I don't believe in voodoo. It's utter nonsense. But its traditions are all over the world.
I am a freelance writer, who through a series of painful, accidental enemas, found himself interested in doing a story about voodoo. I spent hours on my laptop digging through the annals of voodoo practices.
And then it struck me, as I was absent mindedly grooming my exotic collection of salt water fish, one of the more butt ugly ones looked up at me as I was brushing his chin hair, and thought, Eureka! I know what country I'm going to visit: Poland! They are extremely well known for their evil voodoo traditions.
As I got off the plane, I was handed a welcome basket...a nice gesture, but unfortunately, one more thing to schlep around. I was driven to the hotel, checked in, and plopped on the bed. After a few minutes of closing my eyes, I thought of the gift basket. Maybe there's something to eat in there. As I pushed all the colored wrapping paper aside, I saw sausages, salamis, sausages, cured meats, more salami and 3 cigars. Oh my God! Is this my lucky day or what?
I perused the labels but all they had on them were drawings of Polish maids with baskets of wheat and the name of the cigar: Krysztabwy. Huh?
"Bad things happen there," he said.
I blew it off as I would a giant cold sore on my left testicle.
By the time I arrived it was dusk.
"They might not be open now," said the cabbie.
"I don't care," I leered back,
I carefully lit the cigar in this huge grotto. My first impression was of red pepper. My tongue darted in and out trying to maximize the taste. And then I stopped, fearing my darting tongue might bring out Satanic women bent on destroying me...a bit at a time. As I meandered around the grotto, I found strange voodoo images on the wall. And then I stopped dead in my tracks.
The slightest taste of cocoa had come into play within the first third of the cigar. Pepper and cocoa. A dynamite collaboration. As I was trying to discern the paintings on the wall and why they reminded me of Hustler magazine, a new taste came through...dried fruit...tangy. Now we've got a compendium of flavors and just the perfect combinations. I couldn't wait for the second third of the cigar.
Suddenly, I saw a flash out of the corner of my left eye. Actually, it was me trying to scratch my nose, but I missed, sticking a finger right into my eye socket. I screeched in pain and then suckled my Vudu cigar for relief. Yes, the cigar also has healing powers.
In most cigars with a red pepper note, it goes away quickly, making the cigar boring. Not this Vudu. The pepper was still there but now it had mellowed allowing some creaminess to envelop my mouth and cool it. Since my eye still hurt, I raised the cigar to the bruised eye and rubbed the cigar against it. Ouch. Maybe it only heals once.
As I hit the last third of the cigar, it opened up like an 89 year old whore. Flavors were exploding in my mouth and nose. I could taste leather, earthiness, butter cream, pepper, cedar, a beautiful smoothness that allowed me to smoke it to the nub.
So remember, when you order your Vudu cigars, pay homage to Tabacalera Villa Cuba in Esteli, Nicaragua where Rocky Patel and Amilcar P. Castro put their evil heads together and developed the cigar, that after being rolled, must spend time in a voodoo riddled salt mine in Poland. Those evil bastards make one incredible cigar. And it can only be had at Famous Smoke Shop. Those bastards!