Black Jack

The Black Jack cigar was, unfortunately, an absolute disaster from start to finish.

To put it simply: TURD.

Right away, the construction issues became impossible to ignore. Bits of filler tobacco constantly worked their way loose during the smoke, ending up on my tongue and in my mouth far more often than any cigar smoker should have to tolerate. Few things ruin a cigar experience faster than having to pick stray tobacco flakes out of your teeth every couple of draws.

The draw itself did not help matters either. It remained noticeably tight throughout most of the smoke, forcing me to work much harder than I should have just to get a decent pull of smoke from the cigar. Even when smoke finally came through, the flavor profile offered very little in return.

And by “very little,” I mean almost nothing.

The cigar tasted flat, dull, and lifeless. No richness. No complexity. No memorable notes of earth, spice, cocoa, wood, or cream — just bland tobacco and frustration. I kept waiting for the cigar to wake up and develop some sort of character, but it never happened.

Then came the bizarre ending.

After finally giving up on the cigar and snuffing out the stub, the thing suddenly caught fire and began smoking like a chimney on its own. I’m not exaggerating. The amount of smoke pouring from the discarded nub was honestly ridiculous and more entertaining than the cigar itself had been the entire time I was smoking it.

At least it provided one memorable moment before dying.

Unfortunately, that moment came after I stopped smoking it.

Definitely not one I’d ever revisit.