Having gotten a good look at the meticulous process of preparing Connecticut shade, it was time to get a glimpse of what goes into creating its bigger, tougher brother. Culbro's broadleaf operation is located up the road in Simsbury, out past a tiny airport where the Simsbury Flying Club tools around in antique planes. At the farm, we're greeted by workers cutting plants in a vastly different style: instead of the priming process, where rows of leaves are cut until the top of the plant is reached, broadleaf is harvested by stalk cutting: essentially chopping down the whole plant with an axe. The cut stalks are then impaled, five at a time, by a spear that resembles some form of medieval torture device - I hear a vaguely disturbing "chunk" sound as the tip penetrates the thick stems - and left to wilt in the sun before being hung in the shed.
Broadleaf does not grow as tall as shade, thus the leaves are substantially larger and maintain even more nutrients from the sun and soil. Venturing into the fields, I take hold of a leaf, noting that whereas the shade felt silky, the broadleaf had the consistency of canvas, the toughness of leather, and the stickiness of flypaper. Nuñez reveals that the broadleaf crop is intended mostly for binder, but about 20 percent is suitable for wrappers. "It has much more gum than shade, because it's grown in the sun. The sun creates the gum," he says. "What comes out of [the process] is a leaf that is very oily and dark, perfect for maduros. It looks as if it would be a very heavy smoke but it's not; it's very sweet."
In the curing barn, the plants are hung to air dry, and while they get even gummier as they dry, they are still green. It will be a year of processing and conditioning - in Honduran and Dominican factories - before they reach the dark, cocoa-brown look that's so inviting to maduro smokers.
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| The late Frank Topper ensured his Connecticut-based company's growth in the wake of the Cuban embargo by switching to mostly machine-made cigars.
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General Cigar has only been growing it since 1994, but broadleaf has been an essential component of Connecticut's cigar tobacco industry since before the 19th century, largely due to a small operation that has become a New England institution: Meriden, CT-based Topper Cigar Company, originally founded in McSherrystown, Pennsylvania in 1896. Today, fourth-generation cigar manufacturer Chris Topper runs the company, and whether it is the machine-made product (still made in the Keystone State) or his handmade lines (made in Central America) the local leaf is still evident in most all of his eponymous cigars.
"From day one, our cigars have had broadleaf wrappers," he states. "My great-grandfather, grandfather, and father all made them with Cuban long filler." The company moved its base to Meriden in 1929, continuing to produce hand-rolled product in McSherrystown. By the early 1960s, two factors - the Cuban Embargo and the lack of new blood to replace the aging, retiring local rollers - necessitated a change at Topper, switching the factory to automation and trying to replicate the winning Cuban-style taste with different filler tobaccos. The one constant, however, remained the increasingly popular broadleaf wrappers. "In New England, we're the local cigar," says Topper. "Not only is it the dark, rugged wrapper that people who live around here enjoy, but it's the fact that they can see it growing along the side of the highway."
The Topper Cigar Company reached its centennial in 1996, and released a new handmade cigar to celebrate. Last year, they added another premium line: Cosmo - named for the title character in the 1937 Cary Grant movie, Topper - made by Caribe (makers of Camacho) in Danlí, Honduras. Chris Topper got the idea for the line upon discovering a collection of old cigar molds in one of the company's old warehouses. "I cherry-picked my favorite perfecto sizes," Topper says, "and we're using those molds to cast the cigars in." The result is Caribe's Cuban corojo filler in a broadleaf wrapper, probably the closest thing to the original handmade Toppers of pre-Embargo yesteryear.
Our last stop at the Simsbury farm was the one acre devoted to growing the cigar market's up-and-coming star wrapper: Connecticut-grown Havana seed - used with some fanfare in cigars like Partagas Black Label and Excalibur Dark Knight. Much like Chris Topper's discovery of old molds, Nuñez's experiments with the almost-forgotten seeds began with a visit to an old warehouse. "I found a few seeds just sitting there in a jar," he relates, "and I decided in 1994 to grow a few rows, just to see how it was. I found it to be very attractive, and, peculiarly, it burned with a very different aroma than broadleaf, which it is very close to in its phenotype. We tried it as a binder for the Macanudo Robust. Now that we've gotten more careful with the agricultural practices, we're getting about 40 percent wrapper out of it. We've actually got four cigar lines using it now, including a new one we're working on at Villazon." A total of 50 acres across General's three Connecticut farms is now devoted to growing Havana seed.
The Havana seed leaf is in many ways a midpoint between shade and broadleaf: larger and heavier than the former, but growing taller and sporting more leaves than the latter, and not quite as gummy. Flavor-wise, the Havana seed wrappers put the lie to the widely held misconception that dark maduro wrappers impart strength rather than bold sweetness to a cigar. The Havana wrappers are bolder and spicier by far than the broadleaf.
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| Daniel Nuñez examines a leaf at General Cigar's farm in the Connecticut River Valley.
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While General Cigar has taken the lead in bringing Connecticut-grown Havana-seed to the market, at least one boutique company has gotten on board as well. Victor Sinclair Cigars introduced their own Havana-wrapped cigar line, called Connecticut Yankee, soon after the more well-hyped debut of the Dark Knight. It started when a retiring colleague entrusted an independent farmer in Suffield, Bob Hinckley, with a valuable commodity. "Three years ago, he gave me some seeds and told me it was the Havana seed that he'd been growing since the 1930s and 40s," Hinckley relates. " He'd been keeping the strain alive and it then became my responsibility to keep it going."
Despite a rough year - some seeds were bad, and there was only about 30 percent germination - Hinckley pressed on and developed enough successful leaf to shop it around to cigarmakers in the Dominican Republic. The one who jumped on it was Victor Sinclair's veteran cigarmaker, Jose Dominguez, well known for taking chances on wrapper varieties. Named for the character in Mark Twain's novel, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (apparently a cheeky homage to General's "knight" theme) the cigar debuted in four sizes last year, and Victor Sinclair reports encouraging sales for the line. As Hinckley's operation (50 acres, six devoted to Havana and the rest to broadleaf) is currently the only other grower of the strain, I mention that he stands to benefit greatly if other manufacturers come flocking to this up-and-coming hot wrapper. "I hope it does get more in demand," he quips. "It's a really pretty tobacco."
The demand for Connecticut Valley tobacco - of all varieties - seems to be in no danger of fading, despite the recent years' problems with blue mold and reduction of tobacco-growing land. The "experimental" plot at General's Simsbury farm, a Frankenstein's lab of hybrids and obscure seed varieties, stands as testament to the company's confidence in the enduring popularity of its crops. "We now have [hybrids] of Havana/shade, Havana/broadleaf, and even all three," Nuñez says, wrapping up my tour of Culbro's facilities. "We intend to be here a long time, and we're always going to be trying to answer the needs of the future."