Cohiba Behike 56

Description

I was digging through the glove box of my buddy’s beat-up fishing boat, the Sea Hag, looking for a spare set of pliers or maybe a stray lure, when I pulled out a crumpled, salt-stained Polaroid. The edges were curling, and the colors had that faded, 1990s-yellow tint, even though the photo wasn’t that old. In the picture, I’m standing on a pier in Havana, squinting against a sun so bright it looked like the sky was made of white gold. I’m holding a fish I couldn’t name today if my life depended on it, but stuck firmly in the corner of my mouth is a cigar that looked like a small cannon shell.

That photo took me right back to the humidity, the smell of diesel engines, and the adventurous spirit of that trip. We weren’t just there for the fishing; we were there for the hunt. The kind of hunt that involves walking into dimly lit backrooms and asking for the stuff they don’t put on the front shelves. I remember the guy who sold it to me—a man with hands like cracked leather who treated the wooden box like it contained the bones of a saint. He handed me one, and I felt the weight of it. It wasn’t just tobacco; it felt like a piece of history. I spent the rest of that afternoon on the deck of a boat much like the Sea Hag, ignoring the fishing lines and focusing entirely on the smoke.

That smoke? The Cohiba Behike BHK 56. It’s a cigar that carries a lot of baggage these days—mostly in the form of a price tag that makes my accountant wince—but every time I see one, I think of that pier and that feeling of having the world by the tail. It’s a beast of a stick, and I’ve spent enough time with it over the years to know exactly what it’s about when the hype dies down and the match is struck.

The Specs

Construction: The Hand-Held Cannon

I gotta say, holding a BHK 56 is an experience in itself. It’s a Double Robusto, which means it’s thick. You ever pick up a cigar and feel like you’re holding a piece of heavy machinery? That’s this. The 56 ring gauge isn’t for the faint of heart or those with small hands. It’s got a presence. The wrapper is something else—it’s got this golden, oily sheen that catches the light like a polished mahogany desk. It’s smooth, almost veinless, and topped with that signature pigtail cap that I always feel a little guilty clipping off.

Before I even bring a flame to it, I like to just take a cold draw. It’s firm but not tight. You can feel the density of the leaf in there. The aroma off the foot is pure, unadulterated barnyard—rich hay, damp earth, and a hint of something sweet, like dried raisins. It feels solid. There are no soft spots, no lumps. It’s built like it was meant to survive a trek through the jungle, which is fitting given where it comes from. The Laguito No. 6 factory knows what they’re doing, and it shows in the physical heft of this thing.

The First Third: The Sweet Introduction

I remember sitting on that boat in the photo, the engine humming beneath my feet, as I took the first few puffs. The BHK 56 doesn’t whisper; it announces itself. The initial third is surprisingly sweet for something so large. I get a massive hit of maple syrup and latte. It’s creamy, almost like a dessert, but there’s an underlying spice that keeps it from being too soft. Think exotic spices—nutmeg, maybe a bit of cinnamon—mixed with a very distinct cedar note.

The smoke output is thick. I mean, you could hide a small car in the clouds this thing produces. There’s a bit of black pepper on the retrohale, but it’s polite. It doesn’t burn your sinuses; it just lets you know it’s there. The earthy notes are present but they’re playing second fiddle to that ripe fruit sweetness. It’s a complex start, and I found myself slowing down my puff rate just to catch all the nuances. You don’t rush a 56 ring gauge cigar; you negotiate with it.

The Middle Third: Finding the Groove

As I moved into the middle of the cigar—which, by the way, takes a good 30 to 40 minutes to reach—the sweetness started to take a backseat. This is where the Medio Tiempo leaves really start to talk. For those who don’t know, these are those rare leaves that only grow at the very top of some tobacco plants. They get the most sun, and they bring a punch that you just don’t find in other sticks.

In the middle third, the woodsy tones become the stars of the show. It’s like walking into a high-end humidor made of fresh Spanish cedar. The earthiness deepens, becoming more like rich, dark soil after a rainstorm. But then, out of nowhere, you get these flashes of caramel and honey. It’s a weirdly warm sensation on the palate. The strength picks up here, moving firmly into that medium-to-full territory. I felt a bit of a nicotine buzz starting to creep in, a gentle reminder that this isn’t a morning smoke for the uninitiated. It’s a serious commitment.

The Final Third: The Gritty Finish

By the time I got to the final third, the sun in my memory (and in that old photo) was usually starting to dip. This is where the BHK 56 shows its teeth. The coffee notes turn from a latte into a straight, dark espresso. The black pepper comes back with a vengeance, but it’s balanced by a deep, almost bitter cocoa flavor. It’s not an unpleasant bitterness; it’s more like the bite of high-quality dark chocolate.

The complexity here is off the charts. One puff is all earth and leather, the next is a sharp kick of spice. It gets hot toward the end, but because of that 56 ring gauge, it stays manageable longer than a thinner vitola would. I usually smoke these right down to the nub, until my fingers are practically touching the cherry. It’s hard to put down because the flavors keep evolving until the very last second. It’s a 90-minute experience at minimum, and if you’re a slow puffer like me, you can easily stretch it to two hours of pure, adventurous bliss.

Pairing: What to Drink?

You need something that can stand up to the BHK 56 without trampling over the delicate notes of maple and fruit. Personally, I’m a fan of a heavy, aged rum. Something from the Caribbean that has its own caramel and vanilla notes. It bridges the gap between the sweetness of the first third and the spice of the finish.

If you’re a scotch drinker, go for something with a bit of peat, but don’t go overboard. A nice Highland malt works wonders. The smokiness of the scotch plays off the cedar and earth of the cigar beautifully. And if you’re doing this in the middle of the day? A double espresso is the only way to go. The bitterness of the coffee clears the palate for the next wave of Medio Tiempo power.

The Verdict

Look, I’m not going to sit here and tell you that the price of these things hasn’t gone through the roof. Over the last decade, the cost has climbed to a point where buying a box feels like putting a down payment on a car. But is it a solid smoke? Absolutely.

The Cohiba Behike BHK 56 is a statement. It’s for those times when you’ve had a win, or when you’re sitting on a boat with an old photo in your hand, remembering why you started smoking cigars in the first place. It’s rich, it’s complex, and it’s built like a tank. It’s not something I smoke every day—my wallet couldn’t handle that—but when I do, I’m reminded that there’s a reason this is the most sought-after line in the Habanos portfolio.

If you have the chance to grab one and you’ve got two hours to kill, do it. Just make sure you’re sitting somewhere comfortable, preferably with a view and a good drink. It’s a journey in a wrapper, and even if the photo fades, the memory of that smoke won’t.

Final Thought: It’s a heavy hitter that lives up to its reputation without needing to shout. Solid.