The Quiet Discipline of the Perfect Light

There is a moment, before the first draw, when the cigar is not yet a cigar. It is a tightly bound bundle of leaves the maker has spent months — sometimes years — preparing for you. What you do in the next sixty seconds either honors that work or undoes it.

I use a soft flame. Always. A torch will scorch the foot and lock in a metallic, ashy note that no amount of patience can resolve. Cedar spills are best when you have them; a wooden match works almost as well after the sulfur burns off.

Hold the cigar at a forty-five-degree angle, the foot just above the flame, and rotate it slowly. You are not lighting the cigar — you are toasting it. Let the heat draw out the oils, watch the rim of the foot blacken into a perfect ring of orange, and only then bring it to your lips. The first draw should be easy and cool, never hot. If the first draw is hot, you have rushed the toast.

A cigar lit well will burn evenly for the next hour without intervention. A cigar lit poorly will fight you the entire way. The difference is sixty seconds of attention.

— Eric Schleien