Bulletin Board 40
Life advice from our cigar columnist, an ode to European airport sandwiches and the new Wm Brown bandana collab
THE LATEST WM BROWN COLLAB
Bandanas are tricky. Great in theory, but, if their design is either too rugged or too dandyish, you can end up looking like an aspiring Yellowstone extra or a Lord Byron wannabe. The size has to be right too, which for me means larger than the OG American bandana. If it’s too small, it can’t be tucked into a collar, so I’m fighting the exposed wing factor, but I also don’t want it to be too big—because I don’t like to see the fabric bulk under clothes.
Over the course of the last year I’ve been working on a bandana of my own with the team at Serà Fine Silk in Italy. I decided to go pretty traditional with an indigo-blue and a deep red—colorways that have a certain American western flair, as does its vintage-inspired paisley pattern. But its fabric—a luxurious blending of cotton and silk (the latter a benefit of its Como-based maker) reads matte, not a shiny silky finish, which makes it feel really special without drawing too much attention to itself. Size-wise, I really thought alot about this, and we ended up with a roughly 60x60 cm square.
For any guys still on the fence about whether or not you can pull it off, just think of it as a functional object—your neck gets cold, and this is a little extra layer of insulation (if it happens to be cotton and silk, then so much the better). Typically I will tie mine around my neck, or I’ll drape it around (untied), and then tuck it into whatever shirt or knit I’m wearing. This makes a nice, nonchalant alternative to the necktie, when wearing a jacket, or even a cardigan, worn with an open shirt or polo.
YOU SHOULD MEET
If you’ve been reading Wm Brown in print, you’ll know the name Aaron Sigmond. Since the very first issue in 2018, “Sig” has been dispensing smoke-wreathed wisdom as the author of our “Smoking Section” column. Prolific as it’s been, the recurring feature represents just a slice of Sig’s cigar-centric writing, which has been ongoing for 30 years and may soon reach its apogee in the form of CIGARS: a Biography, a 416-page glossy tome that’s due out in March from Mad Dash Press and available for pre-order now. On the eve of its publication, we felt that now was as good a time as any to submit Sig to our questionnaire. —Eric Twardzik
What do you do, and how did you get started?
I am an author. Mostly. However, I also do quite a bit of consulting. Vague. Every undertaking is different, but all center on marketing initiatives and special projects. As a writer my path was linear: I was editor of my middle school newspaper; I wrote the odd piece for my high school paper (wasn’t a fan of the faculty advisor); and then I was on staff at my college paper, where I had a remarkably brief tenure as the TV critic of The Daily Trojan at USC. By 28 I was the founding editorial director of my first national glossy, SMOKE. To date I’ve written 21 nonfiction books including the all-new CIGARS: A Biography, as well as five children’s books.
Where did you grow up?
Most presume that I am a native New Yorker (like my father, wife and daughter), and while it’s true that I’ve lived in Manhattan longer than any other place, I was born and raised in Los Angeles.
First car?
1982 Intermeccanica Mustang 5.0-liter Cabriolet. Black, palomino interior.
What book or movie has most shaped your perspective?
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson (no judgments, please). Then it’s a tie between two Don DeLillo novels: White Noise and Underworld.
High school soundtrack?
KROQ! The Roq of the ’80s! Pasadena/Los Angeles. From 1980 to 1990. So, high school and university. Today, almost all the same DJs and music are on Sirius XM 33 “1st Wave.” Only thing I listen to in the car.
A piece of advice that changed your life?
Dutch Mandel, my longtime publisher at Autoweek, said, after I’d sent him a particularly scathing missive, “Before you ever send an email like that to me, or anyone else, ever again—don’t! Write it, read it out loud and then delete it.” It was sound advice that I often, though not always, adhere to all these years later.
I would never sell my . . . ?
Everything has a price, I suppose, other than memories. That said, there are a few paintings and a certain vase I’d rather not part with, along with some sentimental items I would never willingly part with.
The most unusual job you’ve ever had?
Honestly, I never really had one. That said, when I was a PA for the theater and film producer Hillard “Hilly” Elkins I had a daily Devil Wears Prada–esque task: The staff worked out of the detached guest house on Hilly’s beautiful old Beverly Hills estate on the corner of Roxbury Drive and Sunset Boulevard. Every morning, I had to cross the grounds, go in the kitchen and bring up the backstairs a classic white wooden breakfast bed tray with a reading rack loaded up with the trades (Hollywood Reporter and Variety, no Deadline.com then), a fresh pack of Nat Sherman MCD cigarettes and a steaming hot French press of espresso that the maid prepared, and leave it outside his back bedroom door before scurrying back to the office.
Morning routine?
I am not a morning person per se. I’m up early, but not fully awake. So I grab my phone, look at emails, texts, IG DMs and WhatsApp messages that came in overnight, scan the news headlines, glance at the Weather Underground app and play Hay Day for a few minutes—I’m obsessed. Fifty to 100 push-ups (depends on my mood), vitamins and pills, a respectable breakfast with one cup of ginger tea and one large English breakfast tea (milk, one sugar). At my desk at 10 a.m. sharp (unless I have an outside morning meeting). Light morning cigar by 10:05.
A small habit that’s made a big difference in your life?
Weather permitting, daily long afternoon walks (clears the head after a busy day), or those push-ups. Both maintain discipline.
Who’s your hero?
I will paraphrase Proust: “Never meet your heroes. They’ll surely disappoint.” Hero worship isn’t for me. There are many I deeply admire, respect and love. But that’s not the same.
Daily uniform?
When working out of the home office: either a James Perse T-shirt paired with Sunspel loopback sweatpants, or Lacoste Polo and Ralph Lauren Chinos (for Zooms). If I have outside meetings: Turnbull & Asser shirt, Duca Sartoria blazer, RRL jeans and Prada sneakers.
A chance meeting that changed your life?
So many, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I am a strong believer that you make your own luck, but there is no discounting being at the right place at the right time.
Favorite collection? And how did that come about?
I am, by nature, a compulsive collector of many things. That said, it will come as little surprise that being a bibliophile is my favorite obsession. George Pan Cosmatos, the Greek-Italian film director and screenwriter (of Rambo: First Blood Part II and Tombstone fame), who was a fellow cigar fiend, is the one who first got me seriously interested in books as collectibles.
What advice would you give your younger self?
“When in doubt, scream and shout” is categorically never, ever the best tactic. Or, as a German proverb goes, “The best answer to anger is silence.” I don’t always obey either, but I should have when I was young, and occasionally still need to be reminded of it now.
Current vice?
Cognac has taken center stage of late. It’s almost always wine, cigars and Cognac. By my early twenties, I was a dedicated Charente eau-de-vie enthusiast. I was part of what Henry Allen of TheWashington Post in 1991 had dubbed the “Young Fogies,” a movement of those with an atavistic interest in Cognac and cigars. My passion for Cognac stemmed in part from a fellow cigar chum who suggested a particular XO that put me on a lifelong path: Delamain Pale & Dry. To this day, you’ll always find a bottle on my home bar cart—along with many, many others.
THE ENDORSEMENT
This week, the Wm Brown team endorses that unsung travel companion: the European airport sandwich.
Earlier this month, I found myself stranded at the Rochester International Airport for 18 hours following a combination of bad weather diversion and an aircraft mechanical issue. As I waited for the latter to be resolved, I stared down my eating options with dismay: a Subway, a Dunkin’ and a very sad-looking “Taste of Rochester” (I am not against a garbage plate in theory, but this was not where I was going to have my first).
As I worked my way through a bone-dry burger from the aforementioned venue, my mind drifted to Italy, and not only because I was desperate to escape snow-covered Upstate New York. What I was craving was one of those stupidly simple, reasonably priced and above all actually good sandwiches you find below glass counters at every Italian airport or railway station. You know the type: a fluffy focaccia or ciabatta stuffed with two ingredients at most, perhaps mortadella with runny burrata or thick-cut salami and provolone.
While never the type of thing that ends up on my Instagram or gets related to friends and family at the end of the trip, these mass-transit hand-helds have kept my appetite in check on trains from Milan to Bologna or in the immediate aftermath of a red eye to Rome. Washed down with a quick espresso or a Campari-soda depending on the time of day, they’re just one more facet of what makes daily life in Italy seem so charming to a visitor like me. —ET
There is seldom anything good to eat when I am travelling through a US airport. Yes there are a few exceptions: Chicago-style hot dogs at O’Hare, Cuban food at Miami International and a pre-flight shrimp cocktail (and martini) at Bobby Van’s in terminal 8 at JFK (RIP, sadly), and the new Delta One or Amex Platinum lounges at JFK—but generally speaking it is a wasteland!
Not so in the Eurozone, where the airports, train stations and highways (Autogrill!) offer some of the best food I have ever had anywhere. Italy, Spain, Turkey, Germany, the Netherlands—the list goes on. The sandwich options in Italy alone make my head spin, even if I usually just order a toast (a pressed grilled cheese with ham on white bread or focaccia). In the Rome Fiumicino Airport at baggage claim, there is a bar that serves the most perfect coffee as well as a full offering of sandwiches. It’s the only time I want the bags to take their time arriving even after a long haul US flight arrival!
I always take pictures of these European food offerings, or call Yolanda or Clara just to tell them what I have seen running through the airport or train station–pretzels, mounds of mortadella, anchovies, pizza, sausages, buffalo mozzarella, smoked fish, draft beers–the list is endless! Besides the great quality of the product, the people serving it seem to have a sense of pride, and usually it’s not that expensive considering the usual inflated pricing of an airport…but in these cases—take my money! Why can’t we figure this out? Generally, what I see in the US is all crap. If you have any tips or suggestions to prove me wrong, name them in the comments and please don’t say Chick-Fil-A! —MH
I had a business trip in 2012 that took me from Milan on a road trip through Switzerland and into Germany. One of the things I still talk about to this day is the selection and quality of the food and coffee in the airports and highway rest stops. As one who regularly travels the airports and highways of the USA I often wonder why it is that we fall so short in this category.
I remember the first time I drove through Switzerland to Italy. After spending the night in Switzerland I was really craving a great Italian espresso. Not knowing what to expect, I pulled into the first Autogrill I’d ever been to. Thinking “it’s better than nothing, I guess”, since we still had a 2 hour drive ahead of us.
But boy did I underestimate the Italian “highway espresso”! It was hands down one of the best espresso’s I’ve ever had! And the Nutella filled cornetto I had with it was the cherry on top.
I’m already looking forward to drink my first Italian espresso of the summer at an Autogrill in a couple of months!