After dining out on sugar-rubbed ribs, I finished celebrating on my back patio. Unlike others’ cigars, I had a churchwarden filled with Amphora tobacco, accompanied by a nice glass of smooooth single-malt Scotch. The Macallan 18-year-old, of course.
Amphora was my grandfather’s brand. The distinctive aroma triggers vivid memories of holiday dinners and late-night card games at Grandma & Grandpa’s house. They don’t sell it in the U.S. anymore. I had to bring it back from London in my carry-on.
The end result, for me, was an epiphany, which I wrote about in Battle Cry: Eureka!
Of course, none of these can compare with Joe’s Heller-bration, even though it involved a lowly Miller High Life.