Tony P.
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Cornell & Diehl - Haunted Bookshop
The best C&D burley.
I almost titled this review “the best C&D tobacco” but there are simply too many blends available to definitively say that. But as far as the regular burley offerings go, this is my solid gold winner. Everything I love about burley tobacco — the roasted nut notes, the faint chocolatey notes — are present in this blend. But in addition to what I love it brings other character into the fold. There’s an “old” tasting quality to this tobacco. And I don’t mean that in a negative way. It’s not stale or harsh or off-putting. But there’s a charming old newspaper note. There’s the faintest hint of peppercorns. Each bowl unfolds on your palate like chapters in a story. And it just continues to improve as you continue to smoke it. I love this blend, it checks so many boxes for me and I love to return to it often. If you like burley tobacco and want to experience what is, in my opinion, the best that C&D offers to burley tobacco? Haunted Bookshop is the finest.

Cornell & Diehl - Old Joe Krantz
Leather and dirt.
Wow. It’s Burley, alright, but dark, earthy, and almost leathery. Maybe even a little rubbery. I’m getting straight-up soil from this tobacco. Unlike a lot of Burley blends, there isn’t much sweetness or nuttiness here. Instead, it’s leather and earth from the start. There’s also a peppery quality on the retrohale that I’m assuming is the Perique making itself known. But the dominant flavor is unmistakably leather. I taste leather. A lot of leather. This is probably going to be a very pleasant tobacco for someone whose palate is better suited to this sort of thing. For me, though, it’s a little rough. Not offensive, exactly, it just has some serious attitude. This is a bold one.

Cornell & Diehl - Pegasus
Pretty decent.
A little bready, a little nutty, and pleasantly earthy without becoming offensive. Pegasus immediately struck me as something very “old-school codger.” I can almost picture an old pipe smoker enjoying this in a classic American diner in the 1930s or ’40s after a breakfast of eggs and bacon, with a black cup of percolated coffee sitting beside him. It has that kind of old-school Americana character. There’s a faint sweetness that develops down the bowl, occasionally reminding me of bittersweet chocolate chips. Overall, though, Pegasus is remarkably consistent — and fairly one-dimensional — from beginning to end. At times I get a flavor that reminds me of C&D’s Briar Fox, which I assume comes from the Burley component. The difference is that Pegasus is considerably more pleasant to my palate. Briar Fox struck me as terribly flat and boring, whereas Pegasus at least has some character. Bob Runowski’s review/explanation recommended smoking this in a deep, narrow bowl, so I loaded it into a Lovat with a relatively taller bowl. It behaved nicely enough and smoked without any real issues. Runowski also said he was attempting to recreate something reminiscent of “Bond Street” with Pegasus. Bond Street isn’t a blend I’ve ever tried, so unfortunately I have no frame of reference for how successful that recreation or reinterpretation is. All I can say is that Pegasus definitely tastes like something good from another era.

Cornell & Diehl - Autumn Evening
I get the hype
Before trying Autumn Evening, the only C&D aromatic I had smoked before was Nutty Irishman. I enjoyed Nutty Irishman well enough — it was tasty and pleasant — but it didn’t click for me what made people so enthusiastic about C&D aromatics. Autumn Evening showed me what I was missing out on. This blend delivers an absolutely wonderful flavor and aroma that is pure “cozy vibes,” as the younger generations might say. I can imagine this being fantastic on a cool autumn morning with a cup of coffee, on an evening hike, or sitting around a bonfire as the weather starts to turn cold. It really does taste like fall. The topping is sweet and flavorful without becoming cloying or overwhelming. More importantly, I still feel like I’m smoking quality tobacco rather than simply smoking flavored smoke. The tobacco remains present underneath all the topping, which makes the whole experience considerably more satisfying. The room note is equally pleasant and would be a great choice around mixed company. I can’t imagine any people finding this offensive at all. It’s enjoyable from beginning to end, and I can absolutely understand why aromatic smokers rave about it. For someone like me who only smokes aromatics occasionally, it probably isn’t going to become a daily driver, but I could absolutely see myself buying another batch of this and keeping it around for those cool fall days when the mood strikes.

Cornell & Diehl - Bob Bushman
Better Than You’d Expect
The website describes Bob Bushman as a blend in which “hints of coconut and other tropical fruits” meld into a mixture evocative of the Caribbean. I blind\-bought an ounce because I couldn’t find much information about it, so I was particularly curious to see what I was getting. Well… I’m detecting absolutely none of that. I get no coconut, fruit, or topping whatsoever. The tobacco also arrived noticeably dry, so perhaps that has something to do with the absence of those flavors. It’s possible some of the aromatic character has simply faded in transport maybe. Oddly enough, though, the absence of those promised flavors isn’t bothering me at all. Component\-wise, this may actually be the best C&D tobacco I’ve smoked so far. The underlying tobacco is genuinely enjoyable, and even the room note is surprisingly pleasant. Based purely on the tobacco itself, I’d put this tobacco down as a genuinely solid option. I don’t know whether I’m missing something crucial because of the dryness or whether this is simply what Bob Bushman tastes like to me\. Either way, this was a pleasant blind\-buy surprise. I went in expecting a tropical aromatic and instead found a tobacco\-forward blend categorized as an aromatic that I actually really enjoyed because it tastes like tobacco.

Cornell & Diehl - Briar Fox 2oz
Meh.
I kept waiting for this blend to become something… and it just never did. Briar Fox isn’t offensive. It’s not harsh, it doesn’t bite, and there’s nothing technically wrong with it. It’s just incredibly underwhelming. Every bowl left me with the same reaction: “That’s it?” The burley is… fine. The Virginia is… fine. The overall flavor is… a little flat. That’s really the problem. Nothing stands out. Nothing grabs your attention. It never develops into anything memorable. It’s just a bowl of tobacco that exists. What really hurts this blend is the reputation it’s built online. With the amount of praise it gets, I expected something rich, nutty, earthy, or at least distinctive. Instead, I got a very average smoke that I’d struggle to pick out of a lineup. Life’s too short, and there are too many genuinely great blends out there, for me to spend time chasing whatever magic other people seem to find in Briar Fox. I’d rather reach for literally anything else.

Cornell & Diehl - Winchester
The hardware store
On its own, Winchester tastes weirdly… familiar. Like unsweetened iced tea. Not bad iced tea either. Dry, earthy, faintly tannic, and almost dusty in a way that somehow works. It’s got this old-time Americana thing happening. The smell takes me back to the little midwestern farm town I grew up in. Specifically, when my grandpa would take me with him to the family-owned hardware store. It smells like that hardware store. I respect it more than I actively crave it. By itself, I can only smoke it when I’m specifically in the mood for that flavor profile. It’s honest tobacco. No fireworks. No syrup. No casino lights. Just leaf standing there in suspenders with its arms crossed going, “Take it or leave it, pal.” But then I mixed it with my pouch of good ol’ Half & Half. For me, that unlocked it. Something about Winchester’s dry tea-like leafy flavor colliding with Half & Half’s “bright and burley” suddenly turns both blends into something really interesting. The rough edges round out, the sweetness lands better, and the whole thing starts tasting like a story with multiple chapters instead of one. That mixture? Absolute home run. Genuinely fantastic. So Winchester ends up in this strange category for me:
A blend I don’t necessarily want alone very often… but one I’m very glad exists.

Peterson - Sweet Killarney 50g
Sweet Tonguebitey
This stuff was half price at the local B&M. Now I know why. No amount of drying or slower cadence can fix this one. As far as I can tell there are exactly two reasons to buy this blend. 1. You want to quit pipe smoking. 2. You’ve really wanted to see what it’s like to live with second degree burns on your tongue. It’s a skip for me.

Carter Hall - Carter Hall 14oz
Legendary for a Reason
Carter Hall is proof you don’t need complexity to deliver something genuinely great. It’s your favorite pair of broken-in jeans. The sun-faded ball cap you’ll never throw away. The fishing spot you don’t tell anyone about. The economy car with 325,000 miles that still starts on the first turn like it’s got something to prove. That’s Carter Hall. Old reliable. Crack open the taupe tub and you get a soft, familiar welcome: the scent of cocoa powder up front, with just the faintest suggestion of bourbon sweetness hanging in the background. Nothing loud, nothing artificial. Just… right. Leave it in the tub or jar it up, doesn’t matter, it somehow holds that perfect, “why-can’t-every-blend-be-like-this” moisture indefinitely. Relights? Rare to nonexistent. Tongue bite? Not in this lifetime. Cool, smooth, lightly sweet, and consistent from match to heel? Every single time. At the start of the bowl, there’s a gentle cocoa note if you sip it. The bourbon mostly disappears, but what remains is a quiet, nutty sweetness that never tries too hard. As you work your way down, it deepens just slightly, maybe a touch darker, almost flirting with a mild cigar-like edge, but don’t expect a grand performance. Carter Hall isn’t here to evolve. It’s here to deliver. And it does. Every. Time. If you’re chasing complexity, layers, and something that demands your full attention, this isn’t that blend. But if what you want is a dependable companion, something you can pack without thinking, light without fuss, and enjoy without effort, this is about as good as it gets. I love this stuff. Completely, unapologetically. And I get why it’s lasted this long, why it still has a place, and why it probably always will. But if the day ever comes when it’s on the chopping block, I’d appreciate a heads-up. I’ve got some jars to fill and a bunker to prepare.

Peterson - Sherlock Holmes 50g
The Case of the Tart and Tangy Blend
It is with no small degree of anticipation that I record the particulars of a certain tobacco, one which bears the distinguished name of “my dear friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” As an admirer of the stories and the character, and as a comparatively inexperienced pipe smoker, I approached the matter with equal parts enthusiasm and curiosity. Imagine, then, my surprise upon first breaking the seal. For where I had expected the “strong, dark shag” so often favored by Holmes in the Baker Street sitting room, I instead encountered a mixture of far lighter character — strands of blonde and toasted brown leaf, accompanied by a tin note redolent of citrus peel and damp hay after a summer rain. It was, I confess, not at all what I had been led to anticipate. Holmes himself, were he present, might have arched an eyebrow at such a discrepancy. Nevertheless, I resolved to proceed. Even after a patient half-hour of drying, the tobacco retained a notable moisture, requiring a certain persistence of flame to maintain. Upon lighting, I was struck first by a tartness that was sharp and insistent, akin to grapefruit, before it gave way, deeper into the bowl, to a curious sourness not unlike unripe mango. This progression, while intriguing, remained largely consistent over several weeks of repeated trials, though time did succeed in softening some of its more abrasive edges. “It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data,” Holmes has once remarked. And so I gathered mine diligently. My conclusion, however, is a nuanced one. The blend is by no means unpleasant — indeed, there are moments where it proves quite agreeable, particularly when smoked in a pipe of larger bowl (a stout volcano, in my case), which seems to encourage a more measured and balanced expression of its character. And yet… It fails, in some ineffable way, to summon the spirit of the man whose name it bears. One does not, while smoking it, feel transported to the familiar comforts of 221B Baker Street… no glow of the hearth, no low murmur of Victorian London traffic beyond the window, no sense that Holmes himself might, in a moment of abstraction, reach for the tobacco tin. The illusion does not hold. I cannot help but think the blend might have been more aptly named for its creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle than its inspiration. It’s interesting, certainly, but lacking that singular, incisive character one associates with Holmes himself. Would I procure it again? Quite possibly. But I should, I think, follow a more patient course, cellaring it for a time, allowing it to mature and perhaps reveal qualities not immediately apparent. For as in all matters of investigation, it is often the passage of time that brings the clearest understanding.

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