The Slow Burn: Why I Started Brolo Cigars

When I first started dreaming up Brolo Cigars, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Most good things aren’t...especially the kind that involve fire, patience, and a little bit of rebellion.

I’m not a third-generation cigar maker.

I didn’t grow up sweeping the floors of a rolling room in Estelí or packing boxes in Danlí. I’m an outsider. Just a guy who has spent decades lighting up with friends, chasing that perfect draw, and falling in love with the way a cigar can slow life down. That was the spark: a desire to create something that honored the ritual, the conversation, and the quiet camaraderie of a good smoke.

But I’ll tell you straight, romantic notions only get you so far when you’re trying to build a brand in an industry that doesn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for newcomers.

I quickly learned that sourcing cigars is not a matter of picking up the phone and placing an order. Factories in Nicaragua, Ecuador, and Honduras are busy crafting blends for established brands that have been around since before I was born. Convincing them to take a chance on someone with no track record felt a bit like knocking on the back door of a speakeasy and hoping the doorman believes your story.

Each conversation started with skepticism, and fair enough. What did I know about primings, fermentation, or filler-to-binder ratios beyond what I’d read and smoked? But I also knew what I felt. Cigars have a soul. They deserve respect. And if I were going to put my name on one, I’d better be prepared to learn everything I could from the people who’ve spent their lives perfecting this craft.

Even after finding factories willing to talk, there were more hurdles. Tobacco is heavily regulated. Importing it is a maze of paperwork and compliance. On top of that, just finding a bank in the U.S. that doesn’t slam the door in your face when you mention “tobacco” is its own special kind of frustration. I’d sit in meetings with local financial institutions, explaining that no, I wasn’t selling vapes or anything illegal, just old-fashioned, hand-rolled cigars, and watch the polite nods that meant, “We’ll pass.”

Those moments can shake your resolve.

They make you question why you’re doing this at all. But for me, the answer has always been simple: Because cigars matter. They matter to the people who gather around them, who share stories, who mark life’s milestones one slow burn at a time.

Brolo was never about chasing a quick dollar. It’s about capturing the feeling of brotherhood; the way a good cigar can connect strangers, bridge generations, and transform an ordinary evening into something memorable. I believe that if an outsider like me can respect the craft, I can create something worth sharing.

So, this is the first post in what I hope becomes an ongoing story of building Brolo Cigars from the ground up. I’m still learning every day. I’m still knocking on doors and sometimes hearing “no.” But I’m also finding partners who believe in this vision, and smokers who are ready for something honest, small-batch, and personal.

Starting Brolo is taking the bull by the horns.

Literally, in my case, somewhere in a shoebox, there’s this photo of me as a kid riding a bull with more guts than sense. Back then, I didn’t know much about fear. Or maybe I just didn’t care. Years later, I’d realize that starting a cigar company as an outsider feels a lot the same way: You hang on tight, you trust your instincts, and you accept that you might get thrown off a few times before you find your stride.

Thanks for lighting up with me. Here’s to the slow burn.