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Out of the Humidor

CA Readers
From the Print Edition:
maduro issue, Winter 93/94

(continued from page 1)

The world is a crazy place. Within a few days of being hit with a spray bottle for smoking a cigar at the pool of the condominium in which I live, I was enjoying dinner at a fine restaurant when the following took place. I kid you not.

Dinner finished, I ordered a Calvados and, secure in the knowledge that I was in the smoking section of a cigar-friendly restaurant, I lit up a Churchill from a forbidden source. A few moments later, I noticed a woman seated on the far side of the restaurant in an animated discussion with the maître d', pointing her finger at me.

I braced for the usual tirade and then noticed she was changing tables. She was escorted to a table next to mine where she ordered coffee and an after-dinner drink. Not a word passed between us, and when she left, I asked the maître d' what it was all about. "She likes the smell of a good cigar. Says it reminds her of her husband of many years," he replied.

You figure it out. Had the woman at the pool asked, I would have put out my cigar without being treated to a free bath. Had the woman in the restaurant opened a conversation, I would have probably enjoyed talking with her about how aromas can trigger fond memories.

Arnold Smith
Washington, D.C.

* * *

Dear Marvin:

Alas, I am sorry to say I have a sad story to tell.

About two months ago, my longtime girlfriend and I decided to part ways. Without really looking in a few boxes I thought contained only her belongings, I sent her on her way. Later, I discovered, much to my dismay, that in one of the boxes were my last few Hoyo De Monterrey Churchills that I had managed to import from Geneva when I visited there over the summer.

So now my girl is gone and my smokes are gone. Damn, I'm going to miss those cigars.

Al Raymond
Glendale, Arizona

* * *

Dear Marvin:

I have many times been the recipient of dirty looks, nasty comments and long stares for taking a good solid draw on my favorite Davidoff Cuban, and I mean not only from my wife. However, my ultimate anticigar experience was when I traded in my Acura Legend for a new car. The air in my trade-in was a still a bit fresh (some might say stale) as I had recently finished one of my cherished Davidoffs. Well, imagine my surprise when the sales manager told me that I would be getting $1,000 less because it was a cigar smoker's car. That was the most expensive Davidoff I have ever smoked.

Y. Isaac Applebaum
Sacramento, California

* * *

Dear Marvin:

On a recent radio broadcast, Rush Limbaugh related how he was having dinner with Phoenix Suns' coach Paul Westphal at Patsy's restaurant in New York City, and when they lit up after-dinner cigars, two women at a nearby table went ballistic and complained to the head waiter about the cigar smoke. The women were moved to another area of the restaurant where they wouldn't be bothered by the cigar smoke. Limbaugh and Westphal observed the women as they proceeded to chain-smoke cigarettes until Limbaugh and Westphal left. The way Limbaugh told the story was hilarious.

Clinton Sundberg
North Hollywood, California

* * *

Dear Marvin:

My husband and I enjoy your wonderful magazine together. He introduced me to cigars four years ago on our honeymoon. Because we were on a cruise in the Caribbean (international waters), I was able to savor a Montecristo No. 2 as my first cigar.

My letter is in response to Janice MacDonald, who wrote to you saying she smokes in private because of too many stares and comments. I'm also writing to all cigar-

smoking women with the same problem who feel they must stay in the closet.

I, too, have received numerous comments about how "unladylike" it is to smoke a cigar even though men who do so are considered "gentlemen." My response is simple: there is no scientific evidence to suggest that a woman's taste buds are any different from a man s. I have yet to hear anyone argue with that.

Gina Bennett
Alexandria, Virginia

* * *

Dear Marvin:

I recently had some "cigar" experiences I'd like to share with you and other stogie lovers.

Recently, my then fiancée and I went to Nantucket Island to be married and celebrate our honeymoon. One gorgeous, sun-filled evening (three days before we were to be married) we walked out of our room, no more than 75 feet from the ocean, and set up our cocktail hour on the beach. There we were, a bottle of 1982 Dom Perignon, our own shining, soft-sanded beach, sapphire-blue and skies a Havana Punch I had recently brought back from London. About an hour into the evening, while taking inventory of my life, as I was to be married in 72 hours, I looked at my beautiful bride-to-be. There she was puffing away on my stogie. I wondered if it could get any better than this.

It did. Three nights later at our festive wedding reception, my wife Susan and I were having a grand time when our good friend Joe Z. pulled me aside. He said he had a very special gift that I had to open right away. I unwrapped the box and discovered a box of 40-year-old Romeo y Julieta Havanas in their original plastic-wrapped, aged box. The box was beautiful and the aroma even more sensuous. As we opened the box, the detailed packaging was amazing. I know we were in for a real treat. Joe Z., Benny, another cigar connoisseur and myself headed out to the front porch of the inn to light up. We all knew we were sharing a special moment. The smooth, delicate flavor of the 40-year-old Romeo y Julietas was indescribable. They are truly the best cigars I've ever had the privilege to enjoy. I wish I could share one with all of your readers. A few puffs later, my wife joined us. As I mentioned earlier, she is not totally innocent when it come to cigars; in fact she is partial to Cohibas. When Susan joined us and took a puff, she quickly realized what we were experiencing.

When we received our proofs book from the photographer, we were ecstatic to see that he had captured this special moment in his lens. Of course, it was one of the photos selected for our wedding album. What a way to start a marriage.

Robert Bordash
Greenwich, Connecticut

* * *

Dear Marvin:


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