Cohiba Behike 52 – Ultra-Premium Cuban Cigar

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The Ghost of El Laguito: A Conversation with the Cohiba Behike 52
I was perched on the back porch of my family’s old ranch house last Tuesday, a place where wind whistles through the floorboards and the nearest neighbor is a three-mile walk. The sun was pulling that slow, orange sinking toward the horizon, casting long, tired shadows across the dirt. I was digging though an old shoe box I’d dug down from the attic — mostly tax receipts and yellow newspaper clippings — when there it was. It was a Polaroid from 1988.

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My old man was propped against his battered-up Ford, squinting into the sun with a lopsided grin and a stogie between his teeth. He looked happy. He seemed not to have a care in the world, which I happen to know was not the case then. When I saw that photograph, I had a lancing sweet-bitter pang in my chest.

Time is a thief, you know? It robs you of your times but gives you back the ghosts of smells and tastes. I thought of his tobacco — thick, sweet and honest. I glanced at the humidor I had brought with me.

I’d been saving one particular stick for a “special occasion,” but holding the photo in my hands, I saw with total clarity that “special” is just a nice way of saying “later.” And there really is no later promised to any of us. I reached in and extracted the thick, oily body of a cigar that has more gravitas in its name than most brands have in their entire portfolio. That smoke? The
Cohiba Behike 52
.

The First Third: The Awakening
I soft flamed the foot and took my time.

You don’t want to roast this tobacco; you want to coax it into burning. The first few puffs were a rude awakening. I have to say, the spice hit me faster than I thought it would. It wasn’t a fiery pepper sting, but rather a rich, warm tingle that spread down the back of my throat.

Sitting on the porch and watching the dust motes dance in failing light, the BHK 52 started to coil up. That opening burst of spice spread across a deep, leathery center. It felt “thick.” That’s the only way I have to describe smoke — there is a texture to it. You can almost chew on it.

There’s a sweet spice behind the leather, like nutmeg or cinnamon, but it’s kept in check. It’s a confident start. No screams for attention; only requests for it. The Second Third: The Sweet Spot
Around the twenty-minute mark, the cigar really opened up and hit its stride.

That’s where the magic of that
Medio Tiempo
leaf comes into play. (If you don’t, those are the top two leaves of the tobacco plant.) They receive the most sunlight, they grow the slowest and they certainly pack a punch of flavor that no lower leaves even come close to. That distinctly rugged leather was transformed into something completely different on the profile. I started to pick up notes of creamy coffee — a latte with far too much foam, perhaps — and the clear cedar woodiness. The vanilla was the kicker, though.

It was barely there, floating in the background, softening the hard edges of the smoke. The burn was dead even. I didn’t have to reapply it once, even with the thin breeze passing through the ranch. The ash was grayish white, hanging on as if it were glued to the foot.

I could feel myself sinking into the chair, all bittersweet mood from the photo fading away into a kind of calm satisfaction. That’s what good cigars do; they slow the world down just enough for you to live in it for a second. The Final Third: The Deep End
And, as I made my way down to the last two inches, the BHK 52 stayed true to form here.

The strength increased, going from a comfortable medium into a solid medium-to-full. The creaminess receded and the earthiness roared back. It smelled like the ranch after a heavy rain — rich, dark and primal. The spice came back, too, although it was darker now — black pepper and charred oak.

But as it shortened and warmed, it never turned bitter. That’s the sign of an old Cuban. It remained smooth all the way to the point when I was searing my fingertips. I didn’t want to let it go.

I was staring at that old Polaroid of my dad in the hospital and I realized if he had been there, he wouldn’t have said a word. He would have just patted the hand, taken a hit and nodded. This is that kind of cigar. It’s a “nodding” cigar.

Pairing: What to Sip
I kept it simple.

I’d brought a thermos of black coffee – strong, no sugar. It was fantastic how the bitterness of the coffee played off the smoothness of the second third.

Had I been doing this late at night, I’d go for a dark, aged rum — something sweet enough to work with the spicy leather notes. A weighty bourbon would be fine, but you’d probably suit something not too high-proof, or you’ll overwhelm the subtleties of your tobacco. You’re looking for a complement to this cigar, not combat. The Value/Usage: Who is this for?

Look, let’s be real. This isn’t an “everyday” smoke unless you’re winning the lottery on a weekly basis. It’s expensive, it’s hard to find, and it’s surrounded by a lot of noise. But is it just hype?

No. This is the smoke for the guy who wants to mark the memory. If he’s sitting on a porch staring at a sunset and thinking about his old man? It’s a BHK 52.

If it’s something to celebrate after a big win, or to quietly contemplate after a long day. It’s a connoisseur’s stick, and not because it’s fancy. But because you’d waste your money smoking it distracted. The Verdict I’ve smoked a lot of cigars.

Some were forgettable, some were bad, and a few were great. The Behike 52 smokes in a different league. It’s one consistently beautiful ride from the first pigtail to the ash. It has the history: the Taino name, the El Laguito production, the difficulty of the cultivation.

But none of that matters when you light it. What’s important is how smoking the thing makes you feel. And perched on that creaky ranch porch, it felt like the most fitting cigar to burn for an afternoon of bittersweet. Consistency, richness, and soul: If you find one and can stop moving for forty-five minutes?

Smoke it. Don’t wait for a “special” day. Find a porch, find a memory, and let this smoke do the talking. Final Thought: Solid.

Absolutely solid. This is why you do smoke cigars. Not for the status they grant you, not for the labels, and certainly not for the nonsense. I swept the nub out in a ceramic tray, tucked the Polaroid back into the shoebox and watched the final wisp of smoke float up above us, away from the Texas night.

I guess my dad would have seasoned.