Cohiba Talisman

Description

I remember the way the salt spray felt against my face, a fine mist that seemed to settle the heat of the afternoon sun. I was sitting on the aft deck of a 42-foot Ketch, the Siren’s Call, bobbing gently in the turquoise waters just off the coast of the British Virgin Islands. The engine was off; the only sound was the rhythmic slap of water against the hull and the distant cry of a gull. I’d just spent three grueling months negotiating a real estate acquisition that felt like it was held together by nothing but spit and stubbornness. We’d signed the final digital documents ten minutes prior, the satellite link-up barely holding long enough for the “Success” notification to flash on my screen.

I felt a strange wave of nostalgia wash over me. It wasn’t just about the deal. It was the smell of the teak deck, the same scent that used to cling to my father’s clothes after he’d spend his weekends tinkering with his old Boston Whaler. I looked at my hands—calloused from years of work, yet steady now that the pressure had finally let up. I reached into my travel humidor, the leather worn and soft like an old baseball glove. I didn’t want something quick. I didn’t want something routine. I wanted a smoke that felt as substantial as the victory I’d just secured. My fingers brushed against a dark, oily wrapper, and I knew exactly which one it was before I even pulled it out.

That smoke? The Cohiba Talismán Edición Limitada 2017. It’s been sitting in my stash for a few years, just waiting for a moment that had enough weight to match its stature. I clipped the pigtail cap, felt the breeze shift, and realized that some moments aren’t just lived—they’re celebrated.

The Specs

Construction: A Heavyweight in the Hand

You ever hold a cigar that just feels… expensive? Not in a flashy way, but in a “this took a lot of work” kind of way. That’s the Talismán. This thing is a beast. The 54 ring gauge—what the factory calls a Cañonazo Doble—is hefty. It’s thick, commanding, and it fills the hand without feeling clumsy. In an era where everyone is chasing these massive 60-ring logs, the 54 feels like the sweet spot for a big, celebratory smoke. It’s got that classic Cohiba pigtail cap, a little nod to the Behike line, which I’ve always found to be a classy touch. It’s like the cigar is wearing a little tuxedo.

The wrapper is what really grabs you, though. It’s a dark, mottled maduro leaf from the Vuelta Abajo region. It isn’t pitch black like some of those non-Cuban Broadleaf wrappers you see; it’s more of a deep, rich chocolate bean color with a slight oily sheen. I ran my thumb down the length of it, and it felt smooth, almost buttery. No huge veins, no soft spots. It felt dense, like it was packed with every bit of tobacco they could squeeze into that 154mm frame.

Before I even lit it, I took a long draw. The pre-light was a trip. I got a hit of cinnamon and sweet chocolate, but there was this underlying funk—that classic Cuban “barnyard” or manure scent that sounds gross to outsiders but makes a connoisseur’s mouth water. I also picked up some tea leaves and a bit of almond. The draw was spot on. Not too loose, not like trying to suck a milkshake through a straw. Just a firm, promising resistance.

The Flavor Profile: A Three-Act Play

The First Third: The Awakening

I used a soft flame to get it going—you don’t want to torch a leaf this delicate with a triple-jet lighter if you can help it. The first few puffs were surprisingly bright. I expected a gut-punch of strength, but instead, I got a sophisticated wash of salted nuts and cedar. It was like sitting in a wood-paneled library with a bowl of roasted cashews. About half an inch in, the bitter espresso and leather started to creep in, grounding the experience.

I gotta say, the retrohale is where the magic happens with this one. I blew a bit of smoke through my nose and caught a distinct flash of citrus and white pepper. It wasn’t harsh, though. You can tell this tobacco has been aged. Habanos says they age these leaves for at least two years, and Cohiba does that extra third fermentation in cedar barrels for the seco and ligero leaves. You can taste that process. It rounds off the sharp edges. The strength started at a solid medium, but I could feel it ramping up, like a slow-climbing roller coaster.

The Second Third: The Sweet Spot

As I moved into the second third, the ash was holding on like a champ—a beautiful, layered light grey. The cedar and nuttiness stayed as the backbone, but the profile started to get much creamier. This is where the cocoa nibs showed up. It wasn’t a sugary chocolate, more like a high-percentage dark cocoa. The leather note got deeper, more like an old armchair, and the hay notes typical of Cuban tobacco started to harmonize with a growing sweetness.

The smoke texture was thick and chewy. I found myself just letting it sit in my mouth for a few seconds before exhaling. That white pepper on the retrohale stayed consistent, providing a nice little bite that kept the creaminess from becoming boring. It’s a complex smoke; every time I thought I had it figured out, a new note of roasted coffee would pop up. It felt balanced. Nothing was shouting; it was more like a well-rehearsed choir.

The Final Third: The Crescendo

By the time I got to the final third, the strength had firmly landed in the medium-to-full territory. The leather and hay took the lead, and the earthiness became much more pronounced. I started getting hits of anise and a bit of flour, which sounds weird, but it gave the smoke a certain “bready” weight. The sweetness shifted from cocoa to something more like marzipan—nutty and dense.

There was a slight bit of bitterness toward the very end, but not the “this cigar is young” kind of bitterness. It was more like the charred skin of a roasted marshmallow or a very dark roast coffee. I smoked it down until my fingers were starting to feel the heat, which is a testament to how much I didn’t want to put it out. Even at the nub, it didn’t get mushy or hot. It stayed dignified right until the end.

Pairing: Finding the Right Partner

On the boat, I was sipping a glass of 12-year-old Flor de Caña rum. The caramel and vanilla notes of the rum played beautifully with the cedar and cocoa of the Talismán. If I were back home in my lounge, I might have reached for a heavy-bodied Tawny Port or maybe a peaty Scotch—something with enough character to stand up to the cigar’s evolving strength. You don’t want a light lager with this. You need something with some soul. Even a thick, black Cuban coffee (a cafecito) would be a brilliant companion if you’re smoking this in the morning—though, honestly, this feels like a “sundown” cigar to me.

The Verdict

Look, the Cohiba Talismán isn’t a cigar you smoke every day. It’s a 2017 Edición Limitada, and while Habanos has done a few more runs of it since then due to its popularity, it’s still a special-occasion stick. It represents that modern Habanos trend of going big—heavy ring gauges and rich, maduro-style wrappers. It’s a departure from the classic Línea Clásica profile, leaning a bit more toward the richness of the Behike or the Maduro 5 line, but it still keeps its feet firmly planted in the El Laguito tradition.

Is it worth the hunt? If you’ve got a milestone to mark—a deal closed, a boat launched, or just a quiet moment of nostalgia that needs a soundtrack—then yes. It’s a solid, heavy-hitting smoke that rewards you for taking your time. It’s complex, it’s beautifully constructed, and it tastes like the best parts of Havana.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon and the sky turned a bruised purple, I flicked the last of the ash into the sea. The deal was done, the cigar was finished, and for a few hours, everything felt exactly as it should. Solid.