Partagas Salomon

Description

I was in the garage last Tuesday, crouching over a 1 Honda CB that has given me none but trouble. The scent of gasoline and old shop rags is typically my happy place, but that afternoon I was so Goddamn frustrated. I had oil stains on my hands, and I was approximately two minutes from throwing a wrench against the wall. It was then that the old man came in.

Product Specifications

He didn’t talk much — he never does when I’m in the middle of a fix — but he put a little slide-lid cedar box on my workbench, next to a stack of rusty bolts. “Found this in the back of the cabinet,” he said. “Figured you could use a distraction.”

I dried my hands on a towel and cracked open the box.

Inside was a smoke’s beast, a double-tapered monster which appeared that it should have been sitting in a museum as opposed to my cluttered workspace. I was, to say the least, inquisitive. I should never have been scared; I’ve smoked plenty of cigars in delivery rooms and all the various hospital rooms to which work or life has sent me over the years. “This is bound to be an experience as mundane as it is extraordinary, trust me,” I told myself. I put the wrench down, grabbed a stool and resolved that the bike could wait.

I had to check this thing out. That smoke? The

Partagás Salomones. It’s not something you can just “have” whenever you feel like it.

It’s an event. I spend the next two-plus hours discovering just why this stick has the rep it does among the fellas who know what a La Casa del Habano shelf smells like. The Specs
Wrapper/Binder/Filler
Vuelta Abajo, Cuba (Full Strength)
Construction: A Handful of History

The weight was the first thing that struck me marocanmever since I lifted it.

It’s got some heft to it. The Salomon shape — double perfecto, if you must make things formal — is a bit of a lost art. It’s tapered at each end, so whoever rolled this ((the person.

torcedor) would have to be at his best. You can’t just slap these together.

The Bad Miraculous, Holding it on my garage surrounded by half-built projects, I felt a strange reverence for the craftsmanship. It’s smooth, with a wrapper that resembles burnished leather and just a couple of veins to tell you it’s an all-natural product. I gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt firm, no soft spots and that’s a good thing because with a cigar this large, if the draw is bad it can ruin your whole afternoon.

The aroma of the foot was light — largely clean tobacco with a hint of something sweet, dried hay. Straight cutter on the head, not taking too much off. You want to hold onto that taper so it will sit properly in your mouth. The pre-light draw is a little tight (which I expect for that small “nipple” on the foot) but I can feel that air pass once I get it fired up.

The First Third: The Slow-Motion Furnace

To light a Salomon is something of a ritual. You have to be patient. I took a single-flame torch and very carefully toasted that little point at the bottom. It was tight on the first few puffs once it caught, but as the burn line developed further into the wider part of the bulb, the draw opened up nicely.

I have to say, the smoke began so much smaller than I thought it would. I thought I was going to get punched in the gut straight off the bat, and instead I got this mellow young leather thing. I definitely tasted a little salt on my lips, which I often attribute to very good Cuban leaf and some grassy almost floral quality (). It wasn’t aggressive.

It was as if the cigar only just met me, shook my hand and then set down to work. An inch or so in, a soft earthiness started sneaking up on me, as did a woody sweetness that approached the cedar box it was sold to me in. The smoke was dense, and white, hovering in the still air of the garage like low-cloud cover. That was a strong opening number, very polished for something that appears so daunting.

The Second Third – The Partagás Growl

Halfway through the second third and boy did this cigar wake up.

Here is where the “Partagás” character began to come through, for real. If the first third was polite conversation, then the second third was deep and gravelly monologue.

The body of the cigar went to the next level – starting medium, it was now just a hair over full. I began to encounter these dense, roasted nut flavors — kind of like cashews that overstayed their welcome in the oven. Then came the espresso. It was not a sour coffee, but something closer to a strong, dark crema.

There was something on the back of my tongue, I realized — a cedar note that hung around long after I had put down each bite and then arrived out of nowhere and dissipated with a bit of spice. This was not a stingy pepper, but one that was cinnamon-black peppery. It felt complex. Just when I thought I had the flavor nailed, something else would pop up.

The leathery notes from the opening lingered as a base, but they turned darker and more intense. I just leaned against the back of my workbench, and for several moments I didn’t think at all about the carburetor. It’s a full attention kind of thing, not something you absentmindedly puff on while your mind is elsewhere. The Last Third: The Brute

As i entered the final third the Salomones stopped being accommodating.

This where the strength of it really came into play. I could taste the nicotine, and the flavors were very strong. The woodiness became dry, almost charred oak, and those creamy black pepper I got at first? It leapfrogged to the head of the line.

That was a hot finish but not “young-hot” or “harsh-hot.” Just hot, full stop. The smoke remained creamy, and that I believe is the sign of a good-aged stick (I even suspect this bringing in my dad’s humidor for at least a couple of years). This part might a be little too much for you if aren’t accustomed to full bodied Cubans. It’s got a “growl” to it.

I practically had to do fewer puffs just so as not to get overheated. It’s a lot of work just to get to this point — I’m probably two hours in, at least — but the result is this huge, earthy and peppery crescendo that leaves no question about where this tobacco was grown. I smoked it down until I could barely hold the nub without my fingers getting burned. I didn’t want to let it go.

Pairing: What to Drink?

In the garage, I was barely staying hydrated by sipping cold water to keep my palate clean, but if I were doing this “right”, I would stick with something that has a little structure to it. A dark, bottom shelf Cuban rum—but not one that’s too sweet to balance out all of that spice in the final third.

If coffee’s your thing, a double espresso or even a very robust café Cubano will stand up to it. (By that and gnashing of teeth.) I’d stay away from anything delicate, like a light beer or a white wine; the Partagás Salomones would steamroll right over them. You want something that can go toe-to-toe with it. The Verdict
Is this the Partagás Salomones for everyone?

Honestly, no. It’s a huge time investment and it has a price tag/rarity (LCDH exclusive) that makes it a “special occasion” smoke. “But howdy, if you’ve got the time and can find one, it’s quite an experience.” It’s not just a cigar but a history lesson of the Partagás factory. It has that old-school Cuban soul that you just don’t see from every vitola. I returned to the house afterward smelling of a campfire and feeling totally at ease.

The motorcycle was still broken, and my hands were still dirty; but I’d got the cobwebs out of my head. Now and then, a gift like that may be precisely what you need in order to hit the reset button. It’s a good, complex and thoroughly enjoyable smoke that reinforces why I not only love cigars, but also the activity surrounding them in the first place. If you spot a box of 10 at a La Casa del Habano don’t hesitate.

Just grab them. You’ll be thanking me in much more tense times — hiding out in your very own version of my garage.