Priorities

Compromise. It sucks. 

Or does it?

It is always the same story - you travel, and if you're a guy, chances are you do the packing around a few moments before the taxi is due. Not particularly efficient, not especially wise but, it's right. A legacy if you will. This time was no different, and I had happened on a rather precarious situation. My bag and suitcase were full. And. I had some items that would not fit.

I had too many cigars. 

So, I took an executive decision. Instead of finishing the packing. I would have take the torturous decision of instead, smoking the surplus cigar. Someone hold me. 

I decided to go for the El Rey del Mundo Exclusivo Reino Unido Choix de L'Epoque, hopefully I would finish it in less than the time it took to write that. As I lit up the cigar, naturally, I thought, it would need a companion, and despite being at home, and alone, and thus drawing up the loner connotations that don't actually need saying, I drew myself a little tipple. What, the cigar demands it. So a couple of fingers of Lagavulin 16 year old joined up with the cigar upstairs. Lit, puff, and ignore the impending taxi arrival and exploded suitcases. 

As I puffed away, the cigar proved especially surprising - score - seeing as it was a freebie from the Cigar "Training" session from a month ago. It was mellow, but rather chocolaty, a bit of gritty coffee thrown in for kicks. Oddly, some wheat made itself known on the end of a puff. I was smoking a mochaccino toast.. 

It was also an easy dragging thing. So I made quick work to try and finish the first third before combining the Lagavulin, or so says a staff member at Sautter. What does she know, she's only apparently the third generation of Cigar industry members from Cuba..

Regardless, I restrained, momentarily, and tried out the whisky - as tenuous as the "need" of the cigar to require the whisky, if anything, the whisky would help later on if there were any odious whining children in my vicinity on the journey. Excuse established. Oh my, this has a pretty aroma. Beating me upside the head with some flowery orange, and even a bit of honey and malt as it diffused. No thought for even dillydallying, and I sipped away at a particularly sweet whisky, almost similar to a bourbon, with what I believed to be some notes of corn. Just a tiny bit of smokiness crept in at the end as well. Yes, even on my own, at home, waiting for a taxi, I was concentrating hard on cigar and whisky. 

Puffing away, losing more impetus to fight the lack of urgency, time ticking down, listening to some soothing/thrashing guitar ballades from Buckethead and the cigar not quite burning up as quickly as I thought, I quickly did not do much about it. The cigar was getting nuttier, the whisky was supplementing it well, rounding out the sweetness of the both and concentrating the mochaccino. At least I found a healthy caffeine substitute. Adding some water to the whisky did little to replenish its rapidly depleting levels, though it did smooth it, and somehow amplified the smokiness. The cigar smoke oddly had the same effect. 

The cigar at this point was taking double duty as leisure object and finger warmer, as it more and more resembled a cocktail sausage rather than a cigar, the whisky long gone, the suitcases still not finalised, and the taxi due to arrive in mere moments. Despite being at this point both a pain and pleasure, the cigar remained pleasant and mellow, taking on a more wholegrain nature, almost toasted. Maybe I was toasted? And with some toasty corn right towards the end, I finally put it down. And with minutes to go yet, I haphazardly threw everything together, packed the now sorted travel humidor in my bag, and hoped for the best at Check-in. To home, Jeeves!

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Plus ça Change..

Several rituals have become the bedstead of life, be it personal obsessive idiosyncrasies throughout the day, or shared general progressions for a typical evening out. They can occasionally draw ruing for their predictability, or comfort through their familiarity. Following a meal in Jeddah, typically the evening is capped with a saunter over to a shisha cafe' to help "digestion". As evidenced by the plethora of outings to cigar lounges of late, it would seem they have become the new shisha. Albeit on a far more wallet debilitating scale.

As such, being Huzaifah's last evening in London since a while, and for a while, he was rather intent on following up dinner with another cigar experience. Where at?

Rather obviously. He seems to be quite taken with the place - this is the third time in two weeks we will have come here - I don't blame him. This will be my sixth or so appearance in as many weeks. Not that it has to be said, but I have already stated the rightness of the serenity, the calm, the excellency of service and advice. All I need is to be paid to experience this delight and it would be perfect, but that would be greedy. Awesome, but greedy. Yet again, I let the choice befall on the Barman, this time suggesting to me a Bourbon to go with my cigar, a Bourbon which I had actually got my first sampling of the week prior at the Harrod's tasting.

Montecristo No. 4

Makers Mark Bourbon on Ice

The terrace was empty - after ousting a couple, how dare they impinge - which boded well. Seated and served of our tipple, ambience calm, temperature almost perfect, just approaching a bit chilly, though I revelled in the new purchase of my fabulous sweater, keeping me warmth, if only on the upper half of my body. The cigar was pleasant, light and with a reasonable drag for its size, and the usual tones of slight chocolate and coffee seemingly the only ones I can sense in a cigar. The Bourbon on first thoughts, was disappointing, mainly as it seemed to contain the iceberg that sank the Titanic. However, despite being slightly watered down by this glacial body, it soothed with its mild sweetness, and slight almond notes (?). It also helped that it paired particularly well with the cigar, the sweetness coming alive and supplementing the cigars' lightness of body. 

The evening ensued, with some mint tea and espresso coming our way, primarily as I would still have a lot of travelling for the night, taking on chauffeur duties for Huzaifah, both of which were as well, rather boringly, pleasant. Especially of note were the "petite fours" served, a chocolate/almond brownie square and the shortbread biscuit, which were delicately sweet, and in the case of the brownie, deliciously nutty, and somehow worked with the mint tea as well as the clean and elegant espresso. As such, putting a pleasant cap on the evening, an enjoyable and serene smoke amidst contemplation and good company, following our thrifty dinner of Kings, much as with every outing in Jeddah. The more things change..

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[Lounge - Cigar Lounge] Short Take - No Fire without Smoke: Garden Room at The Lanesborough, Knightsbridge

A change of plans. A change of circumstances. A change of minds..

All and one of the same had led to my first, quite anticipated visit to the Garden Room at The Lanesborough, all perhaps to the changing of pace, but certainly not changing the extortionate cost of the evening. Suffice it to say, there would be no change left by the end of the evening. 

In my quest to scout out potential lounging areas, areas where time could be whiled away in serenity, and to further build on my utter freshness to the world of cigars, I have particularly been seeking out cigar lounges. I came across the Garden Room on a Bar Review website, showing an expansive space, with regal furniture and seemingly overgrown garden, all contained within the warm glowing enclave of a refined room. To say that I was sold was needlessly stating the most obvious of facts - my wallet had gone awol at the thought. When it came time to actually visit the establishment for the first time however, the notion of peace and enjoyable serenity was cruelly vanquished. It was a Tuesday evening, relatively early, and the garden room was packed to the brim. The lights were bright, and the clientelle was predominantly young, money-laden and fashionable. Damn whippersnappers, they'd certainly cramp on my octogenarian wishes for peace. I was not confident. Not that a quick perusal of the menu helped matters.

Fast forward to this Friday evening, where former plans to enjoy an evening out at a bar were thwarted by secretive marital discussions and and reservations amongst the assembled company and baggage, and rather than sully the serenity of my now established refuge, I suggested a swift skip to the nearby Lanesborough to try something new. After having just eaten at CUT, we'd be coy to say we couldn't afford it, what with our ridiculous dinner cost. My bank account yelped. 

On arrival I was pleasantly surprised; what was formerly filled with bustling, young, socialites, was now sparsely littered with a few older individuals. Still probably money-laden. I have a knack for stating the obvious, I was eminently the only one making grandiose connection between the area, pricing and image of the area and the sort of people it invariably attracts. The lighting was also subdued, and calm, low-key. After a quick advising from the Italian waiting staff member and some good suggestions, the cigar and drink were chosen, and we resumed back at our seats. 

Montecristo Edmundo

Cigar arrived, lit, and sampled. Rather light in body but also exquisitely smooth and a lovely drag. Conversation ran slow, and slightly constrained, and I continued with my cigar, which with every draw drew further admiration. Usually preferring character, body and impact to perhaps the subtler nuance, perhaps generally as I am rather unobservant, I was astonished by the mellifluous calm of this cigar. Each draw was delicate, a smooth, slight cocoa and coffee smoky [REALLY?!] infusion, which strangely remained subdued. The time whiled away, and stubbornly the cigar refused to get "hot", peppery or spicy, as many do. This despite my incessant smoking - I grow impatient of the time sans cigar - the cigar defiantly remained silken.

Flor de Caña 18yo Rum

This is not to discount the liquid partner to the cigar as well. Another rum this time, it was a delightful example, flamboyant in its aroma, a promising partner to the cigar smoking sweet nothings. Lovely, fruity, it generated a harmony with the cigar, its smoothness providing a backdrop for a creamy amalgamation. Despite reaching to the point of being difficult to be held by my stubby fingers, the cigar maintained its serene path. This may reserve should be just as stubborn and let the cigar burn my fingers, but the rather disarming cocktail sampled earlier in the evening along with the rum, and my persistent replacing of oxygen with delectable fumes of cocoa in my bloodstream had conspired to leave me rather debilitated. The time had whiled away, and the closing stages of the evening were approaching.

Whilst not a completely laid back experience, not by any fault of the location, but rather of the aforementioned company, I was left enlightened. Excellent service by a "paesan", a stunning combination of a silken smoke and a characterful partner in drink, and a subdued and refined ambience. Maybe in my disgust of the youth of today, a haze had clouded what I seen? Ageing is vicious. Though, the question will always remain of if this experience can be repeated quite so dependably, seeing as this being the evening of the end of a week, was rather against the grain. Garnering a minor stroke at the bill, we paid, and bid adieu to a pleasurable experience. The relative calm of the Garden Room rather drastically being replaced by an Operatic Singer in disguise as a taxi driver.

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[Lounge - Cigar Lounge] Short Take - The Finer Things: Cognac & Cigar Garden of Dukes Hotel, St. James' Street

Location - Pall Mall, London [UK]

Stumbling along Regent Street, having just concluded a Sake Tasting at the Embassy of Japan on a completely empty stomach, and having comprehensively misjudged the situation of food at the event, I had decided perhaps it would be a good time to dabble in a touch of an elegant cigar and drink, as obviously what my blood content needed right now was even more alcohol and less oxygen. There was method in my apparent madness however, as I was also hopeful that there would be dessert. 

The main prerogative was predominantly on supplanting the Basmati Water annihilation wreaking havoc on my ability for cohesive thought by way of some solid morsel to absorb some fluid, as well as no doubt the inherent joys of losing a foot to Diabetes, however, being in the area and having time to burn aplenty I figured as well to seize the opportunity to scout out one of several Cigar Lounges I was researching on. Seeing as Dukes Hotel was located but a mere paces away, I took the lethargy option, though I decided to walk so I counter that notion to some degree. 

Arriving at the hotel, eventually, as it being placed down a dark, dank alleyway did not strike me as the most obvious place to search, replete with a complete lack of signage, whose situation was only made worse by my prehistoric appliance of a phone that had no internet access [Yes, I'm so 2010], I asked my way to the Cigar Lounge, and immediately asked the question of my utmost importance. Dessert. Do you have it?! To my utter, knee-crippling disappointment however, I was issued with a solemn no, my hopes and dreams dashed, and my levels of bothered waning. Something happened however, and somehow I managed to order a cigar, and an adjoining rum choice to match. Surely not the most intelligent of choices, not now, not when my thinking was being done by Rice water. I was unable however, to say no, and figured, having come thus far, I may as well enjoy the cigar, hope the rum does not finish me off, then take a slightly delayed dessert thereafter. Hope being the imperative word here.

Led through, I was guided into a small clearing of a garden, simple rattan furniture and elegant awnings making the most of the diminutive space. Sat down, comfortable, especially so in temperature considering my apparent reptilian blood temperature of late, I confirmed the order and awaited the fate of this call. There was some company in the garden, engrossed in their quiet conversation, but at once I did not feel at all estranged, gentle music and the rather enveloping set out of the garden imparting a quiet serenity. I was then brought the cigar and copious glass of dark caramel-coloured rum, and an especially welcome sight - an enormous platter of bar nibbles, with some positively huge olives therein. My prayers at least have been partly answered, and I should at least be able to fight off a coma for a while.

Angostura 1824 Rum & Partagas No.4 Serie D

Failing rather dramatically to light the cigar to any meaningful degree, I ventured onto the rum, which presented me a rather delightful set of aromas, more so than I ever remember having sensed from a rum. A bouquet, yes, a fully bouquet, of floral notes combined with plenty [punnets?] of fruit, which all found themselves delicately balanced in the rum itself. This was quite a revelatory drink, and always makes it hard for me to convince myself why I dislike rums, cognacs and other distillates. Though I knew if I kept sipping I would shortly find out, and with the cigar salvaged by one of the Italian clan of waiters, I proceeded. A nice light body of cigar, despite apparently being a full-bodied cigar, showing just what little I know in my fledgling experience. Despite the other immediate priorities, I had merely been sat for a few minutes and already the minutes seemed to have whiled away, time seemed to have slowed down, a genteel pleasure being experienced. 

Out of the blue one of the other company starts questioning me on my apparent eclectic mix of superficial contradictions, asking what a young man, speaking in Italian, smoking a cigar, having come from a sake tasting [after having told him obviously, no shamans here], specifically was. Odd I thought, as I figured a sort of my calibre would have been rued for being, young and, something. A travesty, and such. But the conversation progressed, despite my less than freshness of mind, and my usual lack of social motivations. And this conversation carried on, seemingly at odds that two well to-be gents should feel bothered to entertain a bum in a jacket and terrible hair. It did not seem to matter, feeling incredibly at ease, and especially encouraged by the atmosphere. 

In the midst of this I did not forget my true scope, beyond the exploration of a potential social setting, having promptly devoured the gigantic olives and far too many delectable roasted nuts, hoping I would not be required for a mortgage in order to afford them, considering the affluence of the others present. And on it continued, the conversation oddly bringing several commonalities out, which entertained, despite the worsening state of my mental obfuscation. The pairing of the rum and cigar were absolutely divine, the intense aroma of the rum melding perfectly with cigar, almost working in sync to supplement each other, something I had never particular experienced with cigars before. Before I knew it however, quite a bit of time had whiled away, and having to rely on dreaded Public means of, well, what vaguely constitutes as transport, I had little time to count on if I were to quell my mental, if not physical need for a dessert. Stepping out of the serene and hurrying for a menu, I was met with a rather mundane discovery of rather atrociously boring desserts. These would not do. Salvation however came with the indication of a suggested eatery in the vicinity, The Wolseley, which should hopefully aid in quelling my perpetual hunger, which promptly ensued in...NOW. 

And so it was, that in the midst of a hurried mission for sustenance - more mental than physical - I had happened upon a place where time slowed down, where things of priority mattered little, where finer things were enjoyed amongst the urgency I had entered. Part of the seldom, simpler joys. .

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