Cohiba 1966 Cabinet

Description

I was sitting on the porch of my ranch house out in the hill country, the kind of night where the Texas sky looks like someone spilled a bag of diamonds on a velvet sheet. The air was finally cooling down, smelling of dry cedar and the ghost of a mesquite fire I’d put out hours ago. I’d just finished a project that had been eating my lunch for three months—rebuilding a vintage flatbed and finally getting that engine to purr without a hiccup. It was a triumphant moment, the kind where you don’t want to talk to anybody; you just want to sit with your own thoughts and let the win sink into your bones. I needed something to mark the occasion. Something that wasn’t just a quick burn before bed.

I went to my travel humidor and moved aside the daily drivers. My fingers brushed against a dark, oily wrapper that felt like fine silk. I’d been sitting on this stick for a while, waiting for a night that felt earned. You ever have one of those? A cigar that sits in the back of the box like a loaded gun, just waiting for the right target? I pulled it out, felt the weight of it, and knew. This was the night for a heavy hitter. This was the night to see if the hype lived up to the reality of a quiet ranch porch.

That smoke? The Cohiba 1966 Edición Limitada 2011. Some folks might go looking for a “Cabinet” version of this, but let’s get the record straight: we’re talking about the 45th-anniversary masterpiece that Habanos S.A. dropped back in 2011. It’s a beast of a cigar, and it doesn’t apologize for it.

The Specs

Construction: The Handshake

I gotta say, the first thing you notice when you pull this out of the cellophane—or the box, if you’re lucky enough to have the whole stash—is the color. It’s a deep, fermented Maduro shade, almost like a dark espresso bean. It’s got that oily sheen that tells you the tobacco was handled with some actual respect. It’s firm, too. I gave it a gentle squeeze from head to foot, and there weren’t any soft spots or “divots.” It felt solid, like a well-made tool.

The wrapper has some veins, sure, but they’re fine, like the maps on an old man’s hands. It’s not “perfect” in that plastic, machine-made way; it looks organic. It looks like it grew out of the dirt in Pinar del Río, which is exactly what I want. I took my straight cutter and nipped the cap. The pre-light draw was just right—not too loose like a cheap straw, and not so tight you feel like you’re trying to suck a milkshake through a needle. I got hits of barnyard, damp earth, and a little bit of dark cocoa before I even struck a match.

The First Third: The Introduction

I used a single torch to get the foot glowing, taking my time. You don’t rush a cigar like this. The first few puffs were surprisingly creamy. I expected a punch to the face given the dark wrapper, but it started off smooth. There was this immediate hit of espresso and a thick, earthy leather flavor. It’s the kind of smoke that has “weight” to it—you can almost chew on it.

About an inch in, a bit of black pepper started creeping in on the retrohale. It wasn’t biting, though. It was more like a warm hum in the back of the throat. I sat back in my Adirondack chair, watched the smoke curl up toward the rafters of the porch, and felt that triumph from the day’s work start to settle. The ash was a light grey, holding on tight like it didn’t want to let go of the cherry. Solid construction, for sure.

The Second Third: The Meat of the Matter

As I moved into the middle of the stick, the flavors started to shift, which is what you pay the big bucks for. That espresso note stayed, but it got joined by a distinct chocolate sweetness. Not milk chocolate, mind you—more like a 70% dark cacao. There’s a hay-like quality in there too, that classic Cuban “funk” that reminds you exactly where this tobacco came from.

I noticed the strength ramping up a bit here. It went from a medium to a solid medium-full. It’s a complex profile; one puff gives you that bitter cocoa, the next gives you a bit of salted nuts. I didn’t have to touch it up once. The burn line stayed straight as a die, even with a slight breeze blowing across the ranch. It’s a reliable smoke. You’re not fighting the cigar; you’re just enjoying the ride. I found myself thinking about that truck engine again, and how some things just take time and the right components to work correctly. This cigar is one of those things.

The Final Third: The Grand Finale

By the time I got down to the final couple of inches, the 1966 really started to show its teeth. The creaminess from the start was mostly gone, replaced by a much more intense coffee and charred wood flavor. But here’s the kicker: right at the end, I started getting these flashes of honey and vanilla. It’s a weird contrast—heavy, dark earth tones mixed with this delicate sweetness. It kept me guessing until my fingers were getting warm.

Usually, when a cigar gets this short, it can get bitter or “hot.” This one stayed remarkably cool. I smoked it right down to the nub, until I couldn’t hold it anymore without singeing my calluses. The room note—or in my case, the porch note—was rich and heavy. My dogs were sniffing the air like they knew something special was happening. It was a long smoke, probably clocked in at nearly two hours, which was exactly what I needed for a night of contemplation.

The Pairing: What to Drink?

Now, you could go a lot of ways with this. A lot of guys will tell you to grab a vintage Port or a high-end Scotch. Me? I kept it simple. I had a glass of neat bourbon—something with a bit of a rye kick to stand up to that leather and espresso. The sweetness of the corn in the whiskey played real nice with the cocoa notes of the Cohiba. If you’re not a drinker, a heavy, black coffee would be the way to go. You want something that can compete with the body of this smoke without washing it out. Don’t go drinking a light beer or a gin and tonic with this; the cigar will just bully the drink into submission.

The Verdict

Look, I’ve smoked a lot of cigars in a lot of different places. Some are just “sticks”—something to do with your hands while you’re golfing or mowing the lawn. The Cohiba 1966 Edición Limitada 2011 isn’t that. It’s an event. It’s a reward. It’s not cheap, and they aren’t exactly easy to find these days, but if you happen to come across one and you’ve got a reason to celebrate, you grab it.

It’s got the complexity to keep a seasoned smoker interested, but it’s balanced enough that it won’t wreck your palate. It feels good in the hand, it looks good in the ashtray, and it tastes like the best parts of a Cuban tobacco field. Is it the “best” thing ever made? I don’t know about all that. But for a triumphant night on a ranch porch under a sea of stars, it was exactly what I was looking for. Solid. Real solid.

Final Thought: If you find one, smoke it. Don’t let it rot in your humidor waiting for a “perfect” day that might never come. Make the day perfect by lighting the damn thing.