戀上哈瓦那雪茄
Even before you come to grips with the cigar itself, there are small pleasures to be enjoyed, starting with the box—an ornately decorated yet functional relic from the days before the invention of plastic. A true cigar box is made from cedarwood, which allows the tobacco to breathe and to continue maturing. It is sealed with what looks like a high-denomination bank note (the export warranty of the respective government), and it is often covered with the kind of baroque graphic art that conjures up thoughts of brandy and boudoirs: curlicues, gold embossing, vignettes of white-bosomed ladies and bewhiskered gentlemen, florid typography—everything, in fact, that nineteenth-century pop artists could lay their hands on.
When you open the box, your nose is treated to a classic aroma, a bouquet that deserves a few quiet moments of appreciation before you proceed any further. It is a particularly masculine scent, and men have been known to line their clothes closets with the thin leaves of cedarwood that separate the fat rows of cigars. (The thought of walking around smelling like a human corona may not appeal to all of us, but there are, God knows, worse things to smell of, as anyone who has been ambushed and sprayed on his way through the cosmetics department at Bloomingdale’s will confirm.)
Now we come to the cigars, looking as prosperous and well filled as a group of investment bankers after a killing. This is the beginning of what should be at least forty-five minutes of unhurried enjoyment. Cigars should never be rushed, or puffed absentmindedly while you’re doing deals on the phone. The more attention you give them, the more pleasure they will give you, so if you don’t have a quiet hour or so, save the cigar until later. The leisurely ceremonial of preparing and smoking one of nature’s minor triumphs is worth the investment in time.