Cohiba Siglo VI

Description

I was sitting in this little hole-in-the-wall lounge off Calle Ocho in Miami, the kind of place where the neon “Open” sign hums just a bit too loud and the air smells like a mix of salt spray, gasoline, and decades of high-grade tobacco. It was a Tuesday, I think. I was on a solo trip, one of those “find yourself” excursions that mostly just involve me finding new ways to be lonely in a crowded city. The humidity was doing that thing where it clings to your skin like a wet wool blanket, and I found myself leaning back in a cracked leather chair, staring at the ceiling fan as it lazily chopped through the thick air.

I felt a bit nostalgic, honestly. Miami has a way of doing that to you. It feels like a postcard from a version of the past that never quite ended. I reached into my travel humidor, my fingers brushing past some smaller sticks I’d packed for quick walks, and then I felt it. The girth. The smoothness. I’d been saving this one for a moment that felt significant, but sitting there, watching the world go by through a streaked window, I realized that “significant” is just a word we use for “now” when we’re actually paying attention. I pulled it out, the yellow and black band catching the dim light. It looked right. It felt like it belonged in that room, in that heat.

That smoke? The Cohiba Siglo VI. It’s a beast of a stick, but it doesn’t shout at you. It just sits there, heavy and confident, waiting for you to get your act together and light it up.

The Specifications

Construction: The El Laguito Touch

I’ve handled a lot of cigars in my time, and you can usually tell when something was rolled with a bit of extra care. The Siglo VI comes out of the El Laguito factory—the same place where they used to roll cigars specifically for Castro back in the day. You can feel that history when you hold it. The wrapper is what they call a “Claro,” and it’s smooth. Not like a piece of plastic, but like a well-worn silk tie. There were barely any veins, just a clean, tan leaf that looked almost edible.

When I gave it a gentle squeeze, it was firm. No soft spots, no hollow points. It’s a 52 ring gauge, which is a handful. Back when this size came out in 2002, it was considered a monster. Nowadays, we’ve got cigars the size of baseball bats, but the Siglo VI still feels like the “gold standard” for a thick format. I clipped the cap—a clean, three-seam job—and took a pre-light draw. It wasn’t wide open; it had that classic Cuban resistance, like drinking a thick milkshake through a straw. I got notes of cold hay, a bit of sweetness, and something that reminded me of an old wooden desk. Solid start.

The First Third: The Awakening

I used a soft flame to get it going. You don’t want to blast a leaf like this with a triple-jet torch; you gotta be patient. The first few puffs were surprisingly punchy. I expected it to be creamy right out of the gate, but it woke me up with a hit of white pepper and leather. It wasn’t aggressive, just… present. It’s like a firm handshake from someone who knows they’re more important than you.

About ten minutes in, that initial spice started to settle down. The smoke output was impressive—thick, white clouds that hung in the humid Miami air like ghosts. I started picking up this honey sweetness on the finish. It’s a weird sensation, having pepper on the tip of your tongue and honey at the back of your throat, but it works. The burn was straight as an arrow, which is a relief because sometimes these thicker Cubans can get wonky if the roller wasn’t having a good day. This one was behaving.

The Second Third: The Sweet Spot

By the time I hit the middle of the stick, I was fully relaxed. The nostalgia I’d been feeling earlier started to shift from “sad” to “content.” That’s the power of a good cigar, I guess. The flavor profile shifted gears here. The pepper almost vanished, replaced by this incredible creaminess. If you’ve ever had buttered toast with a little bit of almond shavings on top, that’s what I was getting. It was rich, but not heavy.

I noticed the “extra fermentation” they talk about with Cohiba. They put the seco and ligero leaves through a third fermentation in barrels, and you can really taste it in the smoothness. There’s no harshness, no “young” tobacco bite. It just glides. I found myself picking up hints of coffee—not a dark roast, more like a cafe con leche from one of the stands outside. A bit of vanilla, a bit of nuttiness. It’s complex, but it doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard. It’s just being a Siglo VI.

The Final Third: The Deep End

As I moved into the final stretch, the strength started to ramp up. It moved from a solid medium to a definite medium-to-full. The flavors got darker. The cedar came to the forefront, and that leather note from the beginning returned, but it was deeper now, like an old library book. I also caught flashes of dark chocolate—the bitter kind, not the candy bar kind.

Even though I was getting down to the nub, the smoke stayed cool. That’s the mark of a well-constructed Cañonazo. Sometimes these things get hot and bitter at the end, but I was able to smoke this right down to where it was burning my fingertips. The finish was long and earthy, leaving a taste in my mouth that made me want to just sit there in silence for another twenty minutes after the cigar was out.

Pairing: What to Drink?

Now, I was in Miami, so I went the traditional route. I had a glass of Havana Club 7-Year-Old rum. The sweetness of the rum plays perfectly with the cedar and spice of the Cohiba. If you’re not a rum person, a double espresso is your best bet. You need something with enough body to stand up to the cigar without drowning out those delicate honey and almond notes. I’ve seen people pair these with heavy peated scotch, but I think that’s a mistake. You’ll lose the nuance. Keep it simple, keep it classic.

The Verdict

I gotta say, the Siglo VI is a commitment. It took me a good 90 minutes to get through it, and that’s with me taking my time. It’s not a cigar for a quick break; it’s a cigar for when you have something to think about, or when you want to stop thinking entirely. Is it expensive? Yeah. Is it hard to find? Sometimes. But when you get a good one, it’s hard to beat.

It’s not perfect—no cigar is. The draw was a little tighter than I usually like in the first five minutes, and you really have to let these age. If you smoke one of these straight off the truck, you’re wasting your money. Give it five years in the humidor, let it settle down, and then it becomes something special. Sitting there in that lounge, watching the Miami traffic crawl by, I felt like I’d made the right choice. It was a solid experience, a piece of craftsmanship that didn’t need to brag to let me know it was there.

If you have the chance to grab a few and you’ve got the patience to let them sit, do it. It’s a staple for a reason. Just make sure you’ve got a comfortable chair and nowhere to be.

Final Thought: It’s a refined, complex journey that reminds you why we smoke cigars in the first place. It’s about the time spent, not just the tobacco burned.