Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Sylvester Stallone, Mar/Apr 98
(continued from page 3)
I set aside my everyday smoke and inspected my cigar. It was beautifully constructed and appeared to be a shade darker than the Cohibas that I had smoked before. I then asked Bob, "Where did you get these?" He explained that the cigars were given to him by a mutual acquaintance who is the mayor of a nearby town. An acquaintance, I realized, who just happens to be Cuban. Hmmm...
I ran inside the house to get into the light for a more complete inspection. Could it be? Was it possible? Oh please, please, please. Written on the cigar band were the magic words, "La Habana Cuba"!
I rushed back outside and proclaimed to the world, "This is a Cuban Cohiba!" I was about to smoke the cigar of dictators; man did I feel good. Then it hit me. This cigar is much too rare and valuable to smoke. After all, my wife had not just given birth. I did not hit the Series-winning home run. It was not my 100th birthday. It was only a Tuesday night. Confusion set in. My wife said to save it for a real occasion. On the other hand, I knew from reading your magazine, that cigar etiquette dictated that since this cigar was a gift, that I was sort of duty-bound to enjoy it while Bob was enjoying his. I just didn't know what to do. I looked to my very wise friend Bob for counsel. "Just light it," he said.
My wife and my friend and I enjoyed a great night. I thanked God for the important gifts, a loving family, good health and great friends who care to pick you up when you're feeling down. I thanked Him also for the subtle touches that promise to fill certain days with great excitement. Touches like two simple cigars enjoyed with my neighbor on a cool Tuesday night in October. And memories that last forever.
Union, New Jersey
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Looking at the sea of confiscated Cuban cigars in the photo accompanying the article "Smoking with the Enemy" (December 1997 Cigar Aficionado) all I can ask is, "Have you ever seen a grown man cry?" All the hard labor and skill it took to get those cigars made and into those boxes just to have them seized and destroyed just because of a few special interests in the United States and an archaic law signed 35 years ago by a confirmed cigar smoker? How ironic that in this same issue of CA there is a blind tasting of JFK's preferred size, petit coronas. If he were alive now, where would he be getting his Romeo y Julieta Cedros No. 3s?
Brooklyn, New York
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