Herfdog Staff Review
Folks who are heavily invested in cigar culture know that a “cigar herf” is a gathering of like-minded aficionados who crave and consume cigars around the clock like ravenous vultures. It’s a crowd I unabashedly belong to, and Herfdog is a cigar blended and bundled to commemorate the ambitions of herf attendees who frequently scour their neighbors’ coolerdors for handouts. Today, I’m chomping on an Angry Mutt, a 7-by-50 Herfdog Churchill, to tell you if this bone belongs in your jaws, son.
Herfdog cigars are cheap. They’re not for the aristocrats whose pooches compete at Westminster. But being inexpensive doesn’t make them bad. You can score an entire bundle of 20 for under fifty bucks, and the bands are decked out with a grizzled mongrel who looks like he could be guarding treasure at the end of a junkyard chain. A medium-brown Sumatra wrapper leaf surrounds a basic core of Cuban-sandwich tobaccos grown in Nicaragua and Honduras.
A lot of guys grab a bundle of Herfdog cigars either for comic effect or because they need a batch of something cheap to puff on while they mow the grass. It’s worth noting that most buyers are pleasantly surprised when they purchase Herfdog cigars and write in to leave glowing praise in their product reviews. Normally, I’d just nod my head in approval and pass along a thumbs-up. But as one of the longest-tenured bargain hunters at Holt’s, a detailed analysis is called for. Plus, my bloodhound-like beak possesses a remarkable capacity for evaluating cigars that’s unavailable to the average plebeian.
Upon extracting a specimen from a fresh bundle of Angry Mutt and slipping the cellophane off, Herfdog perfumes the air with a lovely aroma of gourmet coffee grounds, leather, and cinnamon. The wrapper has been meticulously applied, and, after clipping the cap, the cold draw rolls out a sequence of piquant and sweet flavors I can best describe as sublime. Herfdog comes to life with a smooth fervor the second the flame from my torch lighter touches the foot.
Herfdog cigars hail from a small factory in the Dominican Republic that you’ve probably never heard of, but I believe the rollers are required to pass an exam before they’re hired, and I have yet to smoke a Herfdog that burns crooked. Angry Mutt develops with engaging notes of wood and leather right out of the gate. Hints of semisweet baker’s chocolate linger in the background, complemented by a touch of cumin and chestnut.
Despite the aggressive growl on the dog’s face on the band, this puppy is eager to please. After fifteen minutes of pristine smoke has passed over my palate and traveled through my nasal cavity, I can promise I would trot around the block with a Herfdog any day. It’s a mellow and easy treat I wouldn’t be afraid to share with my besties, who also know their cigars.
Angry Mutt burns with precision and showcases a stable white ash that hangs on much longer than I would expect from a cigar made from mixed-filler tobaccos. Approachable tasting notes of blonde roast coffee, chestnut, and earth oscillate with sweet and bitter nuances without becoming abrasive or stinging my eyes. I’m set to get a solid hour of pure companionship from my Angry Mutt by the time I’ve got the band off, and that makes Herfdog worth 90 points and a pat on the head.
To clarify, I wouldn’t buy Herfdog as a Christmas gift for my boss, but I’m proud to smoke them in public. Grab a bundle of these good boys with your next order, and let me know what end of the spectrum you wind up on when you’re deliberating how much you dig them. You’re not alone if you decide to adopt the Herfdog for your regular rotation.
Until next time, long ashes to you!
