Whenever I'm asked what I do for a living, I get one of three reactions:
|1)||a puzzled look on his face, "I'll be damned. You can make a living selling cigars?"|
|2)||shocked look from a soccer mom who slowly backs away as if I just told her I sell arms to Syria|
|3)||excited reaction, "No kidding! Bob over there is a major cigar nut." I look toward Bob and say "fantastic, what kind of cigars do you like?" Bob says "Yes I'm a big time cigar lover - I'm always smoking umm, what do you call them? Makundos. No wait I think they're called Macanoodles."|
Scenario no. 3 happened again the other day. That got me to thinking, and as Bob was idly chattering away a thought bubble appeared over my head: "self, I haven't smoked a Macanudo in a long time." It's true that sometimes, sometimes, a cigar like this pleasantly surprises you; that is, you'll revisit a brand that's been on timeout or even in the naughty corner for a few years. Especially a brand like Macanudo that anybody who's ever even smoked a cigar has tried. You can be taken aback at how good it is - like seeing an old friend again. Well this afternoon I went down that road, and this wasn't one of those times.
Don't get me wrong, the people involved in the making of Macanudo cigars are first class, and the factory that makes them cranks out some of the best blends in the market. To me though, Macanudo is the Coors Light of cigars: they taste the exact same every time, they'll work in a pinch, and they're so mild to the point of being forgettable. Sure, I'd gladly quaffe a dozen at a cookout or throw a bunch back on a canoe trip, maybe even brush my teeth with it. But they're just not in my rotation. Taste of course is subjective and there's a time and place for all manner of blends. After all, Macanudo didn't get to be the biggest-selling handmade cigar in America by accident!