It is with deep sorrow that I share some sad news. Craig Tarler, beloved friend and colleague, passed from this earth today at the age of 82. I’ve spent much of the day in contemplation, trying to figure out how to process this, and much of the evening drinking in a feeble attempt to dull the sharp edge of loss. None of it has worked, and I’m having a hard time finding words.

Our relationship over the past 14 years has been more than just business, and more than just friendship. He and Patty have been very much like family to me. We’ve shared a great deal through those years, have been through some great times together, and some rough ones. We’ve collaborated on blends, and helped each other with business decisions. We’ve laughed a lot, and endured each other’s bad jokes. We’ve talked politics and religion (things you can only comfortably discuss with those you know will forgive you afterwards), concocted schemes, solved the world’s problems, fought like cats and dogs, shared our dreams, and all the other things friends and families do when they know it’s safe to do so. When I was younger, an overly enthusiastic young bull wanting to charge down the hill, he taught me to slow down a little, walk down and “get ‘em all.” (Those who knew him may recognize the punch line from one of his favourite jokes.) I am indebted to him for all the help he’s freely given over the years, in business, and in life. He could be a real curmudgeon at times, but he always had a heart of gold, and I will miss him deeply.

Time will soothe the sting, and business will continue under the guidance of Craig and Patty’s son Chris, but I will always miss those morning phone calls. “Hi, Greg. It’s Craig.”

Requiescat in pace, old friend. May your star shine brightly, and your pipe always be sweet.

I originally wrote this article for the now long out of print Pipe Friendly Magazine, where it appeared in Vol. 5 No. 4 (1999). I later republished it in the Essays section of my site, and have subsequently migrated it here to the Chronicles for easier access and searchability. -glp

For years, I’ve collected estate pipes, appreciating their history, the value they represent, and lamenting the fact that some of the old marques are just no longer of the same quality they once were. Generally, I’ve had excellent luck bringing old pipes back to life, restoring them to their former aesthetic beauty, and enjoying some wonderful smokes in them. Sometimes, though, a pipe that can be made beautiful may not end up being a good smoke. There are myriad reasons for this, some having to do with the way the pipe was cared for by its prior owner. If the shank is coated with a thick residue of tars, if the bowl is soured, if the cake is too think, too spongy, the pipe won’t smoke well. Fortunately, these afflictions are easy to remedy with the proper application of some alcohol, some pipe cleaners, and a good reaming.

Other times, it’s the memory of the previous owner’s tobacco that lingers in the pipe, invading the bliss of our own favored smoke, rattling its chains and howling, each bowl reminding us that the ghost of something else is there, haunting our pipe. This same thing can happen any time when we change from one style of tobacco to another, especially from a heavily flavored aromatic tobacco to a more natural English style blend. The result can be a less-than-harmonious relationship with a briar.

After years of experimentation, I have come up with a promising method for freshening up those old briars, almost to their virgin state.

This began when someone on a newsgroup expressed concern about the smell of mothballs in an antique pipe he had recently acquired. After some thought, I recommended activated charcoal as the medium of reform. Heat the bowl, just a little, I told him, and fill it with activated charcoal. It was just a thought, just an idea, but success was reported! This became the seed of a more aggressive approach.

My own predilection for unflavored tobaccos is well known. To my tastes, once a pipe has been tainted with Chocolate Cherry Jubilee, Raspberry Delight, Vanilla Mango Swirl, or some such tobacco better suited to being sprinkled over ice cream than burned in a pipe, it is all but hopeless. The wood holds on to those flavors and aromas with a death grip that I have never been able to break, despite years of experimentation with a variety of methods, both conventional and unorthodox. Bowls have been filled with salt and alcohol, or packed with strong tobaccos and left to sit for weeks in a warm corner of the room. Even reaming the cake back to bare wood and swabbing with countless alcohol soaked pipe cleaners, while muttering arcane incantations under the full moon has never rewarded me with complete success.

The fact is that every thing I’ve tried has resulted in some improvement leaving me with the hope that the next bowl will be the one that is finally free from possession by the ghost, but about half way through the smoke, the chains always seem to rattle again. Even after several years of smoking one particular pipe somewhat frequently, it still shows signs of its prior Vanilla-loving owner. (There’s nothing inferior about aromatic tobaccos, but they do have the tenacity of a Leopard Gecko, and do not belong in MY pipe, or in any pipe that is destined to become MY pipe!)

Any strong tobacco leaves its signature in a pipe. Latakia and Perique are notorious, indeed, but so are full bodied Virginias, and those topped with additional flavorings are particularly pervasive. However, in my experience, natural tobaccos, even Latakia, will always smoke out of a pipe within a dozen bowls or so. Not so most heavily flavored aromatics!

The aromatic components of natural tobaccos are more volatile than those of artificially flavored aromatics, and are more easily smoked out of the pipe. Heavily cased aromatics, on the other hand, seem to permeate farther in to the cake and even into the structure of the wood itself, making eradication problematic. I’ve had pipes that were so thoroughly saturated with aromatic components, that they were easily detectable on the outside of the bowl, once the pipe was warm from smoking.

Why does this happen? As a pipe is smoked, the heating of the wood causes the small capillaries to open, and moisture, one of the byproducts of combustion, is wicked away into the pores of the wood. Briar, and indeed all wood, is more absorbent when warm than when cool. I believe this is why most techniques to date make so little difference; in order to reverse the process, the wood must be heated to a temperature at least approaching that attained while smoking. This would both open the “pores,” and volatilize the organic esters that are responsible for aroma and flavor. Further, something must be present to absorb, or adsorb, the volatile compounds that are liberated. Of course, care must be taken not to damage the briar in any way.

At least, that’s the theory.

So, How to Fix It?

I have a lovely old GBD from which I had never been able to get a good smoke. Dozens of bowls of very full Latakia mixtures were smoked, but years of Fruit Loops had left an apparently indelible mark on the pipe’s flavor. Raspberry and Latakia are poor bedfellows. Ever tenacious, I continued on my quest for a way to banish the demon. Even considering the possibility that something could go horribly wrong, sacrificing this pipe to science seemed a relatively small price to pay if the result was a method that actually works. With this in mind, I proceeded with my experimentation.

With stalwart determination, I reamed the pipe almost back to bare wood, pre-heated my electric oven to 220°F, and turned it off. After removing the pipe’s stem, I filled the bowl with activated charcoal pellets purchased from the local aquarium supply shop. Placing the pipe on a soft towel in the oven, I left it to sit while the oven cooled - about an hour. The first “sniff test” showed some improvement, but was not 100% successful. I thought, perhaps, the compounds were somehow migrating back into the wood as it cooled.

I reheated the oven, placed fresh charcoal in the bowl, and tried again, this time removing the pipe after about 30 minutes. No perceptible difference was detected from the first experiment.

A couple of conversations with Trever Talbert, friend, pipesmith extraordinaire, and constant experimenter with briar, provided an important piece of information; briar heats very slowly. He explained that it could take several hours for a piece of briar’s temperature gradient to reach equilibrium with the ambient temperature. Clearly, my pipe’s short stint in the Sauna was insufficient to do the job.

I reheated the oven, this time setting the thermostat to 180°F, knowing from my tests that the temperature in my empty oven would vary between about 180°F and a bit over 200°F, well below the temperature at which the briar would scorch. Stemless and empty, I placed the bowl on its towel in the oven, on the upper rack, far away from the source of radiant heat, where it would be left to sit for three hours.

After removing the now hot pipe, I filled the bowl with the activated charcoal, and placed it back in the oven for an additional three hours. When the pipe was finally removed, and emptied of the charcoal, there was absolutely no trace of its prior “scent.” Could this be success? The proof of the method would be in the smoking.

After allowing the pipe to cool overnight, the stem was refitted, the bowl filled with a favored blend, delicate enough to allow any vestigial flavors from the pipe to come through clearly. I sat down to experience the fruits of my labors. Success! Only at the very bottom of the bowl was a slight hint of the previous aroma, and this disappeared completely after a couple of smokes.

Pleased with this result and finding a few pipes in my collection needing similar help I went to work. One by one, in the name of science, these pipes were given new life. Even the worst of them was rendered downright pleasant tasting after a few hours in the oven.

Among a dozen experiments, there was one minor casualty - a pipe with a lacquer finish of some sort. The finish bubbled and flaked from the pipe in some spots, leaving it pockmarked and rather unattractive (read ugly). This required some minor cosmetic restoration - removing the finish, buffing the wood, and applying a nice coat of hard Carnuba wax. Overall, not a high price to pay for the wonderful positive effects of the “cure.”

On the other hand, pipes with a wax finish needed nothing but quick rubbing with a soft flannel to bring back their beautiful luster and patina.

The Caveats

Though I’ve tried this on numerous pipes, with a great deal of success, and no damage to report, there is some risk involved in the procedure. Caution is the word of the day, and it’s probably wise to start with pipes that are of little value before proceeding to those cherished high grades. Care must be taken to ensure proper control of temperature, and an accurate thermometer is required. I have only performed this procedure using an electric oven, and have no idea how the different heat and humidity characteristics of a gas oven will effect the process, or the pipe.

Obviously, the stem must be removed from the pipe before the pipe is put in the oven. Any pipe with special shank treatments must be examined on an individual basis. The heat could melt many plastics, and would likely compromise the bonds of any glue used to hold rings, bands and other adornments.

Activated charcoal comes in several forms. I’ve had good success with the pellets used in aquarium filters. The powdered form would also work, but is messier and more difficult to deal with. Another type takes the form of small crystals, which would perform similarly to the pellets.

For temperature measurements, I use a digital thermometer with a remote probe that can be left in the oven near the pipe. These can be purchased from any good kitchen supply store for about $20, and some have a settable temperature alarm. I recommend buying one of these if you are planning on experimenting with this technique.

Finally, it takes a long time for the briar to cool off, to stabilize after the treatment. Don’t try to force the stem back in too soon. If it’s tight, wait a few hours, a day, or even a few days. Don’t force it! The briar is dry, and likely more brittle than usual after this treatment. Once the stem fits as it did before the treatment, the pipe is ready to smoke.

If you decide to try this, please proceed with care, and at your own risk. Neither the original publisher nor I accept responsibility for damaged pipes! I’d love to hear of your results. Please feel free to drop me a note.

Addendum:

Bold explorer Will Webb wrote to share his experiences with this method on a couple of old Comoys that have a metal ring internal to the shank. This type of ring is present in some earlier pipes, most notably some Royals, early Grand Slams and some Virgins with the special “plumbing” fitment that Comoy developed. He was concerned about the effects of this ring on the shank during the treatment, but was pleased to report success! No damage occurred, and all is well. He has noticed that it sometimes requires several days of rest after the “cure” before he can put the stems back in, and cautions that forcing the stem is a very bad idea. Apparently, in a previous experiment with this technique, poor Will lost a pipe to a shattered shank (that’s gotta’ hurt). This time, he waited long enough for the wood to stabilize, and everything went well. His flea market finds are now favorite smokers! Thanks for the update, Will!

As I write this, I’m puffing on a Castello filled with one of the two limited edition blends I did for the 2011 NASPC show. It’s the eleventh year I’ve had the privilege of doing this, and it continues to be a real honor. Working with John on the concepts and creating the blends is always fun. But, it’s not without its pitfalls. When one of the blends is particularly exciting, at least to me, knowing there will only be a couple hundred tins of it can be a little vexing. I really like this one. Of course, I’ve got a few tins of the prototype, so it’s not like I won’t be able to enjoy it for a while, and save a tin or two for years to come. So, what’s the problem?

I never really crow about these, even when I think they’re something a little special, because all that can come of it is frustration. Only a few people - those who go to the show and are quick to pick up their tins before they sell out, or those willing to pay ridiculous prices on ebay - will have the opportunity to try them. And, if the past is any indication, some of those who do get tins won’t even smoke them. (A couple years ago, the stuff showed up at auction even before the show was over, ultimately selling for five times the show price. Absurd.)

There’s a sort of built-in disappointment factor in anything as limited as these ar. And, in this case, the lion’s share of that disappointment is mine. I really like this one. A lot. What keeps me from making more, or bringing the same blend out as a regular product? It just doesn’t seem right. Why not make some small changes? It wouldn’t be the same blend. Ah, there’s the rub.

I like this one a lot, exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything about it. It’s not that it’s the greatest blend ever created, or the richest, or the most complex, or anything like that. It’s just really good, in the way that good chocolate ice cream is really good. I have this feeling that it’s a blend I’d be slow to grow weary of, and for someone as fickle as I am, that’s quite a statement. Very few tobaccos find themselves in that category for me, either my own, or those of others. I’m just too mercurial, and I find myself envying people who can find a blend they can live with for years on end. Even my beloved Garfinkel’s Orient Express #11 couldn’t be a daily staple for me. I like to mix things up.

Of course, I could always make a batch of this for myself, and just put it away, but that really wouldn’t be much fun. The best things in life are better when shared.

Fortunately, I’ve really been enjoying Lagonda, too, and it is not limited. But, it’s just not the same thing… See? Fickle.

-glp

See, I made the decision early in my business to package my tobaccos in 2oz quantities, and later in 8oz, which is 13% more tobacco than the much more common 50g and 200g tins. I’ve stuck to my Imperial Avoirdupois guns ever since, despite some not insignificant pressure to change to Metric measures to more easily accommodate export sales. (Truthfully, internally, I’m all metric anyway, but have to convert to English measures for manufacture. It would actually be easier to just stay metric through the whole process, but that’s another story.)

The gripe, for me, comes when people start comparing prices, without actually doing the arithmetic. While a 2oz tin of one of mine might cost a bit more than a 50g tin of someone else’s, the price per gram, or per ounce, or per bowl, is often actually lower for mine. But, it’s hard to overcome perception. They’re both tins, and look to be the same size. People have become accustomed to tobacco sold in 50g, 100g and 200g quantities, so they internally assume all tobaccos are sold that way. This is borne out by the fact that I frequently see people on the net talking about “a 50g tin” of one of my blends, and, really, it drives me just a little batty. Even some retailers have advertised them as 50g, despite the fact that they are a full 2oz, and they should know better.

The fact is, packaging costs in materials and labour are the same for a 50g tin as they are for a 2oz tin, and since this is actually a significant percentage of the overall manufactured cost, I figure, why not put the extra tobacco in, and give the consumer a little better value? It actually makes sense. But, people don’t do the calculation, and then squawk because my price point is higher than some of the competition. Maybe I should just change to 50g, leave the price the same, and pocket the difference. At the end of the month, it might buy me a pound of coffee or something.

Lately, I’m seeing more 40g and 1.5oz tins showing up on the market, which will further confuse the market. Some of these end up being significantly more expensive per ounce, despite the fact that the price of the tin may appear competitive. Math shatters illusions, but people are probably just too busy, or perhaps too uninterested to take the time.

Really, when you look at it on a per bowl basis, the differences are pretty insignificant, so this is all likely academic. But, I am left to wonder, how many actually think about the price per ounce or per gram, or per bowl, and how many consider only the price of the tin when comparing? What do you think about when considering “value?” Is price, at least within reason, a consideration in your buying decision, or do you just buy what you like, and not worry about the cost? (And, don’t worry. This is not the harbinger of some impending skyrocketing of prices. As we always have, we’ll continue to hold them where they are as long as we possibly can.)

-glp

This article was originally published on 30th July, 2010, as my inaugural Out of the Ashes column for PipesMagazine.com. It is reprinted here with permission of the publisher. -glp

In the on-line pipe communities, there is often passionate conversation about the classification of blend types, and in these discussions, the most impenetrable clouds of mystery seem to swirl around those blends containing Latakia. What is an “English” mixture, and how can one be distinguished from a “Balkan” style blend? The problem is that both of these terms, despite broad usage, are somewhat ambiguous, at best, and, worse, the commonly held notions of what they mean is just plain backwards. And, yes, I’ll admit up front to being one of the early champions of this wrong-headedness. What? Read on.

It seems fairly clear that the term “Balkan” as a blend descriptor derives from the legendary Balkan Sobranie, and came into common usage as a way to describe tobaccos that are similar in character. That’s not really a problem, but, subsequent discussion of what this term might mean has led us down an entirely wrong path. A “Balkan” blend simply isn’t what it’s often said to be.

First, some background. Ernst Voges, in the Tobacco Encyclopedia, makes no reference at all to a “Balkan” style blend, but does define an English mixture as, “Pipe tobaccos with a distinctly spicy taste, produced by the addition of aromatic tobaccos (e.g. Latakia and Perique) to a base of best quality Virginia.” (123) Unfortunately, this is not much help in reaching towards any sort of disambiguation. Under “English pipe tobaccos,” we find “ Pipe tobaccos blended to the British taste, and based on flue- and fire-cured Virginia or Kentucky , sometimes also incorporating small amounts of Latakia, Louisiana or Perique, in which case they are commonly known as mixtures.” (123)

Voges goes on to discuss mixtures as, “Name given to coarse cut, shredded tobacco blends used in pipe smoking. To be distinguished from plug and bar tobaccos, which are sold in pieces, and shag and flake.” (204)

At least some parts of these definitions have traceable historical antecedents. In Dunhill’s literature, for instance, the term “Mixture” was used as early as 1910 to describe those blends which contained virginia and oriental tobaccos. (Importantly, in manufacturers’ early catalogues and pamphlets, Latakia was often lumped in with other oriental tobaccos in blend descriptions. That the noble leaf was not always specifically mentioned as a separate component does not necessarily indicate that it wasn’t included in a mixture’s formulation.)

This gives us a reasonable working notion of what a mixture is. But, until relatively recently, our British brethren wouldn’t likely have much of a clue of what we were on about if someone mentioned an “English” blend, and discussion with friends across the puddle have verified this. The term doesn’t seem to gain any international currency until Richard Carleton Hacker’s publication of The Ultimate Pipe Book in 1984, though earlier, Carl Ehwa makes some allusion to differences between English and American mixtures in his book, Pipes & Tobacco (183-184), and Milton Sherman presents similar discussions in All About Tobacco. (45-49)

So, while we might argue that “mixture” has some useful meaning, the term “English tobacco” would only denote, at least historically, any blend produced without artificial additives, chemical flavorings or humectants. Straight virginias, plus, slices, mixtures would all fall under this banner, if made according to the now defunct purity laws that once governed tobacco production in Britain. And, indeed, in the 1940s and before, even purveyors in North America seemed to be satisfied with that loose description. Companies like Wally Frank produced such blends as “English Plug Cut,” a pure tobacco comprising virginias and traditionally steamed cavendish leaf.

By the 1960s, there seems to be some commonly held distinction between “American” and “English” mixtures, the former containing burleys and flavored tobaccos, the latter adhering to the purity laws. Over the past thirty years or so, however, pipesters have come to nearly universally accept the notion that an “English mixture” is a pure tobacco mixture comprising virginias, orientals, latakia and perhaps perique. It’s as good a starting point as any.

But, what about these so-called “Balkan blends?” In my searching, I have found nothing in the literature to give this term any thrust. Though there are plenty of references to “Balkan tobaccos” in various catalogues and pamphlets, both British and American, the term has always been used to describe a component, not the mixture itself. Returning to Voges, we find, “Balkan - Bulgarian term for Djebel[1] tobaccos, i.e. those oriental tobaccos coming from mountain areas.” (25)

In fact, it wasn’t until some time in the 1990s when the neologism, “Balkan blend,” rose up from the murky waters as pipesters sought to differentiate Latakia blends that seemed more oriental-forward than English mixtures, but produced from similar components. The earliest uses of the term were found in on-line forums and chat groups on the internet. Up to that point, we had Balkan tobaccos, and we had Balkan Sobranie, a specific blend containing these tobaccos, and somewhere along the way, the name was abducted and held for ransom. Here’s where things get more challenging.

Most smokers of Latakia blends, when asked, would probably hold up that Sobranie stuff as the prototypical “Balkan blend,” and this certainly makes some sense. On the other side of the Balkan/English coin, Dunhill’s London Mixture, first created in 1928, would serve as well as the classic exemplar of an English mixture. Unfortunately, this is troublesome in any attempt to solidify our definitions, since the two blends are precisely the opposites of what we would think of them as being, given the connotations of these terms in our currently fashionable parlance; London Mixture contains relatively little virginia leaf in its makeup, and Balkan Sobranie, quite a lot!

Confused? Me, too. For years, I’ve also adhered to the popular notion that the term “Balkan” might have some meaning when referring to a type of tobacco; some way of differentiating one blending style from another, but, if things are backwards in our modern interpretations, does it really mean anything? If the quintessential “English” mixture is actually a “Balkan,” by our terms, and the “Balkan” is “English,” should we really even be using the terms?

Of course, I’m being more than a little finicky, but if the connotations of these terms are topside-down, which they clearly are, don’t they darken our understanding of what the blends they are used to describe are? Since it’s unlikely that we can easily change the way we have come to interpret them, maybe they should simply go away, or at least be accepted as interchangeable, if not completely nebulous.

For my part, I’ve decided to simply adopt the less descriptive, but more precise “Latakia mixture” in all future discussions, but, no, I’m not going to rewrite my labels.

Now that I’ve used my inaugural column to dive into the waters of controversy, all I can do is hope that I haven’t bored the readership completely to tears, and that my byline will appear again in the next issue. I’ll try not to be so pedantic in the future.

-glp