Also in this issue:

• Cigar Stars
  A Conversation with Rolando Reyes, Sr.
• Celebrities
  Speaking Deutsch
• Celebrities
  Dawn of a New Day
• Golf
  Big Guns
• Up Front
  Out of the Humidor
• More from this Issue

Field Trip

A day in the connecticut shade

Michael Moretti
From the Print Edition:
"24", Jan/Feb 2006

The process is slow, meant to gradually dry the leaves. Heating devices—custom-smelted iron discs about 18 inches in radius—look almost like miniature coffee tables. Hoses connected to a gas pipeline, which runs underground throughout the property, feed the fires that burn beneath them. You can hear gas hissing as you walk though the barn. The discs are meant to disperse the heat through the air evenly. My guides check temperature and humidity gauges. The fires are adjusted according to the stage of the curing.

Curing shade is a monthlong process. The leaves start out green, soon giving way to golden brown patches that begin crawling from the edges of the leaves. The green lightens as chemical reactions progress within the tobacco. In the final stage, the leaves are completely gold and have shriveled, making the barn's ceiling look as if it's covered in tissue paper mobiles. The scent has changed, too, from grassy to rich and earthy with a hint of honey.

I reach up to a fully cured leaf and it crumbles between my fingers. Tobacco can't be moved in this state, so it must be softened for the next step. Touring the farm earlier, we had passed a number of barns that were peculiarly enveloped in what looked like a giant piece of Saran Wrap. The clear, plastic wrap keeps the moisture inside the barn for the final stage of the curing process, when the leaves are rehumidified to make the journey to the rolling tables. The burners are turned off and big atomizing machines are brought in to disperse humidity. The leaves remain in this environment for about a week. After this, the leaves are cleared out of the barn and collected in bails for fermentation.

This brings me to the main warehouse and the final leg of my journey. Fermenting leaves, stacked in large square blocks and wrapped in burlap, are stored here. A thick smell of ammonia pervades the room. Some leaves will stay, waiting to be used in vintage cigars, while other tobacco will take earlier journeys to the rollers' tables.

I was not about to tackle the rolling challenge just yet. Perhaps next time. For now, I was quite content to kick back for a relaxing drive back to New York City with a well-earned and better-appreciated cigar.

Gregory Mottola contributed to this article.

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