cuppajack
New Member
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2006
- Messages
- 741
Black and Mild
I had an interesting experience this weekend. Some friends and I took the subway (yup, LA has a subway) downtown to investigate an new and upcoming “hot spot.” The bar, called Seven Grand, is billed as a Whiskey Bar, and the menu did not disappoint. There were easily 50 bourbons on the front of the menu and as many Scotches on the back. My jacket pocked was stocked with a handful of robustos in case we got the chance to test-out the very nice smoking patio, which is even more rare in LA than a subway station. Of course the conversation and libations ended up being too absorbing to light-up, and I resigned my self to “next time” when, low and behold, my party was unexpectedly joined by some friends in town from Indiana for a wedding, and my buddy Steve invited us out for a smoke. I didn’t know that Steve was a smoker so this was a pleasant surprise until I saw him pull out the cardboard pack of “Black and Milds” from his jacket pocket.
I’m no stranger to the drug-store cigar brands so I had a pretty good idea of what I’d be in for, but I’m not one to turn down a smoke. Plus I was 4 glasses of Bourbon into the evening. I accepted the cello-wrapped smoke with a smile and I gladly put the plastic tipped “cigar” to flame, trying hard to hide the wincing. What happened in the next ten minutes surprised me. The ‘cigar’ wasn’t horrible.
Sure, the petite but potent machine-made could never be confused with a handmade 100% tobacco cigar, but it wasn’t as offensive to my soul in the way the Grape White Owl, or the nearly forgotten Swisher Sweets from my college days were. In fact, I found that I actually enjoyed the smoke. Not in the way one enjoys a cigar, but rather like a big, vanilla flavored cigarette that I didn’t inhale. I finished my last drink and stubbed out the smoldering Black and Mild at about he ½-way point and we called it a night.
I was honestly stunned at how un-horrible the smoke was, and my bourbon-dulled mind wandered into the territory of, “maybe I should pick up some of these for when I can’t squeeze in a ‘real’ smoke…” Then the real surprise started to hit me. The overwhelmingly vanilla smoke-smell started to creep up my throat and into my nostrils. I felt like Peter Parker getting overpowered by the Black Costume. My night went from being pleasantly buzzed to being overwhelmed by the acrid stench of chemical vanilla. I could do nothing as my mouth dried out and all I could smell, taste, and see became the horrific Black and Mild. As I sobered up, spurned on my panic that I would never taste anything BUT, the Flavor only become stronger. I made it home, tipped the cabbie, and rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and scrub my hands. Twice.
I STILL could taste nothing but the ghastly odor. The reek stuck, not only to my clothes and hair, but to my SKIN and even to my very sprit. I smoked a camel cigarette just to escape, but all was for naught. I decided to sleep it off, but I woke up the next morning with the flavor still overwhelming my every taste bud. It took a Rouge Brewing co ‘Brutal Bitter” IPA, a Gran Havana Corojo robusto, and a burger covered in blue cheese to finally wash the stench from my pallet. I think I’m going to have to burn the clothes I was wearing.
Be warned my brothers: the Black and Milds are the work of a hell-spawned deamon.
I had an interesting experience this weekend. Some friends and I took the subway (yup, LA has a subway) downtown to investigate an new and upcoming “hot spot.” The bar, called Seven Grand, is billed as a Whiskey Bar, and the menu did not disappoint. There were easily 50 bourbons on the front of the menu and as many Scotches on the back. My jacket pocked was stocked with a handful of robustos in case we got the chance to test-out the very nice smoking patio, which is even more rare in LA than a subway station. Of course the conversation and libations ended up being too absorbing to light-up, and I resigned my self to “next time” when, low and behold, my party was unexpectedly joined by some friends in town from Indiana for a wedding, and my buddy Steve invited us out for a smoke. I didn’t know that Steve was a smoker so this was a pleasant surprise until I saw him pull out the cardboard pack of “Black and Milds” from his jacket pocket.
I’m no stranger to the drug-store cigar brands so I had a pretty good idea of what I’d be in for, but I’m not one to turn down a smoke. Plus I was 4 glasses of Bourbon into the evening. I accepted the cello-wrapped smoke with a smile and I gladly put the plastic tipped “cigar” to flame, trying hard to hide the wincing. What happened in the next ten minutes surprised me. The ‘cigar’ wasn’t horrible.
Sure, the petite but potent machine-made could never be confused with a handmade 100% tobacco cigar, but it wasn’t as offensive to my soul in the way the Grape White Owl, or the nearly forgotten Swisher Sweets from my college days were. In fact, I found that I actually enjoyed the smoke. Not in the way one enjoys a cigar, but rather like a big, vanilla flavored cigarette that I didn’t inhale. I finished my last drink and stubbed out the smoldering Black and Mild at about he ½-way point and we called it a night.
I was honestly stunned at how un-horrible the smoke was, and my bourbon-dulled mind wandered into the territory of, “maybe I should pick up some of these for when I can’t squeeze in a ‘real’ smoke…” Then the real surprise started to hit me. The overwhelmingly vanilla smoke-smell started to creep up my throat and into my nostrils. I felt like Peter Parker getting overpowered by the Black Costume. My night went from being pleasantly buzzed to being overwhelmed by the acrid stench of chemical vanilla. I could do nothing as my mouth dried out and all I could smell, taste, and see became the horrific Black and Mild. As I sobered up, spurned on my panic that I would never taste anything BUT, the Flavor only become stronger. I made it home, tipped the cabbie, and rushed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and scrub my hands. Twice.
I STILL could taste nothing but the ghastly odor. The reek stuck, not only to my clothes and hair, but to my SKIN and even to my very sprit. I smoked a camel cigarette just to escape, but all was for naught. I decided to sleep it off, but I woke up the next morning with the flavor still overwhelming my every taste bud. It took a Rouge Brewing co ‘Brutal Bitter” IPA, a Gran Havana Corojo robusto, and a burger covered in blue cheese to finally wash the stench from my pallet. I think I’m going to have to burn the clothes I was wearing.
Be warned my brothers: the Black and Milds are the work of a hell-spawned deamon.
! I find the black smell better than most cigars and DEFINITELY better than cigarette smoke. The smell is somewhat sweet like pipe tobacco. Go ahead and admit it..you can't handle your liquer