Another usual Saturday, or so I thought…

I set off in the morning and almost immediately ran into a friend on the street. We decided to grab coffees at the same café - I then continued on toward St James’s Street, flat white in hand.

Stepping into J. Fox, I was recommended the Por Larrañaga Galanes; One I hadn’t smoked before.

I gladly obliged and strolled up the stairs to the lounge.

The room was full. Every table occupied, except for a sofa beside a man reading a book, with two more stacked on the table in front of him. It was Quentin Tarantino.

That’s right, Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained, Inglorious Bastards, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, yes, that guy.

I asked if I could join him.

“Yes, please go ahead,” he said.

We exchanged a few casual comments - mostly about the length of ash on his cigar, which seemed to be defying the laws of gravity.

I treated Quentin as I would anyone else. Kindly. Normally. I didn’t mention his work, or that I recognised him.

It didn’t last.

Before long, someone approached to shake his hand. Then another. Then someone asked if they could take a photograph. He declined politely, explaining he didn’t much like photos. More than fair enough.

Eventually the room settled again.
A cigar lounge is, after all, a place for peace.

I wasn’t star-struck. Not really.
But I was aware of him - of the gravity that fame introduces into a room.

I wanted nothing from him, and his presence wouldn’t alter my life in any meaningful way. Still, the atmosphere shifted. Enough to be noticed.

When I lit the cigar, I realised I wasn’t fully present. I rushed the light, my attention distracted by the room. The burn came out uneven - nothing dramatic, nothing anyone else would notice - but uneven all the same.

The cigar itself was unfortunately rather unremarkable. A nice smoke - enjoyable in the moment, forgettable shortly after. I am unlikely to reach for the Por Larrañaga again anytime soon, my sincerest apologies to those who may love the cigar.

Having finished the cigar, I was left thinking:

1. How often does one smoke a cigar with Tarantino (if you can call that “with”).
2. When smoking with Tarantino, the cigar should be memorable.

Naturally, I strolled downstairs and returned with a Trinidad; which was an absolutely exquisite smoke, arguably out of this world… But I have a whole letter on that to come.

What stayed with me was this: Tarantino shifted the energy of the room. His presence was difficult to ignore.

That shift, however slight, pulled me out of the moment. When I lit the cigar, I wasn’t fully present, and the burn came out uneven. A small thing - but one that subtly altered the smoke, and with it, the experience.

Yet the same energy had another effect. It led me to smoke a second cigar, something I rarely do. It was a sense of inspiration - as though some of it might be absorbed through proximity.

And that is the nature of cigars. They are unusually honest companions. They reflect our state back to us - in the burn, in the draw, in the way the moment unfolds. In the number and type of cigars we smoke.

We can observe our inner states by observing our cigars.

Until next time.

Yours truly,

The Cigar Lover

Cigar Letters
_{Letter No.11}