Why Cigars are More Than Just Big Cigarettes

Everyone has their vices, mine is cigars; and what better place to enjoy a vice than in the French Quarter in New Orleans? Just to give you a little background, about 12 years, 55 days and two hours ago I quit smoking. I gave it up completely. I didn’t just up and quit. I attempted to quit at least seven times over the years. Up until then the only result was a significant increase in weight, but finally with the help of Zaban (Wellbutrin) I was able to quit. So you will understand my vow to refrain from cigars for five years. The time came and went but I was afraid that if I had a cigar I’d start smoking again; so for twelve years I resisted, that is until New Orleans.

It was a beautiful day; I had a few spare hours so I was out exploring the French quarter. While strolling down Decatur on my way to the Café du Monde for a coffee and a beignet; I came across a place called the Cigar Factory, the double doors were open and a great Cuban beat lured me in, not to mention the sweet smell of cigars. It was a great place; they had several rollers, a walk in humidor, and tables to sit and enjoy a cigar. It looked like it had been there fifty years, the walls were covered with photos of visiting celebrities, Cuban flags, and others types of memorabilia, all stained with years of cigar smoke. I resisted but I knew I’d be back. before I left New Orleans, and the next day I was, this time with a colleague.

Calvin was a veteran cigar smoker; he knew cigars and how to smoke them. I think he had even been to the Cigar Factory before. We came prepared, I had a double brandy, and a double espresso, and he had a double scotch. The French quarter is one of the few places in the world where it is not only acceptable to enter a store with a drink in your hand but even to walk the streets drinking.



Maria Dominguez rolls a cigar at the Cigar Factory on Decatur Street in the French Quarter

We picked our cigars from the walk-in humidor, mine a Vieux Carre Rothchild with a Cameroon wrapper, Calvin’s a Vieux Carre Double Corona. The clerk cut the end and started the burn. As I took my first draw on the cigar my fears of tobacco faded, I was home.

A few feet away from our table a woman in her mid thirties, Maria Dominguez, was rolling cigars; she was fast, but relaxed. Her hands stained with tobacco, my hands hurt just at the thought of eight hours of rolling. I struck up a conversation, she was Cuban, and had been in the United States for about a year; Her English was halting, she told me that she could speak a bit but she had trouble understanding so we spoke Spanish. She told me about rolling and how cigars were made.

What a perfect male fantasy, drawing on a cigar while sipping brandy and espresso as the sun goes down over the Mississippi all to the sound of Latin music; it brought me back to Spain, Hemingway and Fundador. We sat talked cigars, and just let time pass.

After about an hour our cigars done and drinks empty we were on our way, it had been a long day; I was tired, smelled of cigars and brandy, and was hungry, so it’s back to the hotel; tomorrow would be another day.

Top Photograph: Maria Dominguez at the Cigar Factory

Second Photograph: Cafe & beignet at Cafe Du Monde