Cohiba Exquisitos

Description

I was sitting in the driver’s seat of a 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Sting Ray, the one with the split rear window that makes looking backward feel like peering through a pair of heavy eyelids. The car smelled like a mix of high-octane gasoline, old floor mats, and the ghosts of better decisions. It wasn’t my car—it belonged to a guy who didn’t need it anymore—and I was just sitting there, watching the rain smear the windshield in a gray, industrial blur. I felt heavy. Not the kind of heavy you get after a big meal, but the kind that sits in your bones when you realize you’ve spent five years doing exactly what people told you to do, and you’ve got nothing to show for it but a clean bill of health and a lingering sense of boredom.

Five years. That’s how long it had been since I’d touched a cigar. I’d quit because I thought I had to grow up, or maybe because someone I loved asked me to, or maybe I just forgot how to enjoy the quiet moments. But sitting in that leather bucket seat, listening to the ticking of the analog clock on the dash, the silence was too loud. I reached into the glove box—not expecting anything—and my fingers brushed against a small, cedar-lined leather pouch. I knew what was inside before I even pulled it out. It was a single, slender stick I’d tucked away for a “special occasion” that never came. Until now.

That smoke? The Cohiba Exquisitos. It looked small, almost fragile, against the backdrop of that American muscle car, but I knew better. I’ve always known better.

The Specs

First Impressions & Construction

I gotta say, there’s something about a 33 ring gauge that feels incredibly personal. It’s not one of those massive, thumb-sized sticks that screams for attention. It’s discreet. In my hand, the Exquisitos felt firm but gave just enough when I squeezed it—a sign that the rollers at El Laguito knew exactly what they were doing with those long fillers. The wrapper was a beautiful, slightly oily Colorado shade, with a few fine veins that looked like a roadmap of the Vuelta Abajo region.

I didn’t have a fancy cutter on me. I used a small pocketknife I keep for emergencies, taking just the tiniest bit off the cap. The pre-light draw was a revelation. Even after sitting in a glovebox for who-knows-how-long, it tasted like sweet hay and a bit of old library books. The draw was a little snug—which you have to expect with these thinner vitolas—but it wasn’t plugged. It felt like it was holding back, waiting for the flame to wake it up.

I struck a match, let the sulfur burn off, and toasted the foot. The aroma that hit me was pure nostalgia. It wasn’t just tobacco; it was the smell of the 1980s, of diplomatic meetings I’d only read about, and of the exclusive air that Cohiba has carried since they started making these for Fidel back in ’66. This particular vitola, the Seoane, was added to the Linea Clasica in ’89, and it carries that old-school Cuban DNA in every fiber.

The First Third: The Reawakening

The first few puffs were like a conversation with an old friend who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with nonsense. It started with a very distinct cedar note, but it wasn’t dry. It was backed by this incredible, subtle honey sweetness—black honey, to be specific. I’ve heard people talk about “honey on the nose” with Cohibas, and I used to think it was just marketing talk. But sitting there in that Corvette, the honey was real. It coated the back of my throat and balanced out a slight white pepper spice that danced on the tip of my tongue.

The smoke output was surprisingly decent for such a skinny cigar. It wasn’t a chimney, but it produced a thin, blue-white stream that hung in the damp air of the car. About half an inch in, the leather started to show up. Not the “new car” leather of the Corvette, but a deeper, more aged leather scent. It was a solid start. I felt the tension in my shoulders start to drop for the first time in five years. You ever have a moment where everything just clicks? That was this third.

The Second Third: The Cream & The Nut

As I moved into the middle of the stick, the flavor profile shifted gears—much smoother than the old synchro-mesh in the Sting Ray’s gearbox. The pepper faded into the background, and the texture of the smoke became incredibly creamy. This is where that third fermentation process Cohiba is famous for really shows its face. They take the seco and ligero leaves and give them an extra round of fermentation in barrels. I don’t know the science behind it, and frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that it makes the smoke feel like silk.

The dominant flavor here was what I’d call “fine nougat.” It was nutty, sweet, and rich. There was a coffee element creeping in, too—not a bitter espresso, but more like a well-made café au lait. The strength was definitely building, though. For a small cigar, the Exquisitos doesn’t mess around. It’s listed as medium to full, and by the halfway point, I could feel it in my chest. It was a “good” heavy, a grounding sensation that matched the melancholic mood of the rain hitting the fiberglass body of the car.

The ash was a light gray, holding on for about three-quarters of an inch before I tapped it into the car’s tiny ashtray. The burn was nearly perfect, requiring zero touch-ups. I gotta tell you, for a handmade product of this size, that’s impressive. Thinner cigars are notoriously difficult to roll correctly, but this one was a masterpiece of construction.

The Final Third: The Darker Side

Coming into the home stretch, the Exquisitos decided to show its teeth. The sweetness from the honey and nougat pulled back, making room for more earthy, “darker” notes. I started getting hits of cocoa—unsweetened, raw cocoa—and a much more pronounced black pepper on the retrohale. The cedar was still there, but it had turned into more of a toasted oak flavor.

It got hot toward the end, which is the nature of the beast with a 33 ring gauge. You have to slow down. If you puff on this thing like you’re trying to put out a fire, it’ll turn bitter on you. I took my time, letting a minute or two pass between draws. The leather came back in a big way, and the very last bit of the cigar gave me one final flash of that black honey sweetness before it became too hot to hold.

I smoked it right down to the nub, until my fingers were feeling the heat. I didn’t want it to end. It had been twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes of pure, uninterrupted focus. In that time, the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the gloom in my head had lifted just enough to see the road ahead.

Pairing Recommendations

If I’d been anywhere else, I would have reached for something specific to drink with this. The Exquisitos is a sophisticated little thing, and you don’t want to drown it in something too aggressive.

• Cuban Coffee: A short, punchy espresso with a bit of sugar (a cafecito) would be the traditional play. The bitterness of the coffee would play perfectly with the honey and cream notes of the cigar.
• Aged Rum: Something like a Havana Club 7 Year. You want that molasses sweetness to bridge the gap between the cedar and the cocoa.
• Sparkling Water: Honestly? If you really want to taste the nuances of the Vuelta Abajo tobacco, just a cold glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime is the way to go. It cleans the palate between puffs.

I wouldn’t pair this with a heavy, peated Scotch. It’s too delicate for that. You’d be like putting a trailer hitch on a Corvette—it just doesn’t fit the vibe.

The Verdict

Look, the Cohiba Exquisitos isn’t a “cheap” smoke. It’s a Cohiba, which means you’re paying for the name, the history, and that extra fermentation. But is it worth it? If you value your time, yes.

This isn’t a cigar for a three-hour golf game or a rowdy BBQ. This is a cigar for a twenty-minute escape. It’s for those moments when you need to recalibrate your soul but you don’t have all afternoon to do it. It’s small, it’s potent, and it’s refined. It’s the kind of cigar that reminds you why you started smoking in the first place—not for the nicotine, but for the way it forces you to sit still and actually *feel* the world around you.

The construction was top-tier, the flavor transitions were clear and interesting, and the strength was satisfying without being overwhelming. It’s a petite corona that acts like a Churchill. If you can find them, and you don’t mind the price tag for a shorter experience, grab a box. Or at least a handful.

I stepped out of the Sting Ray, the smell of the Exquisitos still clinging to my jacket. I felt different. The melancholy was still there, sure, but it had a bit of a silver lining now. Sometimes, all it takes is a bit of fire, some fermented leaves, and twenty minutes of silence to realize that quitting isn’t always the answer. Sometimes, you just need to find the right reason to start again.

Final Thoughts: A solid, punchy, and incredibly elegant smoke. It’s the best twenty minutes you’ll spend all week. Just watch your pace, or it’ll bite back.