The founder
A man, a burnt finger and three years of revenge.
Dan DeCristoforo closed his first deal at nine years old. He has been closing ever since: five companies and counting, private clubs in New York and Providence and a passport that has never once been allowed to rest in a drawer.
He has eaten katsu on a bullet train out of Tokyo, worn black tie from London to Philadelphia and missed a Burgundy pheasant in two languages. He wrote the book on meatballs, literally, and called it You Have No Balls. He runs a sporting clays course like he owns the leaderboard. And through all of it, one thing kept happening: he kept picking cigars so good he refused to put them down. So the cigars kept biting back.
“Enough already with cheap cigar tools. It has to be big league.”
He went shopping for a solution and found glorified bobby pins and a modified corn-cob holder. Unacceptable. So he called a friend who runs one of the largest manufacturing plants on the East Coast, and three years of prototypes later, The Cigar Bar was born. Surgical steel. Timeless. Built to outlive the man carrying it, his grandchildren and possibly the humidor.
- First deal
- Age nine
- Companies
- Five and counting
- Private clubs
- New York and Providence
- Burnt fingers
- Retired from the sport