You can now settle back and take the first luxurious puff. There is a richness of texture to cigar smoke that makes inhaling quite unnecessary: it is enough just to hold the smoke in the mouth for a few seconds before blowing it gently toward the heavens. And as you watch it hanging in the air, thick and blue gray and aromatic, you can easily imagine that what you are smoking was hand-rolled on a Cuban maiden’s long brown thigh. (I doubt that this delightful practice still exists in the cigar factories, but a man can dream.)
“The cigar smoker,”wrote Marc Alyn,“is a calm man, slow and sure of his wind.”You will never see an experienced cigar man taking quick, agitated puffs. He is concentrating—albeit in a relaxed and sometimes even trancelike fashion—on the pleasure of the moment. This mood of leisurely well-being that is induced by a good cigar is perhaps its greatest attraction. It even has social benefits, because this mild euphoria makes heated argument almost impossible. Nobody but a clod would waste a $45 Havana by waggling it around for emphasis or stubbing it out in anger.
Despite a good cigar’s tranquilizing effect, it doesn’t kill conversation. Quite the contrary, since it encourages contented and appreciative listeners. (Why do you think cigars are handed out at the end of formal dinners? Obviously, to render the audience benign, no matter how long and terrible the speeches are.) Stories told over a cigar are funnier, observations are more profound, pauses are comfortable, the cognac is smoother, and life is generally rosier. An hour with a good cigar and a couple of friends is a vacation from life’s nonsense.