HELLO KITTY IN BONDAGE VILE

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

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

And Hello Kitty.

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


HOLY CRAP, A TALKING DOG!

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

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

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

We desperately need a Hello Kitty aftershave.


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

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

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

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

Whereupon both horses shouted:

"Holy crap, a talking dog!!!"


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

We're very English, in some ways.


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

TOBACCO INDEX


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A TAWDRY OLD TART

The trollop was great fun. But this girl is a bore to be with, and wears too much cologne; the cousin is not nearly as zesty as the bouncy trollop herself. More like a haggard German bar-woman, who probably has a brute named Günter as her boy-toy cum strong-arm guy. She is past her prime, if she ever had one.
Really, one wonders what others see in her, and thinks it would have been better not to have given in to that sassy come-hither winking; she looked better from a distance. Even her perfume seems cheap.
Alas.


ERINMORE MIXTURE
Murray Sons & Company Limited
Made in the EU under authority of Murray Sons & Company Ltd, Belfast.


Yes, it is very reminiscent of the Erinmore Flake (that being the enjoyable trollop referenced above). But on the whole, it seems like a rather pointless exercise in blending. Not that it is bad, just not in any way exciting.
The tobacco itself is not good enough or bold enough to make the famous whore-house reek tolerable, it tends to burn a bit hot, and while the smoke is satisfying enough as such things go, it is not worth going back to. It is a very well made but utterly pedestrian product.
After three bowls of this I wonder how I'm going to finish the tin.

[For a review of Erinmore Flake, see this post: http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/07/my-dalliance-with-trollop.html ]


Erinmore Mixture is mostly blonde and brown Virginias, some black Cavendish, and that whorish odour. There is probably also some air-cured leaf in the blend, though nowhere is that mentioned.
It may take me a while to smoke it all. I shall not buy any more of this.

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MY DALLIANCE WITH A TROLLOP

Relevant and purely imaginary quote: "Good heavens, Cletus, it smells like a Turkish cat-house here". There are three things that mark a misspent pipe-smoking youth. One of which is Erinmore Flake.


OVER-RIPENED FRUIT

In the spring on 1974, when I was still fourteen years old, our cat discovered my pipes and tobacco where I had hidden them, under a cabinet in the downstairs drawing room. That evening my mother lectured me on the evils of smoking - it took her all of three cigarettes puffed in slow succession to deliver the lecture - and then my father spoke sternly to me. The gist of his discourse was I had to keep my pipes clean (always use pipe-cleaners), and good pipe tobacco needed no additional fragrances; perfumed tobaccos that smelled like a Turkish cathouse were garbage, and should be avoided like a dose of clap.
This is Pshat.

Since then I have not smoked Erinmore Flake.

All pipe smokers of a certain age have experimented with it - it is hard to avoid buying this product at least once, as the friendly and colourful tin with its garish red blazoon on a yellow field beckons one from across a counter, lures one with its cheery appearance, shakes an appealing visual leg at the easily distracted young rake. And like an adventure with a drug-addled whore, one very quickly regrets the decision. From close up, the perfume is strictly drugstore bargain, the make-up thick and smeared, the hotel-room mildewed and depressing.


[All of which is Moshol, please understand.]


For me that 'regret' came one day in March of that year, when I smoked two full bowls of Erinmore Flake one after the other. And threw up violently as a result. I was sick as a dog. Utter misery.

In all fairness I should mention that this may have been caused by not using pipe-cleaners, and inadvertently swallowing some of the gurgle in the shank. This was before my father's words of advice. Pipe-cleaners, in this allegory, are either condoms OR a course of penicillin - either way, this is the Remez.

A few days afterwards I repeated the experience. Two bowls. Followed by nauseated heaving.

I never did finish that tin.


[An infuriating waste of money - did I ever mention that I am a cheap-skate? It's a Dutch characteristic I have never shaken, and have no intention of giving up. Throwing away money on a tin one will not finish is a souring experience.]




Erinmore Flake, with its fruity reek and foul habits, was the veritable tart among the tobaccos, the whore of Babylon, the shameless Catholic Church among the sober Protestants. I loathed it. For years those attractive yellow tins mocked me, from dark corners of tobacconists, or neatly stacked shelves, on two continents. Where-ever I saw an Erinmore tin, it seemed to wink and say "how about it, big boy, I've had my shots".

I resented the implied familiarity - I did NOT want to be seen in its company under any circumstances.

So, seeing as I have been in an experimenting mood these past few months, and having heard that Erinmore Flake will soon no longer be available on these shores, I naturally bought a tin.



ERINMORE FLAKE
Made in the EU under the authority of Murray Sons & Co LTD, Belfast
[Originally by Murray Sons & Company Limited]

Short slices of Virginia flake, cased with pineapple, and possibly also licorice and prune extract.

It is not nearly as funky as I remember it, because it is no longer the same. Erinmore Flake was one of the trademarks moved by British American Tobacco to Orlik in 2005. It may have been changed somewhat after the transfer, but it is as likely that Murrays toned it down after the eighties. It actually smells fairly pleasant now. If smoked slowly, the pewy stink burns off after the first few puffs, and a pleasant Virginia taste comes through which is rather enjoyable. It burns down cleanly to a fine white ash.


[If NOT smoked ultra-slow, it leaves your mouth feeling like you've got a case of oral clap. Be forewarned.]

--- --- --- --- ---



WHY YOU SWEET THING, ARE YOU ALL ALONE TONIGHT?

I would not recommend Erinmore Flake, will not publicly admit to liking it, and shall not smoke it at the Occidental for fear of being labeled a disgusting pervert, but it certainly isn't bad. I'm over half-way through the tin, and will definitely finish it. It has all the illicit appeal of a dewy teenager alone in the house and tiddly on her dad's bourbon. Yummy.






Erinmore Flake is slightly reminiscent of Dunhill Light Flake - probably because they have for a long time been produced by the same factory; the tins presently available come from Orlik Tobacco Company
( http://www.orlik.com/sw3035.asp ).
Before Orlik started making the Dunhill Flake, it likewise was manufactured in Belfast - Dunhill have not had an actual plant since 1981, when Rothmans International consolidated production of all their pipe-tobaccos at Murrays.

[It being remembered that Carreras International bought Murrays in 1953, and acquired Dunhill in 1967, then were themselves purchased by Rothmans in 1972. Production of Dunhill pipe-tobacco was moved to Belfast in 1980 and 1981. Rothmans merged with British American Tobacco in 1998, B.A.T. shut down the Belfast location and farmed out manufacture of pipe-tobaccos to Orlik in late 2004. By 2005 Belfast started disappearing from the shelves, to be replaced by Danish product. In February of 2007, B.A.T. sold all brands save Dunhill and one other (something unmentionable) to Orlik. Orlik is now the largest producer of pipe-tobacco in the world.]


I suspect that the recipe in the seventies had an inclusion of air-dried leaf (Burley or Maryland), which allowed it to suck up more of that Hello Kitty teenage hooker aroma. Straight Virginia (flue-cured) just doesn't soak up the cheap cologne very well. The product looks the same, but is a fish of a different kettle.
This, of course, is the Drash of the shiur.


A further indication that this is not the same product as the Erinmore Flake sold in the seventies lies in the complete absence of any involuntarily recalled memories. It does not stimulate flights of remembrance, I do not automatically go back in my mind's nose to the park near the Kleine Ven in Valkenswaard where I upchucked the first time, nor to the bench in the small courtyard along the Eindhovensche Weg where I was sick the second time. I do not feel the warm breeze outside the apartment buildings in the newer neighborhoods, nor see the streetlights through the branches of the trees.
I have to deliberately work at bringing those scenes back to mind, the tobacco does not do it.
This is the Sod.

TOBACCO INDEX


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