MaxMHF

原文地址：https://glpease.com/BriarAndLeaf/?p=7

For quite a while, I’ve been attempting to discover some rhyme and reason for why some tobaccos just seem to “work” better in some pipes than others. At first, I looked to the conventional wisdom of my pipe smoking brethren to find answers. “Flakes are better in small pipes.” “Latakia blends are best smoked in larger bowls.” What I found there was a lot of disagreement, both amongst the folklore I collected, and within the context of my own experiences. I had to seek further to find the key to this particular mystery. I attempted to forget everything I thought I knew about the subject, and set out anew.

I have a set of four GBD 9493 pipes, a long shank pot with a short, saddle mouthpiece, that work magic with flakes. “Flakes in a POT? You must be insane!” my compatriots would say. Yet, these four pipes deliver fantastic smokes from any flake tobacco I choose to fill them with. Of course, it took some practice, some patience to learn how to smoke these wide bowls, but it was well worth the effort.

Casting the small/Flake, large/Latakia theory to the winds, I wondered, since these cavernous shapes seemed so well suited for flakes, if the tiny bowled pipes would produce similarly exceptional smoking experiences with Latakia blends. I grabbed a couple of small, straight rhodesians, and smoked them both with a variety of Latakia blends. Superb! Had I found a clue?

At the Richmond show this year, I bought a lovely, large Bonfiglioli, possibly the most capacious pipe I have ever owned. The next morning, it was time for its maiden voyage. Not wanting to dose myself to the point of hallucination with Virginias, which often make my head spin (especially if enjoyed on an empty stomach), I filled it with Abingdon, the fullest Latakia blend in my Classic Collection, yet quite a mild smoke. The flavor was outstanding, and every susequent bowl has been even better. So much for yet another theory—full Latakia in a large pipe tasted just fine.

I began smoking every size and shape pipe with every sort of tobacco I could think of. Still finding nothing conclusive, other avenues had to be pursued. Was it the provenance of the pipe that mattered? Did English pipes work best with Virginias, while Italian pieces had a predilection toward Latakia? It seemed that way to me for a while. After all, I really had enjoyed Latakias in my other Italian pipes. Or, had I? I recalled a beautiful Castello bent bulldog that barked and bit ferociously when Latakia was anywhere near it, yet became as gentle as a puppy with a Virginia/perique blend. It was a small bowl, besides. And, while some Dunhills seemed to work well with Virginias, the majority of those in my collection were dedicated to classic Latakia blends.

Could it be the work of a particular maker, the internal design of the pipe that makes the difference? I’ve smoked the pipes of many makers, and have failed to find that any brand consistently predisposes itself to a specific type of tobacco. The most conistent pipes I own are those of Larry Roush. Every one has been an outstanding smoke from the beginning, with a great clarity of flavor that articulates all that a tobacco has to offer. It’s not long, though, before the pipe begins to speak of its history. Even among Larry’s pipes, I discover that some pieces just take a liking to a particular type of tobacco, while others seem happier with something else. My big bent Roush apple (review) has always been a fantastic Latakia pipe, yet, one day, I filled it with a VA/perique blend, and the thing just came alive in ways I’d never before experienced.

I persisted, trying to isolate the characteristics of the wood from different sources. Curing methods were considered. To date, no consitency has been noted.

Size, shape, wood, maker—not one of these things provides that elusive key. I think Larry said it best when I was talking with him about this. “Every pipe has its own personality.” That’s it. Finding the right tobacco for any pipe is an adventure. Getting to know the pipe’s personality is part of the process of breaking it in.

Some pipes are sweet, some are earthy. Some have a bright taste, occasionally wandering into the territory of “sharpness,” while others are dark, sometimes to the point of being bland. Some have a tendency to add a nut-like taste to the smoke. Every pipe seems to color the flavor of the smoke in a somewhat different way. All of the myriad factors of wood and geometry come together when fire and leaf merge to produce a unique experience.

Wider bowls tend to provide more flavor intensity, with the wood playing somewhat less of a role in the smoke. This makes perfect sense, of course. There’s more tobacco smoldering, and the surface area of the ember increases with the square of the chamber’s radius, while the amount of briar in contact with the ember increases only linearly. Taller bowls result in an increase of the “filtering” action of the tobacco, softening the taste in the beginning of the bowl, and gradually building up greater and greater intensity as the tobacco is consumed. Tapered bowls exhibit somewhat less of this tendency, though if not packed very carefully, they can become so moist at the bottom as to be difficult to keep lit. Shallow bowls seem to hold a purity of the tobacco’s taste longer, if not as intensely.

There seem to be limits, though. A full flavored tobacco in a very tall bowl can build up too much intensity toward the end of the smoke, and can become tiring, or even acrid if everything isn’t just right. Too wide a bowl can yield too much of a tobacco’s nicotine content, if it is high to start with, especially to someone sensitive to its effects.

While I continue to gather data, this whole thing being just part of the enjoyment I get out of this great hobby, I’ll keep hoping to, one day, unlock the door. When I do, I’ll write Part II of this little tale. If others are motivated to play along, so much the better. Keep your logs, look for patterns. But, please, don’t tell me about them. I’ll be too busy enjoying my own experiments to worry about anyone else’s.

Addendum: Over the past several days, I’ve been smoking pipes that didn’t seem quite “right” with the tobaccos I’d been smoking in them. Using the tiny amount of understanding I’ve gained through haphazard “research” methodologies, I’ve been able to predict, with some success, what tobaccos would better suit them. I’m happy to say that a couple pipes with “marginal” smoking characteristics have become brilliant with the right tobaccos. Could there be a method to the madness after all?

A friend of mine dedicates every new pipe to a specific tobacco. I applaud his rigorous bookkeeping, somewhat retentive attention to detail, and his dedication to methodology, but I’ve always wondered if he’s really getting the most out of his experience, or winding up selling some of his pipe and tobacco choices short. How do we know, at the start, what tobaccos will work best with a given pipe? I wish there was some sort of metric, as the process of discovery can sometimes fill a great deal of time.

I often start a pipe out with a Virginia, but not always. A lot depends on the size and geometry of the bowl, and on who made the pipe. I think some makers’ pipes have certain signature tastes, at least early on, that suggest the sort of tobacco they’ll like. Castellos, for instance, have always been best for me with rich, slightly sweet Latakia blends, or with dark Virginia/perique blends. There’s something about their “brightness” that seems to harmonize well with darker flavors, especially during the initial bowls.

If I’m lucky enough to stumble upon a good combination straight away, I thank the fates for the good fortune, and stick with it, or at least dedicate that pipe to the same genre of tobacco. If the original trials are less satisfactory, on the other hand, I’ll embark on a quest to find the right tobacco for the pipe, smoking a few bowls of something different in the thing, repeating the process until stumbling upon the right synergy.

This doesn’t always work out, but when it does, the results can be delightful. I was smoking one of my pipes, a wonderful smoker, with lighter Latakia blends, and it was providing a consistently excellent smoke. One day, I filled it with Stratford, and the result was sublime - almost magical. It’s a large bowl, one that I normally wouldn’t smoke Virginias in, but this combination is exquisite, and I haven’t looked back. It’s my Stratford pipe, and that’s all there is to it. So far, it has not disappointed, delivering a marvelous smoking experience with each bowl, though the lingering Latakia notes in the first few bowls did provide a delightful spice that has gradually dissipated through continued smoking.

More than once, I’ve found a pipe that really didn’t “work” with one blend or genre, and has transformed from ugly duckling to swan with a different tobacco, so if a pipe isn’t delivering, it’s always a good idea to try a different fuel for its fires before giving up on it.

I still can not find any rationale for this behavior in a pipe. Geometry clearly plays a role, as does the curing method of the briar, I suspect. But, each pipe has its own personality, it’s own preferences, it seems. (Though I still do enjoy my flakes in those wide-bowled GBD pots.)

This confounds the exploration of new blends, unfortunately. It’s hardly fair to smoke a tobacco in one pipe, and believe that the blend can be deeply understood. It takes several bowls in a given pipe to truly apprehend the complexities and nuances of a blend, and if it’s the “wrong” pipe, the tobacco can present an unfairly biased view of itself. Nor is it fair to a pipe to judge it based on a few experiences with a specific tobacco type.

On the other side of things, a great pipe that has been found ideal for a specific blend or type, can positively influence a less-than-great blend toward appearing better than it is. More than once, a pipe has delivered a wonderful smoking experience from a blend that just doesn’t perform in any other piece in my collection. Had that fortuitous combination not been discovered early, would I have dismissed the blend offhand? (I’ve sometimes said that I have pipes I could smoke lawn clippings in, and get a delightful smoke out of them. It’s almost true.)

It is the more subtle blends, often, that seem to be the most pipe sensitive. Powerful tobacco flavors often seem to overcome mediocre pipes, but those blends that rely on a quiet voice to express themselves are quite particular about the briar company they keep. This isn’t always the case, though. In particular, I’ve found Virginia blends, which tend to be more subtle, to be more forgiving of the briar in which they’re smoked than spicy, heavier Latakia blends. This seems counterintuitive, but it’s just another example of the complexities of our seemingly simple pastime.

The moral? With pipes and tobaccos, it’s best to give each a fair shot at delivering what it can, rather than relegating it early to some particular category, or worse, to the dustbin. Whilst some may seek rules and guidelines for choosing pipe and tobacco pairings based on cycles of the moon, the colour of the bowl, or the length of the current president’s term of office, without some pretty complex and rigorous scientific exploration, all this can really be is simplistic hand waving and wishful thinking. There’s nothing wrong with circles and arrows, but let’s not confuse them with science. 

There’s a good reason Alfred Dunhill called it the “Gentle Art of Smoking,” rather than “The Hard Science.”

-glp