon layer), and a scrubbing of the inside of the shank with a thready thing and bristly pipe cleaners, will render the briar smokeable again.

After an episode a few weeks ago when I ended up with chemical burns on my fingers because I had also employed Zippo fluid to dissolve the grease on the outer surfaces -- doing so bleaches the wood slightly, but a subsequent application of wax and polish makes it more beautiful and old-fashioned looking than before -- and had, in consequence, entirely leached out the protective skin-oils from the aforementioned fingers, leaving them quite painfully subject to bleach penetration, I postponed playing with lighter fluid till after the stems were ready.


Briefly back to breasts: On the bus ride home this evening, there were at least twelve young and possibly teenage Korean breasts -- that's exactly six sets, or matching pairs -- and any (even) number of other mammary glands of various origins. No, I cannot describe the cleavages, because my hands were cold and investigation would have been startling.
Entirely aside from which I meditate on the journeys to and from Marin. Crawl inside my own head, slow down both breathing and heart-beat,
and find the centre of my consciousness.
Or read everyone else's mind.
It's exercise.


Over forty stems. Which had not been tended to in decades.
Rub rub rub. Rinse rinse rinse.
Lots of bleach.

Then paper towels soaked in Zippo.
And a bit of sand papering.

By tea-time I had to retire to the office, to lie on the floor drenched in sweat and weakly mumbling for an hour or two. Jaw, neck tendons and the muscles in my arms feeling like someone else was pulling at them.
No nausea, no chest pains, no blurry vision, no throbbing head.
Just twitching, buckets of perspiration, and general lassitude.
I may not have been quite sane during that time.

Over forty stems.

Lots of ventilation, but still.

Forty plus stems, and skin exposure.


Okay, yes, I know now that I should use gloves. In the past I have always strenuously avoided surgical gloves, even when making gallons of Habanero hotsauce at home -- ask me sometime about spending an hour buck-naked under a cold shower because even though I washed my hands thoroughly before taking a leak there were (unpleasant) consequences -- as I really need to feel what I am doing.
But apparently nitrile gloves ARE sensitive. An emergency room surgeon who is a fellow-member of the pipe club tells me so.
Almost nobody uses latex anymore.

I found this out on Thursday evening after the meeting of the Golden Gate Pipe Club. About a dozen mature gentlemen had gathered for an informative discussion of a famous old blend -- Presbyterian Mixture -- and the sharing of various nicely aged VaPers, plus the inevitable tin of Arcadia. There's always Arcadia. Someone has fifty three tins of it.
After it was over he and I had drinks at the Occidental.
I was still feeling a bit askew, and told him why.

[Interstice: Presbyterian Mixture was first compounded for Reverend John White, who was a most moral man, despite my fond fantasy that he was a savage brute in charge of a girl's reformatory and loved nothing better than birching the tender subjects under his care. Presbyterian sounds stern and severe, but this mixture is anything but, being a refined riot of Macedonian and ribbon-cut aged Virginia. All in all a decadent and obscene product, that only self-indulgent orgiasts (like, perhaps, Stanley Baldwin, a prime minister) would secretly enjoy, in private, so that none should suspect them of queer practices. I cannot imagine smoking this constantly. The last time I opened a tin my apartment mate came beetling out of her room like a bat out of hell at three o'clock in the morning and accused me of several things, finishing with the command that I should go smoke that vile product out at the abandoned church with the bums and the raccoons. Beast! It is a rather pleasant smoke, evenso. It is not at all like Erinmore Flake, which is the whore of Babylon of tobaccos. 
The only reason why I mention them at the same time is because I enjoy saying 'Presbyteeeeeerian' in the same sneering tone as 'whoooooore of Babylon'. I also particularly like the word 'glandered', except that there is no tobacco yet to which that epithet can be applied. Suggestions are welcome.]

There was some wine and port at the meeting, very nice.
Also cheese and grapes, plus cookies.
I like cookies.

I lit up my first pipe of the day shortly after seven and joined the boys. When we left a few hours later, there was a dense fog hanging in the room, from several pipes which had been smoked.
Quite marvelous, and very civilized.

I suppose if you were a non-pipesmoker, you would have found the conversation most dreadfully boring, but there was only one of those present, and she was off in a corner enjoying herself with her cell-phone.
I hope we see her again; she was very pleasant.
She only sneezed once.

Anyhow, that was all middle of the week. On Friday I was still a bit affected, Saturday too. So I deemed it best to stay in tonight, and behave myself.

Which is how I discovered the Teenage Japanese Cleavage.
Quite a splendid contradictory word-combination.
Cleavage suggests "more than".
But it's Japanese.
So "less".

[By the way, the term "teenage", in all contexts on this blog, implies a person who is legally old enough to buy tobacco products. Such as Presbyterian Mixture (Orientals and flue-cured leaf, plus a modicum of Latakia), Erinmore Flake (mostly pressed flue-cured with a peculiar fruity flavouring), St. James Flake (my tin, several years old, marvelously pongy, black and laden with Perique), Arcadia (a medium McClelland Oriental mixture with a substantial fan-base), London Mixture (medium-full Dunhill English mixture which is the only pipe tobacco our oldest member smokes), either Samarra or Cairo by Greg Pease (Oriental mixtures, well compounded), several VaPers, and at least two aromatics. Eighteen or older.]

Further pursuant chlorine poisoning and surgical gloves, we also discussed folds of flesh, morbidly obese people, heart failure due to weight, a patient who was six hundred pounds, and the opportunistic fungal infections that thrive in moist warm skin zones, such as between the toes, in the groin, between the folds of flab where one may also find a supply of soda crackers which the patient could be hoarding, and underneath the breasts when the mammaries are of a size. Teenage Japanese Cleavage seldom, if ever, gets to that point. It's a genetic thing. I doubt that that was the focus of the internet search, however.

As a thin person, I find large breasts a bit scary.
Which they are. Probably carnivorous.
I never read Playboy.

You should know that large breasts benefit from a well-made brassiere not only because of support, but also because the garment whicks away the moisture. Which is especially useful in warm parts of the world, like Marin County and Oakland. You can also dust the area with medicated foot powder or a little corn starch.

If faced with Teenage Japanese Cleavage, the previously mentioned Presbyterian minister might consider powdered sugar better.
He was a degenerate, I am convinced of that.
His blend says so.

I am a clean wholesome man, and have never seen Teenage Japanese Cleavage, and I rarely smoke Presbyterian Mixture.
I feel guilty when I do.


AN HONEST AFTERWORD

In the interests of total disclosure, I will admit that Teenage (eighteen or older) Japanese Cleavage is undoubtedly a fascinating subject, worthy of serious attention by all manner of pervs and pipe smokers. And while I thoroughly enjoy smoking a pipe -- which, according to well-informed Berkeleyites, Vegans, and Tofu-snarfing earthmoms, kills puppies and little children -- it has been a while since I had the opportunity to inspect cleavage of any sort or derivation from close-up. Cleavage, Japanese or otherwise, is not presently an important element in my universe.
The lack of cleavage affects my welt-anschauung.
But it does not fill me with angst.
It just is.

In further total disclosure, these are the pipe tobaccos I have smoked in the past few months: Elizabethan Mixture, Samuel Gawith's Best Brown Flake, Samuel Gawith's Full Virginia Flake, Greg Pease's Abingdon, Wessex Red Virginia Flake, Wessex Brown Flake, Escudo, The Rotary Navy Cut, HH Latakia Flake, Samuel Gawith Bracken Flake, 1792, Niemeyer's Vier Heeren Baai, Capstan, Three Nuns, McClelland's Black Shag, Hearth and Home's Black House, Greg Pease's Union Square, Greg Pease's Telegraph Hill, Greg Pease's Navigator, Greg Pease's Sextant, Greg Pease's Gaslight, Greg Pease's Cairo, Davidoff Flake Medallions, Rattray's Old Gowrie, Rattray's Brown Clunee, Rattray's Hal O' The Wynd, Rattray's Professional Mixture, Dunhill Three Year Matured Virginia, Peter Stokkebye Luxury Navy Flake, Arango's Balkan Supreme, several mixtures of my own devising ranging from mild flue-cured amalgamations to Lat bombs, and a bunch of bizarre oddments from Altadis.

In that same period, the oldest member of the Golden Gate Pipe Club has smoked London Mixture and nothing else.
He's a remarkable man.

He's probably the only one of us who may have ever been exposed to any Teenage Japanese Cleavage, what with being a retired surgeon and all...
but I doubt it made a significant impact on him.
Seeing as it was in a professional context.
And he's happily married.


For some strange reason, several of the other members are not married. No, Teenage Japanese Cleavage has nothing to do with that either. The plain fact of the matter is that many women fiercely resent pipes, pipe tobacco, and the simple enjoyment of a civilized habit. I really don't know what it is. Perhaps they would rather we devote our energies to purses, shoes, Hello Kitty, tofu, puppies, and the not killing of little children in Berkeley.

We did NOT discuss breasts. Of ANY size, shape, or type. If I had only known at the time that breasts might come bouncing to the roiling surface of internet-consciousness (or at the very least manifest themselves as a search-criterium of importance), I could have brought them up for all the members to register their voice.
I'm sure everyone except the two medical men would have had strong and informed opinions, which would have proven enlightening.
I could have shared them here.

Be that as it may, we remain positive about things.
Pipesmokers are cheerful individuals.
With a sunny outlook on life.

TOBACCO INDEX


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OLD HOLLYWOOD

Several months ago, when Grant's Tobacconists on Market Street still existed, there was an open tin there from one of my favourite manufacturers.
So I sniffed it. Sniffing is very much something that pipe-smokers do, in which we resemble canines somewhat. It's a nose-brain thing.
But unlike your family dog, we do not go around sniffing the private parts of other creatures. We think we can tell enough about their personality, gender, and state of being from their eyes and their conversation.
No sniff test required.

For example, a scowling Berkeleyite Earthmother Type glaring at my pipe with undisguised disdain is clearly a narrow-minded self-righteous diphead, sexually frustrated, and quite likely constipated too. She needs hydro-therapy, heavy medication to make her more socially smooth, and likely a sharp clout upside the head to get her mind off her own sanctimonious self.
I need not smell any part of her to know that.

Unfortunately, I usually CAN smell her. The reek of cramped shrunken soul, coupled with frowsty tribal shmatte from somewhere spiritual and politically correct, as well as soap made out of backyard compost, carries for at least a block down Market Street during rush hour, to disturbing effect.
It's kind of like soggy dog.
Rancidly moist.


There are precious few people whose private parts I wish to sniff.

You probably have the same problem, don't you?

Let us NOT trade notes.


Anyhow, back to the open tin. As that is what leads to this.


OLD HOLLYWOOD
Cornell & Diehl, Inc.

Tin blurb: A blend of red VA, Latakia, red VA cavendish, Turkish & cubed burley designed to bring out the best in these rich tobaccos.
End cite.

I purchased all tins that were left on the shelf. And recently I augmented my supply. I've been smoking it an awful lot lately. Like many of the Cornell & Diehl products that contain Burley, this is neither a blend to huff or hot-box, nor one to slow-sip.
The best tack is to load lightly, and after setting match to it, let it smolder along with some encouragement. It can be enjoyed slowly and steadily down to the bottom, yielding a spicy and almost perfumy note which is incredibly pleasing.
Lightly sweet, and subtly zesty.

One bowl after the shower, another before lunch. One in mid-afternoon, then one more at tea-time. A blend for lightheartedness in any season.
It performs well in pipes of various bores and depths.

It may actually be modelled after something available in the Los Angeles area when my dad was young. He probably smoked something similar as a boy.
As I recall he preferred light Orientals with a bit of Burley among the Virginia.
His pipes gave ample evidence of that.


Blends like Old Hollywood give a hardness to the carbon layer inside the bowl, without the brittleness associated with standard English Mixtures. On that note alone I would recommend it. But Old Hollywood is also a darn fine all-day blend, with enough spice to intrigue.

Oh, and it definitely irritates the living spit out of sourly self-righteous wheatgerm-snarfing Berkeleyite earthmoms.

But that is purely icing on the cake.

TOBACCO INDEX


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A TASK APPROACHED WITH TREPIDATION

This post will not make any sense to readers who have little familiarity with Judaic matters. For those who do, even then it may not make sense.

Please read it by a leave of thy senses.


OYF ANFANG 在開始

Over a week ago I responded to a reader whose comment history here is a flag of many colours, currently flying luxtaciously under the nomine-bellator of "Thirty Day Beer". In which one presumes 'beer' to be the surname. And one must remember that for many native-born San Franciscans, the words 'beer' and 'bear' have the same pronunciation. Which is irrelevant, though it does make one wonder what one will find in the woods.

No, don't rush off on a voyage of happy discovery - you will get lost.
At best you will find a pope there doing diddly-squats.
Beer is an overrated drink.


I am seldom around beer (once a week at most, one pint), as I consider it a beverage fit for Europeans, but most unfit for everyone else.
Except if made with San Francisco tap-water.

As is says in the Subsequentia, "swot no longer water, but use small beer for thy stomach's sake and thine often infirmities."

[Sefer Timotheos, psook 5:23.]


STILL WATERS - MAYIM SHKETIM

Yesterday evening I was at a place where beer IS sold as well as other beverages and cigars, but many customers will instead have whisky with their tobacco. In my immediate umgebung, at least five big-ass Padron Anniversarios (maduro) were enjoyed, while a superior rum made an appearance, and a mamesh twenty-five year-old single malt, grada.
Being a pipe smoker, I satisfied myself with a little cheap Scotch.
By the 4th pipe of the day, my mouth has had a work-out.
Pipes are much like shabbes havdala.
Question of minhag.

There is no point in drinking good plonk in the evening, if you are a pipe smoker, as all you can taste at that point is either Latakia or Perique. Many pipe smokers will sample single malt ere they even have breakfast, when their taste-buds are yet fresh. There's something magical about Lagavulin in the quiet before dawn, as well as after dusk on Saturday.

I was indulging in a few bowls of Greg Pease's Sixpence, which has a most unusual share of strength, in case you really want to know.
Highly recommended.

Now, referring back to the teshuva of Rabbi Timothy referenced above, a shwerre problem is that pri hagafen is not suitable for whiskey, which takes shehakol, except during eight days in the latter part of the month of Nissan, when she asani goy is customary.

This is especially important during the reading of the haftorah, when the members of the exalted kiddush club take a break for socializing and lashon hara, a riezige mitzva.

[Note: the heter shikrus is of post-Talmudic origin. During a shmita year a heter meah rabbanim is required. Shmita prohibitions do not impact the consumption of rum or other seafoods, lechatchila. For rum, the brocha is yargh-maties, fyi. ]


A QUESTION ARISES

All of this is preambular to the sheile of reb Thirty Day Beer, who said:

"With this new understanding, we have another question that emerged in our trekken in Eastern Asia, specifically in the Gansoo-Saansee border, where we found populations of Christians and Musulmaners feuding, throwing to and fro a certain phrase of ambiguous yet clearly Biblical origin.

It is in our awareness that they adore separate books, titled the 圣经 and 古兰经, but we don't know which corresponds to the correct group.

Thus, we implore you to undertake a search in your vast repository of Scriptural knowledege, which you have demonstrated in your commentaries. Pray tell, which sfar does this psook come from?

"Some have labelled me a 'Gay Icon'. Well, no shit, Sherlock!
--Liza Minnelli". "
[End cite.]

[Under this post: still waters ]


Gevalt.

Christians and Musulmaners: consider that whatever they drink is stam yainom bediavad, or even yayin nesech, and consequently you cannot and should not socialize with them after kabbalos shabbos in the border, because they are outside of the rechus ha rabim (me reshus l'reshus), al pi Shammai, unless the drinking happens beshoggeg. But Hillel holds farkert, shperring that it is an issur she hazman gramma, so as regards getting shikker with their women, it is permitted.

The Mechaber hott geschribben that NOT doing so is nisht a kiddush, an unneccesary maake, but the Rama zogt az es iz a gonz gevaldikke hiddur mitzvoh, go ahead, it is your own affair, who is to stop you?
Does your mother know?

The Ramgat (aka 'Rabbeinu mi Gatkes', a famous Chassidic teacher from Hungary) advises that if her dadayik resemble ripe mangoes, it is advisable, but if they resemble esrogim in any way, it is nezifuth.
[Commentary on ShirHaShirim; psook 7:7.]

The Gansoo Saansee border is in any case a karmelis, emmes shricklich.
Why are you there? Voss machstu dort?

Bogs you like?


Musulmaners: The inhabitants of Rotterdam, Utrecht, and Antwerp.
After their favourite food, which is served with fries.


Gansoo, Sansee: These are culinary terms, Gansu (乾酥 'gon sou') and Sansi (三絲 'saam si'), referring to flaky biscuits, and three shredded vegetables (carrot, lobak, and wood ear) stir-fried with a main ingredient.

When talking about sharkfin soup, the three shreds will often be soaked sea-cucumber, winter bamboo shoot, and barbecued duck.
This is a famous dish in Shantung Cuisine (山東美食 'saan tung mei sik').

In the beloved northern-style appetizer 涼拌三絲 ('leung pun saam si'; "cold mixed three shreds"), sea slug, tofu skin, and rice vermicelli are first soaked or pre-cooked, then slivered as appropriate, dressed with oil, vinegar, sugar, salt, garlic, and sesame butter.

Note that the biscuits in question are also known as 乾酥餅 ('gon sou beng'; "dry flaky cakes"). One can often find them in Chinatown.
Sometimes they resemble snickerdoodles.
They are NOT matzoh.


聖經 and 古蘭經: The Book of San Jose (聖荷西 'saan ho sei'; "sagely lotus west" ) and The Ancient Orchid Classic (古蘭經 'gu laan king'), being respectively a vademecum of a large city where a lot of Orientals live and a gardening manual compended by a scholar during the Tang Dynasty (唐朝 'tong chiu'; 618–907 CE), collecting the sayings of his teacher on that and similar subjects. This latter tome was like the Analects of its day, but has since then fallen into disrepute.

The fondness of many East Asians for gardens is well known; if you ever visit Soochow, you will be amazed. Kyoto also has many great sights.
I have heard that there is a shul in Kyoto (Beit Shalom), but that kosher food is hard to find. Look for salmon in the wet markets there, as the appearance of the flesh of that bird is a siman le kashrus.
Perhaps you should go to Brighton instead?
No gardens, but a great restaurant.
You'll be happier.


Sherlock: a mantra, 福爾摩斯 ('fu yi mo si'; "happiness that scours thus") of possibly Sanskrit or Prakrit origin. In such cases, the original words are transcribed phonetically, and it is pointless to seek any deeper meaning. This is complete idolatrous gibberish in yedem gefal.
See Maseches Avoidah Zara for more.
Both in-depth, and how-to.

Liza Minelli: a rabbi that we have no knowledge of. Perhaps a name for Yushke, as he seems to have been worshipped by Gentiles.

Either that, or an avatar of Diana of the Ephesians.

Gefal: think of Bofton Baked Beans.


Salmon: 三文魚 ('saam man yü'; "three literature fish"), whose father was Boaz (波阿斯 'po aa si'; "waves ah thus").

Kosher: 潔食 ('git sik'; "pure eats"), which may be explained as 符合猶太教教規的食物 ('fu hap yau taai gaau gaau kwai dik sik mat'), meaning 'according with Judaic religious regulation comestibles'.
猶太潔食 ('yau taai git sik') for short.
Yau Taai: Jew, Jewish.
Just. Great.

Vegetarian: 素食 'sou sik'; "plain eats"), or 齋 ('jai'; "abstainment") in an idolatrous context.


I hope this helps.


Zai gazunt.









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