Tuesday, December 03, 2019


There is a monster underneath my bed. It doesn't come out at night and frighten me, it merely lurks there, radiating a quiet sense of foreboding. Not Lenny, the eight-legged poker player I mentioned several years ago. He's okay. Bad at bluffing. It's a large can of tobacco which was owned and opened by an old gentleman who passed away in the nineties.
I cleaned up several of his pipes a few years ago.

It is still nearly full. And still fresh and moist.

Mixture 79. It was Frankie's favourite smoke.
Maybe it was better fifty years ago.

Made by Sutliff, regretted by generations of otherwise sensible and sensitive souls. Sutliff prospered. Over the years I have had exposure to many of their products, some of which are exceptionally fine (I'm thinking in particular of 'Bosphorus Cruise' and 'Berkshire', which are quite stellar). But two stand out as the ultimates in pig-awful ghastly: Mixture 79, and Molto Dolce.

[For an overview of their aromatics, visit this post: Representative Samples.
I have suffered.]

Not being of the generation that adored Frankie, I could approach Mixture 79 with a completely open mind. And wish that it had not been so.
Like Molto Dolce, it left my mouth puckered.

Stuff like both of these products are why I fervently disapprove of aromatic pipe tobaccos, flavoured coffees, fruit teas, many synthetic fabrics, extreme versions of Christianity, Vegans, gmo-haters, glutenphobes, chalupas and gorditas, Starbucks, suburban Chinese food, tapioca drinks, bad chocolate, communists, klansmen, morons who voted for Trump, designer handbags, layers of eye shadow, many and perhaps most liqueurs, Pabst, Schlitz, Michelob, Coors, Budweiser, Rolling Rock, most junkfood, clove cigarettes, anti-vaxers, literalists, flat earthers, and "spiritual" white people.

I'll make an exception for Erinmore Flake.
And McClelland's Honeydew.


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