North-Easterlies & Night-Times: Tobacco Reflections on a Scarborough Breeze

North-Easterlies & Night-Times: Tobacco Reflections on a Scarborough Breeze

It was one of those Scarborough mornings where the sun shone sharp as a sailor’s knife, but the wind came biting up from the North Sea — that sly old North Easterly that whistles past your ears no matter how snug the collar. I took Bertie down to the beach, and he, of course, went tearing after the foam like a creature without a care in the world.

I, on the other hand, had packed for the weather: thick wool, hip flask, and a well-chosen flake. But what I didn’t expect was the companion that’s been stealing my afternoon thoughts all week — a rather dark and mysterious tin that smells faintly of port, old wood, and far-off adventure. A blend called Black Frigate, if you can believe it. Rum-soaked, pressed with Latakia and Perique, it tastes like something a pirate might have smoked while staring down a cannon broadside.

That’s the joy of new arrivals. Not gadgets or gear — no, I mean blends. Leaf. Character. Stories in the bowl.

Lately, we’ve seen a curious flotilla of American mixtures making landfall here in the UK — Cornell & Diehl, mostly, and what a range they’ve brought. I stumbled upon Bayou Morning just yesterday: bright Virginias with a jolt of Perique, the sort of blend that puts the wind in your sails before breakfast. Its duskier twin, Bayou Night, is for contemplative moments — that hour just after sunset when the sky burns gold over the castle and you realise summer’s sliding slowly into memory.

And then there’s Autumn Evening — all maple syrup and toast — like wandering through Peasholm Park with a mug of something warming and spiced. It’s almost indecent how comforting it is. A dessert pipe, if ever there was one.

This evening I might crack open Dreams of Kadath, mostly because I’m a sucker for the name — Lovecraftian and surreal — though the tin note promises something rich and resinous. Figs, red wine, maybe a touch of Turkish spice? If it's half as strange as it sounds, I’ll write you a ghost story by morning.

I’ll save Opening Night and Sunday Picnic for less blustery days — those gentle Scarborough Sundays when the tide is out, the brass band’s playing, and the world feels oddly civilised. The kind of day when you want something mild but musical in the bowl.

And what’s this? Bijou — a darling little blend with Red Virginias and Oriental leaf, kissed with Perique and pressed into a flake. A quiet elegance to it. Not flashy, but like a perfectly tied cravat: it says more than words could manage.

Oh, and Star of the East. That’s one for the serious smoker — Latakia-forward and brooding. Like Scarborough harbour in winter — black waves, blacker sky, and a pipe to match.

So if you’re out and about and the wind’s in your face, don’t curse it. Pack a bowl, tuck in by a stone wall, and let the leaf do the talking. Whether you dream of pirates, poetry, or picnics, there’s something waiting at The Backy Shop to carry you where you need to go.

Until tomorrow —
The Backy Chronicler

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