Bolivar Gold Medal

Description

I was sitting on a milk crate in my garage last Tuesday, surrounded by the ghosts of projects I never finished. There’s a specific smell a garage gets when you haven’t really lived in it for a few years—a mix of old sawdust, leaked motor oil, and cold concrete. I was looking at a 1974 Honda CB750 that’s been under a tarp since my daughter was born. She’s starting middle school now. That’s how long it’s been since I really sat down and let myself have a moment. It’s also how long it’s been since I touched a cigar.

I’d quit for years. Not because I didn’t like them, but because life just got loud. You know how it goes. You trade the quiet hour on the porch for soccer practices and mortgage meetings. But something about the way the light was hitting the grease stains on the floor made me feel nostalgic. I felt like I owed it to the guy I used to be—the guy who had time to think—to spark something up. I went to the small travel humidor I’d kept tucked away in a drawer, half-expecting everything inside to be dust. But there it was, wrapped in that unmistakable gold foil, looking like a relic from a treasure chest.

I remember buying it on a whim right before I “retired” from the hobby. I figured, if I’m coming back, I’m coming back with something that feels like an event. I brushed a bit of cobweb off my old torch lighter, gave it a click, and thanked the gods of butane that it still had a spark. I wasn’t looking for a life-changing epiphany; I just wanted to see if the world still tasted the way I remembered.

That smoke? The Bolívar New Gold Medal. It’s a hell of a way to end a hiatus.

The Specs

Construction: The Gold Standard?

I gotta say, the first thing you notice isn’t the tobacco; it’s the theater. This thing is wrapped halfway in gold foil. It feels a bit like holding a high-end chocolate bar or some kind of royal baton. On the new 2023 version—which is what I had—the word “Bolívar” is actually embossed right into the foil. It’s a nice touch, though I’ve always found the foil a bit fussy. You have to slide it off or peel it back, and I’m always terrified I’m going to nick the wrapper underneath with my fingernail.

Once I got the foil off, the leaf underneath was a classic Cuban Colorado shade—nutty brown with a slight oily sheen that caught the dim garage light. This isn’t the skinny 42 ring gauge Lonsdale from the old days. This new version has a 48 ring gauge. In my hand, it felt more substantial, more “modern.” I’ve always liked a Lonsdale, but there’s something about a 48 gauge that feels right for a long sit-down. It’s got some heft to it without feeling like you’re chewing on a flashlight.

I gave the cap a quick snip. The pre-light draw was a bit tight—classic Cuba, right? I’ve learned not to panic when a Cuban stick feels firm. Usually, once the heat hits it, things loosen up. The smell off the foot was pure barnyard and cedar. No chemical harshness, just honest-to-god fermented tobacco. It smelled like a library if the books were made of dried leaves. Solid.

The First Third: The Reacquaintance

Lighting up after years away is a trip. The first puff of the Bolívar New Gold Medal was like a handshake from an old friend who’s moved to a nicer neighborhood. It’s unmistakably Bolívar—earthy and direct—but it didn’t punch me in the throat. I remember the old Bolívars being these absolute powerhouses that would leave you spinning if you hadn’t eaten a steak beforehand. This one? It’s more polite.

The first few minutes were all about cedar and a very specific “toasty” quality. You ever burnt toast just a little too long, but in a way that smells good? It was that, mixed with a hit of black pepper on the back of the tongue. The smoke production was decent, even with that firm draw. I sat there on my milk crate, blowing clouds toward the rafters, watching the smoke curl around an old ladder. The “Cuban twang” was there—that acidic, citrusy brightness that you just don’t get from Nicaraguan or Dominican leaf. It’s a vibe, man. It really is.

The Second Third: The Sweet Spot

About twenty minutes in, the cigar settled into a groove. This is where the New Gold Medal started to show its colors. The pepper died down, and this creamy, almost buttery texture took over. I started picking up notes of brown sugar. It wasn’t like eating candy; it was more like the smell of a bakery three blocks away. It was subtle, hanging out behind a heavy wall of cedar and earth.

I noticed the burn line was remarkably sharp. I didn’t have to touch it up once, which is a miracle given the drafty state of my garage. The ash was a light grey, holding on for a good inch and a half before I got nervous and tapped it off into an old coffee can I was using as a makeshift ashtray. The strength stayed at a steady medium. I wasn’t feeling lightheaded, which was good because I didn’t want to trip over a lawnmower on my way back into the house. It felt balanced. It felt like the people who rolled this actually gave a damn about the transition of flavors.

The Final Third: The Long Goodbye

As I got down to the last couple of inches, the “Bolívar” personality started to peek out again. The earthiness got darker, moving from “garden soil” to “espresso grounds.” The heat started to build, but it stayed creamy. I’ve had cigars that turn into a bitter mess at the end, but this stayed pretty clean. I got a little more of that cedar, and the brown sugar sweetness turned into something more like toasted nuts.

I found myself slowing down. I didn’t want to finish it. Not just because the cigar was good, but because when the cigar ended, I had to go back inside and be a “grown-up” again. I nubbed it—smoked it right down until my fingers were getting warm. There was no harshness, just a solid, warm finish that lingered on the palate. It felt like a proper conclusion to a story I’d forgotten I was writing.

Pairing Recommendations

Since I was in the garage and trying to be low-key, I just had a thermos of black coffee. Honestly? It was perfect. The bitterness of the coffee cut through the creaminess of the cigar and highlighted that brown sugar note.

However, if I were doing this “properly” at a lounge, I’d go for a dark Cuban rum—something like Havana Club 7. You need something with a bit of molasses sweetness to play off the earthy Bolívar base. If you’re a scotch guy, maybe stay away from the super peaty stuff; it might drown out the subtle cedar notes. A nice, balanced bourbon would be a solid choice too. But really, a strong espresso is all this stick needs to shine.

The Verdict

Is the Bolívar New Gold Medal the “best” cigar ever made? I don’t know. I don’t like using words like that. What I can tell you is that it’s a very, very good experience. It’s got the history, it’s got the flashy gold foil for when you want to feel fancy, and it’s got a flavor profile that’s complex without being exhausting.

It’s a medium-bodied smoke that feels accessible. If you’re a veteran, you’ll appreciate the Vuelta Abajo tobacco and the classic construction. If you’re a casual smoker, you won’t be overwhelmed by the strength. The move from a 42 to a 48 ring gauge was a smart play by Habanos S.A.—it gives the flavors more room to breathe and makes the cigar feel more substantial in the hand.

Sitting there in the dark, with the smell of the New Gold Medal hanging in the air, I realized I’d missed this. Not just the tobacco, but the forced patience of it. You can’t rush a 6 1/2 inch cigar. It demands an hour and a half of your time, and in return, it gives you a reason to sit still. For a guy who hadn’t sat still in years, that was worth every penny of the LCDH price tag.

If you find a box at a La Casa del Habano, grab ’em. They’re a regular production now, but they’re still “Bolívar Gold Medals,” and they still feel special. Even if you’re just smoking one on a milk crate in a dusty garage, it’ll make you feel like the king of your own little concrete empire.

Solid. Truly solid.