Cohiba Piramides limited edition 2001

Description

Product Specifications

He had left it to me with a note that read, “For when you get what time is for.”

My grandfather was a man who did not measure his life by years, but moments of stillness. He didn’t care much for parties, but he was a bit of a party animal — the solitary kind. The kind of pride that comes with reflecting on your thoughts and realizing you’ve actually gotten somewhere. I’d just left behind a chapter of my life that had been nothing but noise, and standing on that deserted beach I felt the silence for the first time.

I opened the humidor and there it was, resting in a cedar sleeve: a dark, tapered beauty with two bands. One was the iconic yellow and black of Cohiba; the other a gold and black “Edición Limitada 2.”

I knew what it was. Or I guess, more accurately (slight spoiler alert) that I knew the myth of it. This was no mere cigar; here was a time capsule from the dawn of the century, a postergirl remnants of that old El Laguito Mathusalem, lying in clarity for more than two decades.

I took it out, weighed it in my hand and understood what my grandfather was talking about. This is not the kind of thing you smoke hurry up. You smoke it because you have finally won the privilege to quit. The Transition: That smoke?

Cohiba Pirámides Edición Limitada 2. I gotta tell you holding a cigar older than a few of the guys working in my local lounge is quite intimidating. You start thinking about the hands that rolled it back in 2, the soil in Vuelta Abajo and how this stick survived twenty-some odd years of humidity fluctuations and travel to end up here on a beach with me. It’s a Pirámides — a torpedo for those not fluent in factory lingo — and one with some undeniable presence.

Cigar Specifications
Product Name
Cohiba Pirámides Edición Limitada 2
Factory Vitola
Pirámides
Common Name
Torpedo

Construction: The Feel of a Relic That zirconia and its brethren have to be laid into a foundation with holes in it makes them seem at odds with the very concept of cybernetic replacement.

I stared at the wrapper for quite a while before I even considered reaching for my cutter. It’s a Maduro, but not one of those pitch-black paint-looking Maduros you get on some modern NCs (non-Cubans). This was a rich, mottled chocolate brown, like an old leather chair that’s been well sunned. There’s a minuscule toothiness to it, a little fine grit that lets you know the leaf had personality before being comet-tail-fermented into submission.

It’s not “silky” the way a Connecticut shade is; it’s rough-hewn, but polished. Solid. The roll was firm — perhaps a bit too firm, which is the classic Cuban crapshoot — but it felt consistent from foot to pointed head. No soft spots, no lumps.

I gave it a gentle squeeze, and it had just enough give, like good steak. And the cap was dead on, a sharply pointed lid that seemed poised to focus those flavors in one narrow beam directly at the center of my mouth. It was really in the pre-light draw that it showed its age though. I lopped just a smidgen off the head — I favor a narrow aperture on a torpedo to keep the smoke dense — and pulled.

It was not the standard hay and barnyard of young Cubans. It was deeper. I was getting notes of old books, dried raisins and some weirdly specific smell that I could only describe as the scent of damp cedar. It was earthy, though — in a good way.

It had a bit of a tight draw, but I thought once it heated up the leaves would loosen and breathe. I smelled the foot for about 5 minutes. If you’re going to smoke of piece of history, it is always best to get your money’s worth before even lighting the match. Flavor Profile: A Three-Act Play on the Beach
The First Third: A Creamy Awakening
Lighting this baby up was a ceremony.

I used wooden matches and allowed the sulfur to burn off before introducing flame at the foot. I didn’t want any butane or chemicals to mess up twenty years of aging. The opening puffs were exceptionally mellow. You’d think a “Medium to Full” cigar would burst the door down, but this one sort of just leaned up against the frame and nodded.

The initial flavor was buttery. I mean, seriously buttery. It made me think of shortbread cookies or the heavy cream you sometimes see in glass bottles. There was just a hint of that Cohiba grassiness, though it had transformed into something more like dried herbs.

An inch or so down, a vanilla note began to poke through, blending with a mild toasted nuttiness. The smoke was white and voluminous, hovering in the humid beach air like a low cloud. At this stage it wasn’t spicy in the least — entirely silky, rich and shockingly well-mannered.
2> The Second Part: The Wood and the Honey

As I made my way to the center of the stick, the flavors began to deepen. It was still cream, but being overtaken by a dense aged wood profile — imagine cedar on steroids, but not that sharp fresh kind.

It was more akin to one of your old humidor that’s been seasoned for decades. Then came the sweetness. It was not a sugary sweetness; if anything, it tasted more like manuka honey or perhaps butterscotch. I mean, the intricacy here was simply something else.

Each puff seemed to provide a subtly new nuance. One moment I’d get a hit of cocoa, and then next, it would switch back to that earthy, mineral taste that only comes from Vuelta Abajo tobacco. The strength began to ramp up here too. I could feel it in my chest – a warm, vibrating buzz that told me this cigar had plenty of life left in her.

The burn was a tiny bit wavy – likely from the sea breeze – but I never had to touch it up. The ash was a quite handsome salt-and-pepper grey, nearly holding on to two inches before I decided to knock it off into some sand. Its context: The Dark Evolution

When I got to the last third, the beach was slowly darkening.

The sun was a bruised purple on the horizon, and Pirate Assistant Navy Director Pirámides was getting down to business. The sweetness receded and the leather became much richer along with a trace of black pepper on the retrohale. It wasn’t harsh, though. That’s the magic of the triple fermentation and the two decades of rest — all that “bite” had been filed down into a silky, velvet finish.

The second third’s cocoa jumped darker, bitter chocolate level—85% cacao.

There was a hint of roasted espresso beans on the finish. I smoked it down to where I could barely hold the nub, and still it didn’t get hot or harsh. It items died down, but then it did not return with a vengeance. It just remained consistent, and then eventually diminished into the slow fade out of nothingness that left me feeling super mellow.

I felt as if I’d just conversed long and deeply with my grandfather, without receiving a single word from him. Solid experience. Truly. Pairing: What to Drink with a Ghost

When you smoke something this rare and aged, there’s no reason to drink something that’s going to compete with the tobacco.” I had in my pack a tiny flask of Havana Club 15-Year-Old Rum.

It’s got that dark sugar and oak profile that plays well with the Maduro wrapper but doesn’t too agro. The sweet rum brought out the honey flavour in the cigar deliciously. If you’re not a rum person, I’d genuinely offer up a glass of vintage Port or even just an incredibly good turn at black coffee. You’re looking for something with a touch of body but also plenty of acidity to rinse the palate between those rich puffs.

Skip the peaty scotches, or boozy IPAs; they’ll merely stomp all over those delicate vanilla and butterscotch notes that make this Cohiba so special. You’re here for the cigar; you’re not interested in alcohol. Conclusion: The Verdict

Should I go on a quest for the Cohiba Pirámides Edición Limitada 2001?

Listen, if you’re the kind of person who just needs a “strong smoke” to suck at while you’re out on the links? This will only be wasting your time and money. But if you appreciate the art, the lore and a hell of a lot of patience to get an ancient cigar to this level of vintage then it’s a masterclass in what Cuban tobacco can be. It’s not a “powerhouse” per se, in the nicotine department at least, but it is full-bodied as far as presence goes.

It’s refined, smooth, and has a flavor trajectory that is to beer what a well-crafted piece of music is to pop. It’s a “museum-quality” smoke, as some might say, but cigars are not made to be admired in a glass case. They’re meant to be burned. Sitting there on that beach, watching the last bit of light fade away, I understood: My grandfather had been right.

There are some things that aren’t for every day. They’re for the times when you finally sit still and you just are. I was not only smoking a great cigar, I had 90 minutes of pure tranquility. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s a solid hit.

Final Thoughts:
If you ever do, please buy a box.

Don’t think twice. Then just be sure you have a quiet room and a good friend (if even only in spirit), with no other place to go. You’ll thank me later.