Montecristo Double Corona Limited Edition 2001

Description

I remember the silence most of all. If you’ve ever spent a week on a ranch out in the Hill Country, you know the kind of quiet I’m talking about. It isn’t just the absence of noise; it’s a heavy, physical thing that settles into your marrow. I was sitting on the edge of a weather-beaten porch, my boots kicked off, watching the sun make its slow, bloody retreat behind a line of scrub oaks. It was peaceful. Too peaceful, maybe.

For five years, I hadn’t touched a cigar. Not a puff. I’d walked away from the hobby for reasons that seemed important at the time—health, money, a change of pace—but mostly I just wanted to see if I could do it. I’d kept my humidors, though. I couldn’t bring myself to part with the collection. They sat in my study like little wooden coffins, holding the ghosts of my past indulgences. But that evening on the ranch, something shifted. The air was dry, smelling of cedar and dust, and my hands felt empty. I reached into the travel humidor I’d packed on a whim and pulled out a stick I hadn’t seen in a decade.

I rolled it between my fingers, feeling the slight give of the tobacco. I wasn’t sure if I even remembered how to do this right. I clipped the cap, struck a match, and let the flame dance just below the foot. That first draw? It wasn’t just a smoke. It was a homecoming. I sat there for two hours, watching the stars poke holes in the dark, rediscovering what I’d been missing.

That smoke? The Montecristo Double Corona Edición Limitada 2001. It was a hell of a way to break a fast.

The Specs

Before I get into the weeds with how this thing smoked, let’s look at the vitals. This isn’t a small cigar. If you’re looking for a quick hit while you’re waiting for a cab, look elsewhere. This is a commitment.

Construction and Pre-light

The first thing you notice about the Montecristo Double Corona EL 2001 is the color. It’s got this deep, chestnut brown wrapper that looks like a well-oiled saddle. There’s a bit of marbling to it—darker patches swirling into lighter ones—that gives it a rugged, natural look. It isn’t that overly processed, uniform look you see on some modern sticks. It looks like it grew out of the dirt, which, I suppose, it did.

In the hand, it feels substantial. At 7 5/8 inches, it’s a long road ahead. The texture is smooth, almost oily, despite being over two decades old. I didn’t find many soft spots, though the foot looked a little tight. That’s the thing with these older Cubans; sometimes the construction can be a bit of a gamble, but this one felt solid.

I took a cold draw after a straight cut. It was a bit firm—what I call a “cool draw.” It didn’t feel plugged, but it definitely required some effort. The taste on the lips was all molasses and dry earth, with a faint hint of vanilla that hung around the back of my throat. I gotta say, the aroma coming off the unlit wrapper was enough to make me forget why I’d quit in the first place.

The First Third: The Awakening

Lighting a Double Corona is a ritual in itself. You can’t rush it. I spent a good minute just toasting the foot, making sure every bit of that 49-ring gauge was glowing evenly. Once I took that first real puff, the room (or in my case, the porch) was filled with a thick, white smoke that smelled like a woodshop.

The initial flavors were surprisingly mellow. You’d think a cigar with this much age and “Limited Edition” pedigree would kick the door down, but it just sort of leaned against the frame. I got a lot of cedar right off the bat. It was dry, clean, and very prominent. Underneath that was a sweetness—that molasses I smelled earlier—mixing with a bit of black coffee. It wasn’t a sweet latte, mind you; it was more like a cup of diner coffee you’ve had sitting on the table for ten minutes. A little bitter, a little acidic, but honest.

The strength was firmly in the mild-to-medium camp. It didn’t make my head swim, which was good considering I hadn’t had nicotine in my system for years. The burn line was slightly wavy, but nothing I needed to touch up. It felt like the cigar was just waking up, stretching its limbs after twenty years in a box.

The Second Third: Settling In

About thirty minutes in, the Montecristo started to find its groove. The cedar stayed, but it took a backseat to a more pronounced earthy character. If you’ve ever walked through a forest right after a rainstorm, that’s the flavor I’m talking about. It’s damp, rich, and very “Cuban.”

The coffee notes deepened into something more like dark chocolate—not the sugary stuff, but the 80% cacao bars that leave your tongue feeling a bit dry. There was also a woody undertone that reminded me of the oak trees surrounding the ranch. It’s a very grounded profile. No “zing” or spicy pepper here, just a slow, steady progression of flavors that felt very deliberate.

The draw remained tight. I had to double-puff a few times to get the volume of smoke I wanted, but it never got hot. That’s the beauty of a Prominente; there’s so much tobacco there that the smoke stays cool even when you’re working for it. The ash was a light grey, holding on for about an inch and a half before I tapped it off into the dirt. I noticed the second band—the “Edición Limitada 2001″—and it reminded me that this was the year Habanos started actually putting the date on the EL bands. Before this, they were just plain. It’s a nice bit of history to hold between your teeth.

The Final Third: The Long Goodbye

As I got into the final two inches, the cigar finally decided to show its teeth. The strength ticked up toward a solid medium. The sweetness from the first third was long gone, replaced by what I can only describe as burnt toast and bitter chocolate. It sounds harsh, but it worked. It was savory and heavy.

There was a touch of leather in there too, which felt appropriate given my surroundings. The flavor became very concentrated. Because the draw was still a bit snug, every puff felt like I was extracting the very essence of that 20-year-old tobacco. It got a little salty toward the very end, and I started to feel the nicotine finally catching up with me.

I smoked it down until my fingers were starting to feel the heat. I didn’t want to put it down. There’s a certain melancholy that comes with finishing a cigar like this. You know you’re likely never going to have another one from that specific year, in that specific setting, ever again. I let the nub die out in the ashtray, the smoke trailing off into the Texas night.

Pairing Recommendations

If you’re going to spend 90 to 100 minutes with this cigar, you need a partner that won’t get in the way.

• Coffee: A black Americano or a simple French press. The acidity of the coffee cuts through the earthiness of the Montecristo perfectly. Don’t add sugar; you want the bitter-on-bitter action.
• Bourbon: Something with a bit of age and not too much rye spice. A wheated bourbon like Weller or even a standard Maker’s Mark works. The caramel notes in the whiskey play well with the cedar and vanilla notes in the cigar’s first half.
• Rum: If you want to keep it traditional, a Cuban rum like Havana Club 7 Year is the way to go. It brings out the molasses and cocoa in the middle of the smoke.
• Water: Honestly? If you’re at a ranch, a cold glass of well water is all you really need. It keeps the palate clean so you can actually taste what you paid for.

The Verdict

Is the Montecristo Double Corona Edición Limitada 2001 the greatest thing I’ve ever smoked? No. I’ve had sticks with better draws and more complexity. But that’s not really the point of a cigar like this. This is a time capsule. It’s a relic from an era when the Edición Limitada program was still finding its feet, and the tobacco used back then had a different soul than what’s coming out of the factories today.

The construction was “Cuban-solid”—which is to say, it was a bit temperamental but manageable. The flavor profile was consistent, earthy, and deeply satisfying for someone who prefers a classic, wood-forward smoke. It isn’t a “flavor bomb” that’s going to surprise you with every puff. Instead, it’s a long, steady conversation with an old friend who doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence with chatter.

If you happen to find one of these in a dusty corner of a humidor or at an estate sale, grab it. It’s a piece of history that deserves to be burned slowly on a quiet porch somewhere. It’s a reminder that sometimes, taking a break—even for five years—just makes the return that much sweeter.

Final Thoughts: A solid, dependable, and historically significant smoke. It’s not for the impatient, and it’s not for those who want a spice rack in their mouth. It’s for the man who has two hours to kill and a lot of thinking to do. It did the job for me, and it did it well.

Rating: Solid. Very solid.