Montecristo Edmundo – Modern Robusto Cuban Cigar

Description

I have this tradition I do every single year. It’s kind of a ritual, one I keep to myself while the rest of the world is fussing about cake and candles. When my birthday comes, I don’t want a party. I don’t need a whole crowd of people singing off-key in a noisy restaurant. I want to disappear. That typically means discovering the corner of the city that doesn’t know I exist. This year, I spent some time amid the madness one afternoon in London, dodging onto St. James’s Street and thence into a narrow, soot-stained alleyway. (To top it off, it was doing that fine, misty thing the rain does — not enough to actually soak you but somehow making everything feel heavy and muted.)

I discovered a small stone ledge beneath a green awning covered in rust. The noises of the city — the black cabs slaloming through puddles, people’s muffled shouts, running to make a tube — might as well have been miles. I took a small leather case out of my pocket. In the inside pocket was a single stick I’d been saving for just such a moment. There is something about being empty in a crowd and keeping a secret that makes the smoke taste better. I wasn’t seeking a quick fix or a distraction. I was seeking conversation with myself. I wanted something hearty, something that would withstand the damp chill of city air without being oppressive.

That smoke? The Montecristo Edmundo. It’s been my “birthday secret” for a few years now, and every time I clip the cap, I remember why I keep turning back to it. It’s a cigar, to be sure, but also an anchor in an ever-faster world.

The Specs

The Build and the Feel

I have to say, an Edmundo is a very nice size to hold in the hand. It’s got that 52 ring gauge, which in my hand makes it a handful of a cigar — not too bulky like some of those thick “jaw-breakers” around today, yet certainly more presence than a typical mareva. The wrapper on this one was a classic Colorado shade, sort of reddish-bean brown under the dim streetlights, and with oiliness typical of these irrigated leaves. I could feel that slightly roughness as I ran my thumb over the surface – not perfectly smooth, with that touch of coarseness to it (it tells you it’s a real Cuban leaf from the Vuelta Abajo).

I took a long whiff of the foot, even before digging out my lighter. I’m telling you, half the fun is in the pre-light aroma. I got a weird but pleasing blend of wood chips and wheat bran, with an undercurrent of mocha. There was even a nice little flick of sweet lemongrass at the top note of the nose. I made a straight cut — quick and clean. The cold draw was spot on. Not too loose, not like taking a drag of air through a straw, but with enough resistance to let you know the rollers at the H. Upmann factory knew what they were doing that day. Pre-light: I got a sense of spice and dry cedar before even lighting up.

The First Third: The Awakening

It takes some patience to light up in a damp alleyway. You don’t want to scorch that foot, cook it in. The first few puffs, once I was able to get it going, were everything I would expect from a Montecristo: earthy and honest. It’s right in that medium-bodied zone, really accessible. I got a lot of oak and straightaway there was a clean, dry coffee note. It isn’t attempting to blow your head off in the first five minutes. It feels more like a gradual handshake.

The smoke was dense and white, rising toward the awning and lingering in the humid air. I picked up the scent of burning tobacco that had this “wet grass” and liquorice sort of smell to it — strange, I know, but if you’ve spent any time in Cuba sniffing around tobacco farms you’ll know exactly what I mean. It’s the scent of the soil after a storm. An inch in, some nutmeg began to edge in and mellow out the initial oaky bite. It felt balanced. Solid. I didn’t think of all the emails I hadn’t responded to, or that I was technically “getting older.” Man, I was just thinking about thet cumplin’ burn line an’ how that thing was keepin’ so straight in spite of this wind.

The Second Third: The Plot Thickens

Into the second third, and that Edmundo came shining through!

_EXECUTEORDERS: And there they were. Here is where the “Double Robusto” side of things really kicks in. The body backed off ever so slightly from medium to a more self-assured medium-full. The flavors began to pile on like a good story. And that straightforward coffee note I’d found up top had deepened into rich mocha, and then — out of left field!— I caught this big shot of black currant. It offered dark, fruity sweetness that played against a new peppery zing on the retrohale.

I have smoked these over the years, and I’ve noticed the latest production batches having more of that “kick” to them. This one brings me back to those days, maybe ten or fifteen years ago when the Edmundo was a little milder and is more centered on cedar. But this? This was at some ligero power. I began to detect cinnamon and a hint of anise. And it’s a complicated profile, though not a messy one . Every flavor has its place. The vanilla note everyone raves about made an appearance mid-way through, taiming the coffee bean bitterness that was beginning to take hold. It is a refined departure, the sort that prompts you to stop and study the cigar for a moment, admiring the craftsmanship.

The Final Third: A Brash Conclusion

As I hit the fin­al stretch, the city began to wake up a bit more but I was in my zone. The Edmundo was beginning to take liberties. We’re talking full-bodied territory. The spice increased and those baking spices I had detected before became more of a full-throttled black pepper and dark espresso. Should have known the ”woodiness” which is a signature of Montecristo would be in there; indeed it formed much of the essence of this smoke. It wasn’t harsh, though. It kept its balance even as it got shorter and hotter.

I picked up a little bit of fruitiness lingering in the background to help keep the super-heavy earth and leather from being too one-note. Its finish was lengthy and lasting. Five minutes after I’d taken a hit, I could still taste that mocha and oak. I smoked it all the way to the nub, down to my fingers getting hot. I didn’t want to let it go. There’s a reason this label is responsible for almost half of what Cuba exports to the rest of the world — it’s that consistency in character. It’s a “grown-up” smoke.

Pairing Recommendations

Now, here is the thing: I was on a street corner, so you better believe I was slugging from a flask of black coffee — strong and no sugar. It was a perfect match, accenting the cigar’s mocha and toasted notes. But what if I were in a leather chair by a fire? I’d go a different route.

• Rum – Aged: Maybe something like Havana Club 7. Sweet rum takes all the pepper of the final third away nicely.
• Stout: A heavy, chocolatey oatmeal stout. The creaminess of the beer is a nice contrast to the Edmundo’s vanilla and espresso accents.
• Single Malt: Look for a touch of Sherry cask influence. You need those dried fruit notes to make a bridge with the black currant I talked about.

The Verdict

See, the Montecristo Edmundo isn’t a “beginner’s” cigar — that’s for certain — but it’s also not some inscrutable monster. It’s a classic for a reason. It’s got history — it was named for Edmond Dantès, aka the dude who spends years plotting his revenge in The Count of Monte Cristo. A little of that patience and depth is in the smoke itself. It’s a cigar that forces you to sit still for an hour and some odd.

Is it perfect? Nothing is. You might occasionally get a tight draw if you’re unlucky with any given box, but ones from the H. Upmann factory recently have been quite consistent for me. It is a rich, kinetic sensation that begins as a whisper of earth and ends in a shout of espresso and spice. For a birthday tradition in a lonely alleyway, I couldn’t ask for better company. If you’re looking for something to hold in the hand and contemplate through that perhaps complex wine, this will do just fine. Just take care you let it have the time it needs. Don’t force an Edmundo; it’s so full of things to say.

Final Thought: It’s a staple. And if I don’t have at least three of these resting in my humidor at a time, my family feels incomplete.