Well, time ran on, and there came a time when I was able to gratify one of my youthful ambitions -- I could buy the choicest Havana cigars without seriously interfering with my income. I smoked a good many, changing off from the Havana cigars to the pipe in the course of a day's smoking.
At last it occurred to me that something was lacking in the Havana cigar. It did not quite fulfill my youthful anticipations. I experimented. I bought what was called a seed-leaf cigar with a Connecticut wrapper. After a while I became satiated of these, and I searched for something else. The Pittsburgh Stogy was recommended to me. It certainly had the merit of cheapness, if that be a merit in tobacco, and I experimented with the stogy. Then, once more, I changed off, so that I might acquire the subtler flavor of the Wheeling Toby. Now that palled, and I looked around New York in the hope of finding cigars which would seem to most people vile, but which, I am sure, would be ambrosial to me. I couldn't find any. They put into my hands some of those little things that cost ten cents a box, but they are a delusion.
I said to a friend, "I want to know if you can direct me to an honest tobacco merchant who will tell me what is the worst cigar in the New York market, excepting those made for Chinese consumption -- I want real tobacco. If you will do this and I find the man is as good as his word, I will guarantee him a regular market for a fair amount of his cigars."
We found a tobacco dealer who would tell the truth -- who, if a cigar was bad, would boldly say so. He produced what he called the very worst cigars he had ever had in his shop. He let me experiment with one then and there. The test was satisfactory.
This was, after all, the real thing. I negotiated for a box of them and took them away with me, so that I might be sure of having them handy when I want them.
I discovered that the "worst cigars," so called, are the best for me, after all.
–excerpted from Mark Twain's Speeches, 1910
1 comment:
I used to work in a framing wholesale shop. On Saturdays, we had a guy who would come in to pick up his orders and he smoked the most Godawful cigars. I swear, there was at least as much cats**t in them as there was tobacco.
My old man was a Marlboro man, but he also liked his pipe and the occasional chaw. He gave up tobacco the day he drove me to college. That was a fun 3-hour car trip!
I still long for the smell of Captain Black around the house from time to time. His father always smoked a pipe. I get very sad now when I visit my Granny and I realize that Grandpa's chair no longer smells like pipe tobacco.
I'm partial to Mark Twain's rant about how much James Fennimore Cooper sucks.
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