My wife and I attended a black tie cocktail party on the eastern end of the island of St. Croix (there are 3 islands of note in the U.S. Virgin Islands group; St. John, St. Thomas and St. Croix – Water Island, the fourth, being very small and owned by the Rockefellers or their descendants). The occasion was the grand reopening of a casino/hotel run by the Ritz Carlton.
We flew over on the seaplane, which always makes Le Madame nervous (Adrienne does not have a fear of flying, except in very small planes and on one occasion when we flew with this same outfit to the Cayman Islands, a sign was posted on the bulkhead that read: “There may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but there are only 4 ways out of this airplane.” Le Madame thought this was in such poor taste, she wrote the local company a nasty letter).
Through the 30-minute trip She gripped my hand like a blacksmith’s, complaining the entire way in English, Italian and finishing in a flourish of French squeaks when we set down (a little roughly) and taxied to the breakwater, which connects directly to a pier. From there we walked down a lit tiki torch path and into the casino.
Our daughters (Celeste and Evonne) begged long and loud to be allowed to go with us. Even FuManChu, my golden retriever and companero got into the act (he drug out his red bandana and visor (Fu’s outfit when sailing, although I have to help him with the visor). All of this was to no avail. Le Madame is a rock and there is no appeal! As Emo Phillips (a slightly cracked Irish philosopher) once told a crowd in Edinburgh: "Women should have labels on their foreheads saying, 'Government Health Warning: women can seriously damage your brains, genitals, current account, confidence, razor blades, and good standing among your friends.’”
Once inside the casino, my wife returned to normal, spying the black jack tables and slot machines. Before abandoning me for some of her friends who were playing Baccarat, she lectured me about drinking and smoking too much. I smiled and reminded her of one of my favorite slogans: “Beer: Helping white guys dance since 1862.” She snorted and left.
I followed the aroma of cigar smoke over to the bar and recognized a couple of the gents there. I took out my cigar carrier and lit up a Partagas 8-9-8 Barnizados, finished (the vitola is Dalia). Whenever I first light up this particular Partagas, I always marvel at how it starts out with fresh warm cedar notes, then pops into strong tobacco with no warning; finishing with scent of pepper and cinnamon. TIMO, the trademark of Partagas is always the flavor of well-aged tobacco, mixed with chocolate and ground espresso beans. This cigar had a dark red wrapper and the construction was perfect.
The casino was passing out complimentary cigars (via some very attractive cocktail waitresses) and I stopped to chat with a gorgeous blond (keeping an eye out for Le Madame – she can appear like smoke out of no where). Which reminds me of the H.L. Mencken riposte: “Behind every successful man there is a woman; behind every unsuccessful man there are two.”
Since I had finished my Partagas and consumed several single malt scotches, I torched a cigar, which was offered by a Nicaraguan grower. The smoke was a Churchill (7 x 52), with a Cameroon wrapper. The stick was beautifully made (cocoa brown wrapper, soft to the touch, no blemishes) with clouds of smoke, drawing clean with hardly any effort. The filler and binder were virgin sun gown Cuban Seed Habano, according to the grower, that had been fermented five times (the cigar was finished in the old Cuban way -- a long curly head and a tail). This smoke had notes of sweet and wood throughout, with a blend of earth, pepper and leather that, IMO, creates a tangy spiciness you can only find in Nicaraguan tobacco. The smoke had a long finish.
About this time Le Madame appeared at my side. She was in good spirits having won a few dollars at the tables, and now that the music had begun, was sounding her call to arms, as she drug me off onto the dance floor.
cian
