“Here we have mostly foreign tobacco: [grown in] Brazil, Mexico, Ecuador, Connecticut, and Honduras. Whoever has tobacco, we have a relationship with them,” Manolo says.

Four or five workers separate a bale and cut away the palm bark and cords. What remains is a square yard of wrapper leaf, stacked nearly three feet high. The workers begin peeling away layers, and the aroma grows even fuller.

Upon inspection, it’s clear why Manolo prefers the Cuban method of baling. The leaves are about 18 inches long and grouped in bunches of a half dozen, tied together at the stems. They’re laid out, like long fans, in a criss-cross pattern. As workers unpack and shake out the bunches, Manolo and Julio grab a few leaves at random and stretch them with their fingertips. The oily, deep-chocolate leaves look soft as silk. Manolo is very pleased with the tobacco.

“This type of baling really keeps the tobacco moist, and it ages it very well. The burlap bales are always a little dryer,” he says, and hands me a bunch to smell. The aroma is as thick and sweet as pure honey.

“This is the fun part,” he continues, “Anybody can make a cigar. If you want to construct a cigar, hell, you can set up shop in the bathroom. But this is where it comes together.”

“It’s the blending and the continuity that make a good cigar,” he adds. “To make a good cigar one day, that’s not the project. The goal is to make a good cigar every day.”

Back in the office, while we’re enjoying turkey sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and fruit, Manolo is again talking about the future. What he’s really talking about are his daughters and nephews, who represent the fifth generation in the family business.

“And the sixth generation is 3 1/2 years old,” says Manolo. “All we’re doing is getting things ready for him.”

Both of Manolo’s daughters are involved in the goings-on at the factory. His oldest daughter, Rachel, worked at Gloucester Street Cigar Co., a popular Boston smoke shop, while attending Harvard and Boston University. Patricia, his youngest daughter, joined the company while attending the University of Santiago. Alvaro also has two children in the business.

After lunch, Manolo’s happy to show off the cigar making facilities. In the factory there are a little more than 300 young Dominicans, more women than men, bunching and rolling his prize tobacco into cigars. Each step of development is sectioned off in its own room.

The operation starts with the sorting of wrappers, first by quality, then by color. In another area, bunchers gather filler in bundles to be wrapped. Finally, the rollers carefully wrap and cap the bundles. The entire operation is monitored by a computer tracking system to maximize efficiency and protect the inventory. Finished cigars are randomly checked for construction flaws, weight, and draw by a quality-control squad. They use a draw machine, an interesting contraption that simulates the draw of a smoker and gauges the resistance.

Finished cigars are stored in an aging room for a minimum of eight weeks. The cedar-lined space, which runs about 30 feet by 30 feet, is full of boxes holding several hundred cigars each.

“About a million cigars in here, huh?” I ask.

Manolo smiles. “At least.”

Next is the packaging area. The cigars are wrapped in cellophane and carefully set in boxes. Although the boxes are currently made by a local producer, Manolo relates that he’s building a small box-making facility in a smaller wing of his factory. (Self-reliance was a boom-time lesson that he will never forget.) The boxes have already had labels inserted, and once they’re filled, they are stacked and ready for a final inspection.

“So, that’s it,” he says.

I nod. It’s a very impressive, well-organized facility - one that will crank out around 15 million cigars this year.

We go back to the administrative offices, where Manolo has a side area set up for executive meetings, seminars, and orientation for new rollers. There is a walk-in humidor displaying each of his brands, in all sizes and shapes, and a few private-label cigars he’s produced.