A wife's review of a Macanudo Gold Label cigar - from a Libertarian perspective, of course.
When the wisps of a neighbor's cigar, combined in the spring breeze with the lilac blossoms and freshly cut grass (because everyone was restfully mowing their lawns) reached my nose this Sunday afternoon, it made my heart just ache for my husband. At present, he is hard at work on the other side of the world.
Rearranging Tom's cigar collection after dinner backfired as a "fix". After carefully examining the cuban cigars for several minutes, I caved. I needed more. I couldn't resist lighting one up and smoking it for myself.
I chose a Macanudo Gold Label, as it had the mildest scent and because it was smallest in my husband's humidor. My guess is that it was just a little over five inches in length. (While my hands are not dainty, they are characteristically petite.)
Even without much to compare it to, as this was only the second cigar I've ever had in my life, I know this was a good cohiba cigars. It burned evenly and slowly. The feel of the wrapper was smooth to the touch. Part of me wanted to almost take a bite out of it, it's texture was so pleasing to my tongue. It's golden color was naturally beautiful.
The flavor was soothing. Mouthwateringly classic, even. Perfectly woodsy with a spicy undertone, yet somehow sweet like the pleasant scent of distant flowers in a quiet forest. Present, but not overpowering. If it wasn't so late in the day, I would have gladly shared my palate with a cup of black coffee. I think the contrast of the coffee would have made the tobacco taste even sweeter.
Alone, I sat on our 98-year-old porch taking in the sounds of the city winding down. I realized how thankful I am to be a Libertarian, to be able to freely enjoy the pleasure of my cigar, appreciating my husband in my own way, without a guilty conscience. Yet this small object - a mere cigar - becomes more regulated each day, and my smoking it representative of my opinion of fear mongering bureaucracy.
As I smoked, the fragrance evoked warm memories of sitting on the front porch with Tom - what I was truly craving, even more than the smell or taste of a cigar. For this, there is no such thing as a satisfying "fix".
When Tom called me tonight, he mentioned something about having some wine with dinner. Wine isn't something Tom usually orders. Between my cigar and his wine - swapping each other's vices at the same time, unaware - I'd like to think we got to share a moment together this evening after all.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Source: Nolan Chart LLC