The humidor was locked, and I didn’t know the code — so I made my way to the backyard patio of the cigar lounge, tucked myself into a far left corner of the outdoor deck, and smoked an American Spirit with my double shot of Hennessy.
Cigarettes aren’t allowed inside Cigar Code, a Northern Liberties nightclub and cigar shop. Especially not during “Philly Cigar Week,” a five-day local celebration of “cigars, art, music, fashion and spirits” that seeks to “change Philadelphia’s social scene one cigar at a time.”
Though I missed a happy hour panel on pairing alcohol and cigars, the night saw bedazzled water bottles, cigar cases, and bottles of bourbon on display and for sale. I tried to open the door to the shop’s humidor, but when it turned out to be locked, my friend and I ordered glasses of Hennessy and went outside to puff cigarettes and sip in the scene.
“‘Cause girls is players too,” by Coi Leray played just loudly enough while women dressed to the nines danced smoothly in the center of a sunken wood patio. The cognac was warm, almost hot, through its cinnamon burn.
I had not known about Philly Cigar Week, which celebrated its fifth anniversary this year starting on Juneteenth, prior to my arrival. I had also never smoked a real cigar, discounting a handful of gas station Backwoods here and there. I had learned of Cigar Code mere days ago while reading that U.S. Reps. Bryon Donalds of Florida (rumored to be on Donald Trump’s shortlist for vice president) and Wesley Hunt of Texas visited the venue in early June for a “cognac and cigars” campaigning event on behalf of Trump.
That news was the latest illustration of the Trump team’s empty yet loaded gestures, like peddling gold sneakers and selling his criminal indictments as relatable, to catch what meager portion of the Black vote he needs to take from Biden as one strategy to win his way back into office. On the other hand, viral videos of Biden freezing in place like a broken-down robot at the White House Juneteenth event while George Floyd’s brother, of all people, tries to covertly check if he’s okay are … also really dark.
I would argue that this particular presidential election is stirring existential questioning in virtually everyone, as we all grapple with how much faith to put into or extract from a broken system that’s already failing all of us.
However, inside the Cigar Code on Juneteenth, even though someone titled “DJ Politic” was controlling the music, some of that in-the-air despair seemed put on pause, as people moved from the bar to the backyard through hazy but intentionally ash-laced air.
Right next to the bar, Brandon Perkins, a regular patron of Cigar Code since he moved to Philly from Atlanta five years back (just in time for the first Philly Cigar Week!), was selling his single cigar humidors from his Philly-based brand, “Cigador.”
“It was a Covid hobby, designed to protect your cigar on the go,” Perkins told me. “We love watches, cigars and bourbon, all of my friends.” The hygrometer centered in the middle of the case “looks like a watch from a distance,” Perkins pointed out — “that’s why I fell in love with it.”
“It’s not designed to replace your at-home humidor,” he told me: “But you can put this one in your golf bag or purse when you’re traveling.”
He said the cigars sold well for Father’s Day. Besides working for birthdays, they’re often given to military members facing deployment (with “America’s Navy” engraved into the wood).
My curiosity got the better of me and I asked Perkins who he was supporting in the presidential election. And as a regular at Cigar Code, did he know that the Trump campaign had stopped in so recently? “No,” Perkins answered — he wasn’t aware of the event, and he also isn’t planning on voting for Trump.
Why? “He’s a polarizing figure.” The conversation stopped there.
I glanced down at a hygrometer, which did indeed look like a watch, and realized it was time for me to stop politicking. I had reported on local politics in the past, but the present was calling on me to suck up some cigar smoke.
I asked a waitress if someone could unlock the humidor, and I walked into the humidity-controlled room lined with walls containing over 1,000 cigars.
Soon, Fred Kinglee, the shop’s hired cigar connoisseur, stopped by and was willing to offer some beginner’s guidance.
Kinglee talked through the colors of cigar wrappers as indicative of their intensity (a medium brown shade entails a milder flavor, he said) and described the various lengths, flavor profiles, and countries of origin behind various smokes.
Much of it went over my head, but I was wide-eyed listening to the fine details of how the cigars were made, sold and meant to be consumed. I was on the receiving end of the kind of enchanted specificity we hope for but never hear from elusive politicians, aka disillusioned salespeople.
After consulting several more people who moved in and out of the humidor, I bought an Acid Blonde Petite — which completed my out-of-place look as one of the very few white people patronizing the event.
I had left my pal out back while I perused the cigar selections, but I joined him again to try out my $7 purchase.
“Oh my god, you bought a blondie?” he said in disbelief. “I used to smoke those in high school,” he laughed, simultaneously wincing with pain from a series of gum injuries and canker sores that were spiraling into infection while he chain smoked. That I sought out suggestions and was subsequently referred to the box of Acid Blondies was “almost insulting,” he said — an inference that I was cluelessly unserious about cigars.
Only that unfavorable interpretation could be considered insulting, I decided, lighting my cigar and savoring the sugary wrapper. I made it halfway through the cigar before my tongue started to pucker, just like my mouth would react when I ate rock candy as a kid. My consultants had read my palette well.
With the world already on fire, I don’t think I need another vice — though I was impressed by the classy knowledge contained by the collective of cigar enthusiasts surrounding me. I wasn’t at Cigar Code to find yet another language to debate, scrutinize, or egotize.
I was just there, listening to Drake proclaiming himself a lesbian over the loudspeakers, finding pleasure and peace in the concealed burn of smoke and alcohol, and letting the almost oceanic breeze of sugar wind lull my mind quiet.
NEXT:
Philly Cigar Week runs from June 19 to the 23. Check out other cigar-centered events happening across Philly here.
