Montecristo Robustos Limited Edition 2006 – 2000 VINTAGE

Description

There is a specific kind of silence you only find at three in the morning when you’re sitting in the driver’s seat of a 1964 Chevy Impala. It’s not a quiet silence. It’s a mechanical one—the faint “tink-tink-tink” of a cooling engine and the smell of old leather mixing with the salt air coming off the coast. I was parked on a turnout overlooking the Pacific, the moon reflecting off the chrome trim of the dash like a neon sign. I’d been driving for four hours, no destination in mind, just me and the road, trying to figure out where the last decade went. My mind was heavy with the kind of late-night contemplation that usually leads to either a bad decision or a moment of clarity.

I reached into the glove box and pulled out a small, battered leather travel humidor. Inside sat a stick I’d been saving for a night that felt like it mattered, even if I didn’t know why yet. It was dark, oily, and looked a bit rugged under the dim dome light of the Chevy. I rolled it between my fingers, feeling the toothiness of the leaf. I wasn’t looking for a quick fix or a casual puff. I needed something that could keep pace with the weight of my thoughts. I needed something that had seen a bit of history itself.

That smoke? The Montecristo Robustos Edición Limitada 2006. It’s a cigar that doesn’t just sit in your mouth; it demands you pay attention to the world around you while it tells you its own story.

The Specs

First Impressions & Construction

I remember when these first hit the shelves. People were making a big deal because it was a “re-issue” of the original 2000 debut. Back then, the Edición Limitada program was still finding its legs, and Habanos S.A. decided to celebrate the fifth anniversary by bringing back some of the heavy hitters. Sitting there in the car, looking at this 2006 stick, I could see why. The wrapper is noticeably darker than your standard Montecristo No. 4 or No. 2. It’s got that Maduro-adjacent hue—chocolatey, mottled, and slightly shimmering with a bit of residual oil even after all these years in a box.

The feel in the hand is solid. There’s no soft spots, no weird lumps. It’s a dense little tank of a cigar. I nipped the cap with a straight cutter, and the pre-light draw was exactly what I wanted: a bit of resistance, like drinking a thick milkshake through a straw. The cold draw gave me a hit of barnyard hay, old library books, and a very distinct sweetness that reminded me of dried figs. It felt like something that had been waiting patiently for me to finally stop driving and start smoking.

The First Third: The Awakening

I toasted the foot with a soft flame, taking my time. I didn’t want to scorch those delicate, aged oils. As the first clouds of smoke filled the cabin of the Impala, I was hit with a punch of dark cocoa and cedar. It’s not the bright, spicy cedar you get with a fresh cigar; it’s more like a cedar chest that’s been sitting in a warm attic for twenty years. It’s mellow but incredibly deep.

You ever have a smoke that just feels “thick”? That’s the Montecristo EL 2006. The smoke texture is creamy, almost chewy. About half an inch in, a nice almond nuttiness started to peek through the cocoa. It wasn’t aggressive. It was more like a slow conversation starting up. The strength was already sitting at a firm medium, letting me know that even though it’s been aging since the mid-2000s, it hasn’t lost its backbone. The burn line was a little wavy—Cuban cigars like to keep you on your toes—but nothing that required me to reach for the lighter again. The ash was a light grey, holding on like it was glued to the foot.

The Second Third: The Heart of the Matter

By the time I reached the second third, the car was filled with a rich, aromatic haze. I cracked the vent window a notch to let the ocean breeze pull some of it out. This is where the cigar really started to show its “Montecristo” DNA, but with a twist. The earthy notes ramped up—rich, black soil after a rainstorm—but it was balanced out by a surprising honey sweetness.

I gotta say, the transition here was smooth. The cocoa turned into more of a roasted coffee bean flavor, and that almond note I mentioned earlier evolved into something more like a toasted walnut. There’s a specific “twang” you get with aged Cuban tobacco, a sort of sourdough-like acidity that hits the back of the tongue, and it was present here in spades. It kept the richness from becoming too cloying. I found myself leaning back against the bench seat, watching the cherry glow in the dark. The “adventurous” part of my night was over; now it was just about the appreciation of the craft. The body was definitely pushing into the “full” territory now, but it didn’t have that harsh nicotine bite you get with younger sticks. It was just… substantial.

The Final Third: The Deep Contemplation

As I got into the final stretch, the rings of the cigar band were mocking me—I didn’t want this to end. The flavor profile shifted again, dropping some of the sweetness in favor of a more rugged, leather-heavy experience. If the first third was a chocolate shop and the second was a coffee house, the final third was a saddlery. It was all wood, leather, and a bit of black pepper on the retrohale.

The heat stayed low, which is a testament to the construction. Often, these robustos can get bitter at the end, but this one stayed cool. I was getting hits of dark chocolate again, but it was the 90% cacao kind—bitter, intense, and lingering. The creaminess from the beginning was gone, replaced by a dry, woody finish that made me want to take my time between puffs. I smoked it down until my fingers were feeling the heat, and even then, I considered grabbing a toothpick to get another five minutes out of it. It’s a solid, honest finish. No gimmicks, just good tobacco doing what it’s supposed to do after fifteen-plus years of sleep.

Pairing Recommendations

When you’re smoking something this rich and aged, you don’t want to drown it out. If I wasn’t behind the wheel of a vintage car, I’d have reached for a glass of Havana Club 7 Year. The molasses sweetness of the rum plays perfectly with the cocoa notes of the Montecristo.

However, since I was out on the road, I had a thermos of black coffee—specifically a medium roast with some citrusy undertones. The acidity of the coffee cut through the creaminess of the smoke and kept my palate clean for the next puff. If you’re a scotch drinker, go for something with a bit of peat, but not a total smoke bomb. A Taliskers 10 would provide a nice salty contrast to the honey and almond notes in the middle of the cigar.

The Verdict

I’ve smoked a lot of cigars in a lot of different places, but there’s something about the Montecristo Robustos Edición Limitada 2006 that sticks with you. It’s not a “daily driver.” It’s a cigar for the moments when you need to sit still and think. It’s got a complexity that rewards you for paying attention, and a strength that reminds you it’s a serious piece of work.

Is it the best cigar ever made? I don’t believe in that kind of talk. But is it a “solid” experience? Absolutely. It’s a reminder of why we hunt down these discontinued boxes and pay the “vintage” tax. The way that aged Vuelta Abajo wrapper interacts with the blend is something you just can’t replicate with a fresh stick off the shelf.

By the time I tossed the nub into the dirt and turned the key in the Impala’s ignition, the sun was just starting to think about coming up. I felt a lot lighter than I did when I pulled over. Maybe it was the ocean air, or maybe it was just the hour I spent with a world-class cigar. Either way, the Montecristo did its job. It gave me a bit of peace in a loud world. If you ever find yourself with a chance to grab one of these—and you have the patience to sit with it—don’t pass it up. Just make sure you’ve got a good view and nowhere else to be.

Final Thoughts: A rich, evolving journey that balances old-school Cuban earthiness with a refined, chocolatey sweetness. It’s a piece of history that still smokes like a dream.