Montecristo Puritos

Description

I’ve always found that the best deals aren’t signed in glass-walled boardrooms with those ergonomic chairs that cost more than my first car. No, the real business—the kind that sticks to your ribs and changes your life—happens in rooms that smell like dust, old leather, and forgotten history. Last Tuesday, I found myself in exactly that kind of place. It was an old private library, the kind with rolling ladders and shelves that groaned under the weight of first editions and leather-bound law books from the nineteenth century. The air was still, heavy with the scent of mahogany polish and that sweet, musty aroma of aging paper.

I’d just spent six hours haggling over the acquisition of a small estate collection. It was grueling, a chess match of numbers and sentiment. But when the ink finally dried on the last contract, a profound sense of peace washed over me. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber slats of light across the oriental rug. I leaned back in a wingback chair that had probably seen a dozen owners come and go, and I felt that familiar itch. I wanted a smoke. I needed to mark the moment. But I didn’t have two hours to kill, and I didn’t want to disrespect the quiet gravity of the room with a massive Churchill that would leave me lightheaded before I could drive home. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small, yellow pack. It was time for something short, punchy, and honest.

The Transition: That smoke? The Montecristo Purito…

You ever have one of those moments where you don’t need a symphony, you just need a solid three-minute blues solo? That’s what this is. I’m talking about the Montecristo Purito. It’s the little brother that doesn’t try too hard but still gets the job done. It’s a machine-made Cuban, sure, but it’s got the pedigree of the big boys without the ego. I popped the cellophane off one of these slim sticks, and even in that quiet library, the crinkle sounded like a celebration. I didn’t need a cutter—these come pre-cut and ready to rock—which was a blessing because I’m pretty sure I left my Xikar in the car.

Construction: The Feel in the Hand

I gotta say, there’s a certain honesty to a machine-made Cuban. You aren’t looking for the artistic vein-free perfection of a Cohiba Behike here. The Montecristo Purito is a working man’s luxury. Taking it out of the pack, the wrapper is a dark, rustic brown—classic Vuelta Abajo leaf. It’s got a bit of a toothy texture to it, a little rugged, which I actually prefer when I’m in a mood like I was in that library. It feels firm between the fingers, not squishy like some of those cheap dry-cured cigarillos you find at a gas station. This is 100% tobacco, no additives, no paper scraps, just the real deal condensed into a 27 ring gauge.

The pre-light draw is surprisingly open. I’ve had hand-rolled sticks that felt like sucking a milkshake through a pinhole, but these Puritos are consistent. I took a cold draw and got a hit of dry hay, a bit of old leather—which matched the room perfectly—and a faint citrus zest that woke up my palate. It’s a short-filler stick, meaning the inside is made of chopped leaves rather than full-length ones, but don’t let the “machine-made” label fool you. This isn’t a cigarette. It’s a concentrated dose of Montecristo DNA.

Flavor Profile: A Short Story in Three Acts

The First Third: The Greeting

I sparked it up with a simple wooden match I found on the library’s mantle. The first few puffs are always the most telling. Right out of the gate, you get that unmistakable Cuban “twang.” It’s a mix of creamy cedar and a light, floral sweetness. It’s not aggressive, but it lets you know it’s there. The smoke output is decent for such a small ring gauge—enough to see the blue wisps dancing in those amber light beams. There’s a bit of spice on the retrohale, but it’s more like white pepper than a slap in the face. It’s a smooth start, very approachable.

The Second Third: The Heart of the Matter

About five minutes in, the flavors started to settle and deepen. The citrus I caught on the cold draw turned into more of a toasted orange peel vibe. The woodiness stayed, but it shifted from fresh cedar to something a bit more charred, like burnt oak. This is where the Montecristo character really shines. You get these notes of roasted coffee and a distinct nuttiness—think toasted almonds. It’s medium-bodied at this point, solid and dependable. I found myself staring at the gold lettering on the spines of the books, the smoke swirling around me, and I realized I wasn’t thinking about the deal anymore. I was just… there. That’s the sign of a good smoke; it anchors you in the moment.

The Final Third: The Parting Shot

As the burn line approached the last inch, the strength ramped up. It moved firmly into the medium-to-full territory. The sweetness took a backseat to a heavier leather profile and a punch of spice. There’s a touch of honey right at the end, a lingering sweetness that keeps the finish from being too bitter. It gets warm, obviously, because it’s a small stick, but it never got mushy. I smoked it right down to the point where I was risking my fingertips. It’s a 15 to 20-minute experience, but it feels substantial. It doesn’t leave you wanting; it leaves you satisfied.

Pairing: What to Sip

Now, if I had been at home, I might have reached for a peaty Scotch, but in that library, I wanted something that wouldn’t compete with the tobacco. I had a thermos of black coffee—strong, no sugar. The bitterness of the coffee acted like a reset button for my tongue, making every puff of the Purito taste like the first one. If you’re looking for a spirit, I’d say go with a dark rum or a cognac. You want something with a bit of caramel sweetness to play off that spicy Cuban finish. Avoid anything too delicate; the Purito has enough kick that it’ll bowl over a light white wine or a pilsner.

Value and Usage: Who is this for?

Let’s be real. This isn’t the cigar you pull out for your wedding day or when you’re celebrating a 50th birthday. This is the cigar for the “in-between” moments. It’s for the guy who has twenty minutes between meetings and wants a real tobacco experience without the commitment of a Robusto. It’s for the beginner who wants to see what the Cuban hype is all about without dropping fifty bucks on a single stick. And it’s for guys like me, who sometimes find themselves in an old library after a long day, needing a quick way to decompress.

The fact that they come individually wrapped in cellophane and pre-cut makes them incredibly portable. You can toss a couple in your pocket and not worry about them drying out or needing a toolkit to smoke them. They’re consistent, they’re affordable, and they taste like Cuba. In a world of over-hyped, over-sized cigars, there’s something really refreshing about a product that knows exactly what it is and doesn’t try to be anything else.

Conclusion: The Verdict

I finished that Purito, set the tiny nub in a glass ashtray I found on the desk, and took one last look at the library. The deal was done, the smoke was over, and I felt ready to face the world again. Is the Montecristo Purito the most complex smoke you’ll ever have? No. Is it a masterpiece of hand-rolled craftsmanship? Of course not. But it’s a solid, reliable, and authentic Cuban experience that fits into the cracks of a busy life. If you want the flavor of the Vuelta Abajo without the time investment, these are a no-brainer. I keep a pack in my glove box and another in my desk drawer. You should too. Solid.