![]() ![]() Louis restaurant family and even today there is a Garavelli's restaurant in St. The Garavelli family was a well-known St. He is the former Director of Kramerica Industries Summer Internship Program and Founder of The Sawtooth Club.The place below Grand - Olive Billiards was called Garavelli's. Evans is a good buddy, a UGA grad, and an idea guy. A few places to smoke a cigar on the east and west coast.Ĭontributor Bradley A. I could sit on that patio every day for the rest of my life and it would never get old. Located in Nob Hill and replete with a library, overnight rooms, and squash courts, the rickety old patio on the top floor of the club faces east to the Financial District – which means million-dollar views of skyscrapers and the Bay. Highly, highly, highly recommend visiting – cigar smoker or not.ĥ. This is, without a doubt, the most beautiful place to smoke a cigar in America. The views at the Ritz are breathtaking from watching golfers lay up on 18 to the jagged coast of the Pacific Ocean…it’s just stunning. I’ll fly into San Jose versus SFO so I can visit the Anderson Collection at Stanford University, get my beatnik vibe on in La Honda, and drive up the coast on Highway 1. I always swing by Half Moon Bay before I go to San Francisco. There isn’t a finer way to end a round of golf than to take a long shower and sit on a rocking chair at Peachtree smoking a cigar. I about died laughing.ĭad before we smoked six boxes of cigars in an unventilated roomģ. The damn place looked like it was on fire. By the time I got to the top floor, there was an eighteen-inch cloud of smoke billowing out of the billiards room. I should’ve known something was awry when I noticed it had six inches of smoke in it and the lobby smelled like a brothel. ![]() Dad and I had just about left, but I realized I forgot my hat, so I ran inside and hopped back in the elevator. The last time I lit up at CCC was with a dozen guys who were also smoking. Few things bring me more joy than shooting pool with friends while enjoying a cigar. Capital City Club (Downtown, Billiards Room), Atlanta, GA. After my smoke, I wander around aimlessly…taking in the enormous amount of Atlanta history.Ģ. I make sure to visit Bobby Jones’ grave, leave a golf ball, and head to the Confederate Memorial Grounds where I lay up on a bench beneath the shade of an ancient oak. It’s quiet, no one bothers you, and it’s beautiful. I know…it’s a little odd to smoke in the company of dead people (namely Confederate soldiers), but that’s exactly why it works. Here are a few of my favorite hideaways:ġ. But instead of roaming around North Campus with a cigar in hand, I found myself discovering new places to quietly enjoy a smoke. I eventually graduated, moved to Atlanta, and kept smoking. She’s now happily married, teaches mathematics in Forsyth County, and still goes to a few home games every season. Why she put up with my bullshit is beyond me. It wasn’t uncommon to wake up Sunday morning thinking you’d fallen asleep at Boars Head by the smell of it. I lived downtown my senior year and smoked in my apartment much to the chagrin of my Kappa Delta roommate. ![]() In fact, I’d pass them out like a father celebrating the arrival of his newborn. Snowflakes hadn’t arrived yet and no one was worried about their health. And back then you could walk around campus with a lit cigar and no one cared. On game days I’d smoke at least two or three before kickoff God only knows how many after. My bar and his Grandfather were both bulletproof. Fulton County stole his family’s land through eminent domain, so his Grandfather built a sawmill, sawed down every damn tree on their 500 acres, and used the lumber to build houses on the land they bought in Jackson County. And man you should’ve seen my bar – it was a beaut! Custom copper top, vintage University of Georgia seal, and crafted with lumber from my buddies farm in Shakerag. I kept a stocked humidor at my bar and I treated wherever I was living in college as a tavern. Mind you…these weren’t Cohiba’s – more like Carolina tongue burners straight from the dirt floor of a tobacco barn, but they paired well with gut rot bourbon. I frequented a downtown tobacco shop off Washington Street where I’d buy bundles of 50 at a time. I eventually matriculated to the University of Georgia where my love affair with cigars intensified. He was (and still is) a former cigarette smoker who will enjoy the smell of burning tobacco until the good Lord takes him. Her eyes were as big as silver dollars horrified to see her boy puffing away with all the confidence of a Gilded Age robber baron. ![]() I enthusiastically presented my identification, bought a stick, came home to my parents’ house, and to the shock of my Mother, I casually lit it on the back porch. The first thing I did when I turned 18 was buy a cigar. ![]()
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