Honduras HEATS UP
With established cigar brands gaining acclaim, new ones breaking ground, and major manufacturers expanding operations, Central America's largest cigar-producing nation is leaving anonymity behind and building a reputation of sustained excellence.
By Mark Bernardo
"Down to the Banana Republics,
Down to the tropical sun,
Go the expatriated Americans,
Hoping to find some fun."
I can't help hearing the lyrics to that old Jimmy Buffett tune playing in my head as the bus barrels down the winding blacktop of the Pan-American Highway, carrying a jovial band of U.S. visitors from Honduras's true capital, Tegucigalpa, to its cigar-making capital, Danlí. "Banana Republic," now a common pejorative for any impoverished tropical nation run by despots, was originally coined for Honduras, after all, and years after its domination by American fruit companies and its period as a hotbed of revolution in the Cold War years it is still easy to see why. The political travails of the 1980s left in their wake a democratic government, but poverty is still widespread, as evidenced by the shacks and shanties, some built right on the sides of mountains, along the road, and by the steady stream of natives who approach our vehicle at every stop sign, peddling trinkets and snacks. Nevertheless, this nation's people are proud: they work hard and without complaint, and these qualities have made Hondurans renowned in cigar making circles as possibly the most skilled workers outside of Cuba.
Honduras is Central America's pre-eminent cigar producer, placing second in the U.S.
market behind the Dominican Republic and still outpacing its neighbor, Nicaragua, by a
fairly wide margin. And yet, this nation has always had something of an image problem, the
problem, specifically, being a lack of an image. Many cigars made in Honduras have long
enjoyed a reputation for quality, but the nation itself has been slow in defining its own
identity, possibly because, with some notable exceptions, the cigars are not characterized
predominantly by Honduran-grown tobacco but instead by multi-nation blends. Perceptions
are changing, however, as the American public grows more savvy about not just the cigars
themselves, but the men behind them, men with generations of tobacco-growing and
cigar-making experience to bring to bear. The truth is, whether they are working behind
the scenes for other companies, heading up their own boutique brands, or plying their
trade for large corporations, the cigar masters of Honduras are adding to an impressive
legacy.
The Triumvirate
Approaching the Carlos ToraZo /C.A.O factory, a short sun-baked walk from my hotel, I am again reminded of the realities of life in Danlí. Young boys and girls, most in their early teens, huddle perpetually outside the gate looking for jobs while the machine-gun-toting guard looks on sternly. Though the guard speaks no English, a mention of the factory's head honcho, Fidel Olivas Jarquin, gets me past the intimidating gate and into the main office, where Olivas and his nephew Aldrin hold court, surrounded by boxes of the factory's past and present cigar brands. Founded in 1997 as a joint venture between the Olivas and ToraZo families in response to the glut of sub-par cigars on the market in that peak "boom" year, the business, dubbed Latin Cigars S.A., encompasses two factories, one in Danlí, the other in Estelí, Nicaragua. The Honduras facility started out fairly small.
"At first, the only brand made here was Carlos ToraZo Reserva Selecta," Olivas says, gesturing at a souvenir box of the brand. "In 1999, we started making cigars for C.A.O. International, who has since become our largest customer." With the Ozgener family of C.A.O. joining the mix, Latin Cigars became what Fidel Olivas refers to as "a relationship between three families, all working together", with the Olivas family charged with all of the manufacturing. The factory in Honduras has also grown tremendously as both the C.A.O. and ToraZo companies attain greater success. 2001 saw the debut of ToraZo's Exodus 1959, and 2002 ushered in their Exodus 1959 Silver Edition as well as C.A.O.'s popular Brazilia line. Recently, the factory started producing the Casa ToraZo and C.A.O.'s latest must-have, the C.A.O. Italia.
While the families' working relationship is strong, the companies' products are manufactured separately. One large room is devoted to ToraZo and a handful of private label brands, and another is devoted solely to C.A.O's products. Despite C.A.O. and ToraZo both increasing production in recent years and their strong-willed dedication to maintain quality over quantity, the Olivases remain open to new customers, as evidenced by their inventory of tobaccos from many nations, including an abundance from their exclusive growers in the Jalapa, Estelí, and Condega areas of neighboring Nicaragua. "Different combinations of tobaccos give different strength and complexity," says Aldrin. "We keep a wide range so the customer can decide what they want."
The Godfather
As a general rule, one does not deal in cigars or tobacco anywhere in Honduras or Nicaragua without coming into contact with Nestor Plasencia. He is the largest grower in Central America (800 acres of tobacco in Honduras alone) and sells to cigar manufacturers all over the map. He also owns and operates his own veritable empire of manufacturing, with two factories in Nicaragua and three in Honduras. A breakfast meeting with the soft-spoken Plasencia at Tabacos de Oriente, one of three in the Danlí area, is an education not just on this legendary tobacco man's own distinguished career but a lesson on the history of the cigar trade, from before the Cuban embargo to the present. "I came to Honduras for the first time in 1978," he reveals, "and now I spend four days of the week here and the rest in Nicaragua." Already a pioneer in Honduras' then-fledgling tobacco growing industry, Plasencia entered the arena of cigar making in 1983. " I got involved because I had an inventory of tobacco at the time, and I thought it would be a good idea to start making cigars and have the operation vertically integrated."
With that, Plasencia proceeded to become one of the most important "behind the scenes" manufacturers in the business, turning out mostly private label cigars for a plethora of industry players: Swisher; Indianhead; Alec Bradley; Famous Smoke Shop; Santa Clara, Inc.; Villiger; Finck; and a host of others. (Plasencia has had his name on cigars as well, notably the Nicaraguan-made Plasencia Reserva Organica distributed by Indianhead, but for the most part prefers not to compete with his various private label customers.) Though not as well-known as Nestor, the rest of his family is heavily involved in the business as well, notably his son Nestor Jr.; his uncles Herminio Plasencia and Dionicio, Ismael, and Hector Fernandez; cousins Ahgmed and Andres Fernandez, and brother Conrado Plasencia, who is the manager of all of the family's Honduran factories. Though his operations span Central America, Plasencia admits a special fondness for Honduras: "It is a good place to manufacture cigars because there are good conditions to grow good tobacco," he explains, "and we can make cigars close to the plantations where the tobacco is grown. And the Honduran people are very skilled at making cigars."
Rocky, Rejuvenated
Conrado Plasencia is making his rounds at the family's Paraiso Cigar factory in El Paraiso, just down the road from Danlí, when I arrive with the gregarious crew from Indian Tabac Cigar Company, and their American guests with whom I'd shared the bus ride from Tegucigalpa. Indian has recently re-energized its line of cigars with new blends bearing the name of its founder, Rocky Patel. In addition to the popular Vintage 1990 and 1992 cigars (produced at General Cigar's Danlí plant), it has launched Rocky Patel Sun-Grown and The Edge, both produced here at Paraiso by Plasencia. Previously used to produce short-filler cigars for private-label customers, the facility dedicated the majority of its resources to Indian less than a year ago, according to Jesus Fuego, Indian's Director of Honduran Operations. Along with the Sun-Grown and Edge brands, the factory makes Indian Tabac's Classic, Super Fuerte, and Cameroon Legend lines, and has grown to 70 teams (one roller, and one buncher) turning out between 50,000 and 60,000 cigars a day. "There were always good rollers here," Fuego explains as he leads us on a morning tour through the busy factory, "but for our premium cigars, we have a different standard [than for short filler]. We took the best people here and put them on our products, and we trained the rest. We still produce some short-fillers here and we train new rollers on those before moving them to the Indian Tabac products." Fuego and the staff here are especially proud of the aging and fermentation that goes into Patel's cigars, overseen by Peter Harkan, an industry veteran from the Netherlands who is now Plasencia's right-hand man for tobacco processing in Honduras. Harkan's employees in the sorting and fermentation departments study the bales and piles with a scrutiny rivaling a white-glove military inspection. "We have a, how do you say?...obsession with the sorting," Jesus says, reaching for the right word. "Even when we get tobacco from plants that do all the sorting and fermentation before selling the tobacco, we usually re-ferment it until it's the way we like it, about 80-90 percent of the time. Sometimes we also age it a bit more." By way of example, Jesus invites me to inhale a faceful of some insufficiently fermented leaf. It reminds me of the first time I sampled tequila straight from the still at 150 proof; it is sharp, strong, and full of ammonia. By contrast, the RP Sun-Grown, smoked later after a traditional Honduran dinner with the Indian Tabac boys and their guests, is smooth and rich, the perfect dessert.
The Old Soldier
In his experience with Honduran tobacco, Plasencia has few peers, but foremost among that select group is Julio Eiroa. Like many of his generation of cigar masters born in Cuba, Eiroa had little choice but to leave the island after Castro's revolution had irrevocably changed the nature of the industry there. Also like many of his peers, he is intensely patriotic and pro-American. He served in the United States Army from 1961 to 1963, displays a signed photo of himself with President George H.W. Bush in his office, and declares in no uncertain terms that he will not set foot in Cuba until the current regime is no more. Over an after-dinner mojito, he will regale you with opinions about Cuba, America, France, and his new home, Honduras, as well as putting forth a lifetime's worth of knowledge about tobacco to anyone who will listen. And you will listen because no matter how much you think you know, he knows more. Eiroa first came to Honduras in 1965 as a grower, but by the late 1980s, his crop was too large for the diminished cigar market, so he was left with two choices: sit on a huge unsold inventory or manufacture his own cigars. He chose the latter option, and many cigar smokers are extremely grateful he did. The company, Caribe Imported Cigars, became known for the mild- to medium-bodied Baccarat and La Fontana, but in recent years has made the must-buy lists of strong cigar fans everywhere with the introduction of Camacho. Eiroa's son, Christian (now president of Caribe) was instrumental in re-introducing the brand, a discontinued, little-known cigar once made in a small Cuban factory owned by Winston Churchill, as an all-Honduran puro, one of the few available in the U.S. market.
The Caribe factory holds some intriguing sights for fans of rare tobacciana. Antique tobacco-stripping machines, dating from 1910, enable workers to remove the veins from leaves more quickly and efficiently. In a dark, steamy, heavily humidified room, a huge wooden roller covered with tobacco leaves spins slowly like the paddle wheel of a riverboat, exposing the leaves to humidity to make them supple. At the heart of the operation, of course, are the cigar workers, some of whom have been with Eiroa for 40 years, plying their trade diligently in a workshop that produces about a million cigars a year to satisfy the smoking public's ravenous appetite for Camachos.
Camachos use true Cuban-seed Corojo leaf, grown exclusively on the Eiroas' 500-acre farm in the Jamastran Valley, where the family also maintains a palatial ranch house that is hosting a group of American guests for an evening of dinner, cocktails, Cuban dominoes, and cigars while I'm there. Much like drinking a fine Chianti on a Tuscan estate, puffing a Camacho SLR on a deck overlooking the very land from which its leaves sprung is a special feeling indeed.
The Taskmaster
Rolando Reyes, the 80-year-old legend behind Puros Indios cigars, is known for a no-nonsense, hard-nosed management style by his peers and his employees. From the latter, the sense of awe and respect, bordering on fear, is palpable when he walks onto the bustling floor of his splendidly old-fashioned factory to inspect the day's work. But in the office, the atmosphere could scarcely be more hospitable. Led into Reyes's sumptuous office, adorned with flags of Cuba, the land of his birth, and the United States, the land that welcomed his family after they escaped Castro's tightening grip in the 1960s, I am offered a Cuban coffee and a cigar as I'm welcomed into the presence of one of the titans of the cigar world. Also present are Reyes' son-in-law, Enrique Diez, and grandson, Carlos Diez, who is also Puros Indios' vice president. The elder Diez has graciously agreed to translate for the Spanish-speaking Don Rolando. "I started when I was nine years old," Reyes reveals. "I went to school in the morning and made cigars in the afternoon. I learned everything there is to know." He put that knowledge to use at the H. Upmann and Hoyo de Monterrey factories in Havana, and later, when he introduced the brand that he has owned for over 60 years, Cuba Aliados ("They cannot make it in Cuba anymore," he says proudly). He continued the tradition with Puros Indios, a brand that has expanded to include Puros Indios Viejo (aged four years) and Puros Indios Maxima Reserva (a limited-edition blend), as well as the Cienfuegos brand, all made exclusively in this factory. Cigar production totals are about 40,000 to 45,000 cigars per day, and the brand's presence has reached worldwide. Reyes is especially pleased that his company has also recently regained distribution rights to Cuba Aliados, held for years by Lew Rothman's JR Cigars. Rolando Reyes brings a distinctly personal touch to the cigar making process. Cigar factories are not generally high-tech operations, but this one takes it to an extreme. When asked if he uses a draw-testing machine to check his cigars for tightness, Reyes offers a dismissive sneer: he judges it by the weight of the cigar in his hand. A scale meant for finding over- and under-filled cigars sits on a shelf, literally gathering dust. This is also the only modern factory I have ever seen that employs a lector to read news and fiction to the workers, an old Cuban tradition long ago supplanted in most places by radios and piped-in music. Reyes customarily inspects the day's work after the factory has closed, working into the wee hours of the morning. His scrutiny is legendary, as are stories about rollers coming in the next morning to find the previous day's entire output rejected. "I¹m tough," Reyes sheepishly admits, "but I had to learn the hard way. Sometimes people come in with their own style. I tell them, â??leave your style at home.' It's my way or no way." With a sly smile, he slides his finger across his throat. and the message is as clear as Donald Trump's infamous phrase on "The Apprentice." Conversely, talent and discipline is rewarded with longevity; many of Reyes' workers have been here almost 20 years. And Rolando Reyes seems determined to outlast all of them. "I'll retire," he says, "when I'm dead."The Globe Trotter
The flag of Honduras flies proudly over the sprawling headquarters of HATSA (Honduran American Tobacco, S.A.) as, bathed in the mild midday sun, I greet Daniel NuZez. One of the most well traveled men in the cigar business, NuZez has arrived from business in Santiago, Dominican Republic and Honduras's Talanga Valley to show me General Cigar's newest acquisition. (A few months later, his dedication and frequent flier miles would be amply rewarded, when he is named president and chief operating officer of the company.) One of Danlí's largest cigar factories, the building had belonged to UST, who used it to manufacture the flagship brands of U.S. Cigar Sales: Don Tomas, Astral, Vega Talanga, and Helix. General's parent company Swedish Match acquired U.S. Cigar in 2004, gaining the brands, this factory, and the farming operation in the Talanga Valley. NuZez demonstrates not only General Cigar's dedication to preserving the U.S. Cigar brands, but in keeping their production consistent. "Fundamentally, we don't change a process unless there is a good reason for it," NuZez explains. "I believe that in tobacco and cigars there is always something to learn from others who do things in a different way. It's a learning curve that never ends." Proving that assertion, the rolling floor is divided (pretty much right down the middle) between workers who work exclusively on U.S. Cigar brands and those who work exclusively on the HATSA brands that migrated here from General's more well-known plant in Cofradia, Punch, Hoyo de Monterrey, and Sancho Panza. Together, the factories employ about 1,300 people and turn out about 100,000 cigars per day.
General Cigar's commitment to Honduras has also become evident on the growing end of the business. The Talanga Valley farm lies fallow this year, as the U.S. Cigar takeover brought with it a large tobacco inventory, but the other growing operation, in the San Agustin valley, has played a major role in some of the company's recent cigar launches. "San Agustin is parallel to Jalapa [Nicaragua]," NuZez points out. "It is a very unique, small valley, with a rain forest climate and very special soil. I find the tobacco grown there to be very attractive." So attractive, in fact, that it has been put into service as wrapper on several highly praised new cigars: Excalibur Royal Sterling, Excalibur Dark Knight, Punch Gran Puro, Partagas Spanish Rosado, and Partagas Cifuentes Blend (the latter two made in the Dominican Republic). With NuZez now in the top spot, cigar smokers may be seeing more of the leaf of San Agustin.
The Colombian Connection
A spectacular sunset is painting the summits of the mountain range that looms majestically on the horizon over the GR Tabacaleras Unidas factory as I arrive for a late afternoon visit. GR is for Guillermo Rico, a veteran cigarmaker from Colombia who came here with his son George in 1997 to establish La Perla HondureZa, their original facility. About two years later, the father-son team purchased the land and buildings here and forged their own brand, STC Cigars, makers of the Gran Habano, which made an impressive debut in the U.S. in 2002.
The Ricos also grow tobacco in Costa Rica, Nicaragua's Jalapa Valley, and in their native Colombia, but chose Honduras as their manufacturing center because, according to Guillermo, "the manual labor here is better. The people here are well-trained." Seasoned cigar rollers are vital, after all, when a factory is charged with creating cigars using traditional, more time-consuming Cuban methods. "You've noticed our cigars are heavier than a lot of others," George points out, and indeed I had. Now I see the reason: instead of taking a pile of leaf and rolling it all at once, the rollers use the more painstaking method of rolling one leaf at a time, rolling another around it, and building the cigar outward. This is a method that not only gives the finished cigar more heft, it largely eliminates "plugs" in the roll that cause a tough draw. "It's more time-consuming and requires more labor and wages," says George, "but it's the old Cuban style." In a nod to their heritage, there is also a smattering of Colombian leaf in some of the blends.
Work inside the factory is winding down, but the work outside, by welders, electricians, and construction laborers, is in full swing, diligently carrying out the Ricos' plans for an expansion of the operation in the near future. As I depart with samples of the company's newest release, Gran Habano VL ("Very Limited," with Nicaraguan and Costa Rican filler and Corojo and sun-grown maduro wrapper), I take a last glance at the factory; it should be substantially larger the next time I see it.
The Garden Entrepreneur
An even younger Honduran cigar brand had its genesis in 2002, when Texas-based landscape designer Bill Makens toured the country, checking out colonial gardens and architecture around the capital, and in his words, "trying to buy a cigar." Informed by a local that the true heart of cigar manufacturing was in Danlí, he made a special side trip, a mission, to track down someone who could make him a good cigar. "You can call it fate or destiny," he says now, "but I came across a man who happened to be running a small cigar factory." The man was Juan Benigno Valdes, who quickly developed a bond with the inquisitive American, and eventually a cigar brand, Flor de Jardín ("Garden Flower," a reference to Makens's other business, designing English gardens). To create the brand, a Honduran/Nicaraguan filler blend, available in Ecuadorian natural or Nicaraguan maduro wrappers, Valdes employs less than 20 people at the factory, developing about 5,000 cigars a month, sold mostly in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and slowly expanding northward into other markets. The slow pace agrees with Makens, who is thrilled to be in the business. "In any business it's hard to find people that you really have such a level of trust," he says of his partner, Valdes. "Juan and his family are such genuine people. We're a small company, and we need to do everything right, and that means a commitment to quality over quantity."
A Rose Among the Ruins
After several days in Danlí, the scenery on the way to Santa Rosa de Copan is an eye-opening experience, the kind of mountainous, tropical, elemental beauty that takes your breath away. The Flor de Copan factory, Honduras headquarters of the globe-spanning tobacco manufacturer Altadis U.S.A., is located in the midst of it, within a few hours, drive of the famous Mayan ruins that draw tourists to the region every year.
Tourism is much more common here than in Danlí, but cigar making is still a cornerstone of the economy. Joe Maldonado, Altadis's brand manager of premium cigars, and Bob Sancton, manager of product development, have flown from the company's offices in Fort Lauderdale to guide me through a typical day at this modern, well-equipped cigar-making complex. Altadis (then known as Consolidated) started operating out of an older, smaller facility in 1997, eventually moving into the current larger one in 1999. Production here has grown dramatically as Altadis has come out with both barrels introducing new cigars, like Saint Luis Rey, Gispert, Flor de Copan, and Maria Guerrero, in addition to the Don Melo and Santa Rosa brands that had already been made here. A Gispert Maduro is slated to be released soon. This factory has also been contracted to do some fairly high-profile private labels, namely La Aroma de Cuba for Ashton and the new Peterson cigars. By late afternoon, the workforce of nearly 1,000 has dwindled, but the place still runs with a noticeable sense of energy and efficiency, an Altadis trademark.
In one corner of the large rolling room sits the "smoking table." As Maldonado explains it to me, it is the site where every morning at around 8:00 a.m., a group of qualified blenders and tasters sits down to sample cigars, discussing blends, flavors, aroma, and quality of construction. My hosts from Florida and I sit down with Jorge Portillo, the factory's general manager, and a handful of others as the workday winds down. Over steamy cups of Cuban café, we light up prototypes of the Quintero, another old Cuban brand that the company is resurrecting here at the Flor de Copan factory. Sancton, the man behind the packaging for many of Altadis's recent releases, shows me the alluring band art for the new cigar alongside the original Cuban art. Today's Quintero girl looks a tad more well-endowed than the original. "Changing times," Sancton says impishly. "Sex sells." He's right, of course, but judging by the sample I smoked, this cigar tastes good enough to sell even if an aardvark were on the band.
The Other Padrón
The sky is overcast and lukewarm rain is drizzling on the roads and mountains as I begin the last leg of the cigar factory tour, to the industrial town of Cofradia, just outside Honduras's second-largest city, San Pedro Sula. Here lies the factory perhaps most associated with Honduran smokes, still known to many as Villazon, but more correctly referred to as the other branch of General Cigar's HATSA operation.
I am greeted at the gate by Marco Lean, the plant's operations manager, who has worked here since 1985, overseeing production planning, shipping, and inventory management. This factory was established in 1980 as an extension of the original Villazon factory in Danlí, founded in 1970 by original owners Frank Llaneza, Danny Blumenthal, Johnny Oliva, Cesar Lopez, Edgardo Dumas, and the man who is currently vice president of HATSA, Estelo Padrón. The surname is assuredly familiar to premium cigar enthusiasts; his brother Jose Orlando Padrón is the founder of the prestigious boutique brand Padrón Cigars, and Estelo is further proof that a magic touch with tobacco runs in the family's bloodline. He's been in his current position since 1980, and has had a major hand in creating most all the cigar brands that General produces in Honduras. General became the owners in 1996, acquiring Villazon's famous Cuban-pedigreed brands: Punch, Hoyo de Monterrey, Sancho Panza, and Excalibur. "50 percent of our overall premium cigar production comes from Honduras," says Marco Lean, as we tour the squeaky-clean facility. Asked if the acquisition of the UST plant in Danlí has affected production here, he quickly counters, "The amount of cigars we're making here is unchanged."
And while the tobacco processing has moved to Danlí, an impressive box-making operation is still going strong in Cofradia. I walk with Padrón and Lean past a bank of cages, hearing the cacophonous clucking of chickens (Padrón raises fighting cocks when he is not developing new cigar blends). Eventually this is drowned out by the tapping of mallets, the whine of sanding wheels, and the buzz of jigsaws, as diligent workers mass-produce the wooden boxes that provide so much distinction to the factory's cigars, like the Punch Gran Puro, General Cigar's first all-Honduran cigar, made exclusively here in Cofradia. "Punch Gran Puro was a hit right out of the gate," claims Lean, adding that there are no immediate plans to create other Honduran puros, but it's certainly not out of the question. With the creative mind of Estelo Padrón calling the shots on new blends, it's always best to expect further experimentation.
And for Honduras's cigars, it is wise to expect even greater heights of consistent quality. With so many of the cigar world's most legendary figures (and some of their most talented protegés) taking a personal hand, it is all but assured. Those expatriated Americans that Buffett sang about are not only coming here for fun in the tropical sun; they're also coming for excellent cigars.
