Description

The Long Wait: A Morning on the Water with the Partagás Salomones

There’s a specific kind of silence you only get at four in the morning, about three miles off the coast when the engine is finally cut. It’s not a true silence—you’ve got the slap of the saltwater against the hull and the occasional creak of the deck—but it’s a silence of the mind. I was out there last Tuesday, just me and a thermos of coffee that was strong enough to peel paint. The sun hadn’t even thought about showing its face yet; there was just this grey, misty horizon that made the world feel like it was still under construction.

I sat there on a weathered bench, cradling a ceramic mug, thinking about how much of life is just… waiting. Waiting for the fish to bite, waiting for the seasons to change, waiting for the right moment to say something you should’ve said years ago. When you’re in that headspace, you don’t reach for a quick twenty-minute smoke. You need something that’s going to live through the reflection with you. You need a commitment.

I reached into my travel humidor and pulled out a monster. It felt heavy, substantial, like a piece of driftwood carved into a precision tool. That smoke? The Partagás Salomones La Casa del Habano. I’d been saving it for a morning where I had nowhere else to be and nothing to do but watch the tide. This isn’t just a cigar; it’s a two-hour conversation with yourself.

The Specs

Before I get into how this beast actually smoked, let’s look at the numbers. This is a big boy, no two ways about it.

First Impressions & Construction

I gotta say, looking at a Salomón is a bit intimidating if you aren’t prepared for it. It’s a Double Perfecto, which means it’s tapered at both ends. It’s got that little “nipple” at the foot and a sharp taper at the head. Rolling one of these has to be a nightmare for the torcedores; it’s peak artistry. If the proportions are off by a millimeter, the whole thing draws like a plugged straw or burns like a lopsided candle.

The wrapper on mine was a deep, oily Colorado shade—darker than your average Habano but not quite maduro. It felt toothy in my hand, with a slight heft that told me it was packed tight with that prime Vuelta Abajo leaf. I gave it a gentle squeeze; no soft spots, just a solid, consistent density throughout its seven-plus inches.

The pre-light draw was a bit snug, which is expected with that tiny foot. I got notes of damp earth and maybe a hint of dried fruit. It smelled like a barn in the best way possible—rich, fermented, and honest. I used a straight cut, being careful not to take too much off the tapered head, and toasted that little foot with a single-flame torch. It took a second to get going, but once that small tip glowed red, I was off.

The First Third: The Awakening

The first few puffs are always weird with a Salomón. You’re lighting such a small surface area that the flavor is concentrated and a bit intense. But as the burn line hit the widest part of the bulb, the draw opened up beautifully.

Initially, it was surprisingly gentle. I got a lot of sweetness—think honey on toasted bread—mixed with a fresh, grassy note. It reminded me of the air right before a rainstorm. There was a distinct earthiness, too, that “Partagás funk” that people talk about. It wasn’t hitting me over the head yet; it was just introducing itself. The smoke was thick and creamy, hanging in the humid morning air like a low cloud. About an inch in, a bit of cedar started to peek through, giving it some backbone. Solid start.

The Second Third: Settling In

By the time the sun started to crack the horizon, I was well into the second third. This is where the Salomones really found its stride. The strength ticked up from a medium to a solid medium-full. The grassiness faded away, replaced by a much more rugged profile.

I’m talking leather. Lots of it. Like sitting in a brand-new truck with the windows rolled up. Then came the spice—a flick of black pepper on the back of the throat that let me know this was definitely a Partagás. It wasn’t overwhelming, though. It was balanced out by a woody core that felt very “old world.”

I noticed the burn was staying remarkably straight despite the breeze coming off the water. For a cigar this size and shape, that’s no small feat. I didn’t have to touch it up once. The ash was a mottled grey and held on for nearly two inches before I got nervous and tapped it off into the sea. At this point, I was about 45 minutes in, and I felt like I was just getting started.

The Final Third: The Powerhouse

As I reached the final stretch, the “Double Perfecto” shape started to taper back down toward the head. This usually concentrates the heat and the flavor, and boy, did it ever. The pepper moved from the back of the throat to the tip of the tongue.

The flavor profile shifted again, getting darker and more complex. I started picking up notes of cinnamon and a very distinct cashew-espresso vibe. It was rich, oily, and heavy. If the first third was a light breakfast, this was a three-course steak dinner. The strength was definitely “Full” now. I could feel a bit of a nicotine buzz, but it was smooth—not that jittery feeling you get from cheap tobacco, but a warm, relaxing weight in the limbs.

I smoked it down until my fingers were starting to feel the heat. Even in the last inch, it didn’t get bitter or mushy. It stayed cool and flavorful right until I finally let it go. Total smoke time? Just a hair over two hours. My coffee was long gone, but I didn’t care.

The Pairing

I was drinking black coffee, and honestly, it’s a match made in heaven. The bitterness of the coffee cuts through the creaminess of the smoke, and the earthy notes in both play off each other perfectly.

If I were doing this on my porch in the evening, I’d reach for a glass of aged Cuban rum—something like Havana Club 7. You need something with a bit of sweetness and enough body to stand up to that final third. A peaty Scotch might work, but it might fight too much with the pepper notes. Stick to something with a caramel or vanilla profile to balance the spice.

A Bit of History

You can’t talk about Partagás without acknowledging the weight of the name. Don Jaime Partagás started this thing back in 1845. The factory in Havana is one of the most iconic buildings in the cigar world. They’ve been winning gold medals at world expos since the 1800s, and you can taste that lineage in a stick like this.

The Salomones specifically has a bit of a “comeback kid” story. It was actually discontinued in the 70s—probably because they’re such a pain to roll and the market was moving toward quicker smokes. They brought it back in ’95 for the factory’s 150th anniversary, and then finally made this specific version an exclusive for La Casa del Habano (LCDH) shops in 2008. It feels like a throwback to the 19th century, back when people actually had the time to sit and enjoy something for two hours. It’s a piece of history you can set on fire.

The Verdict

So, who is this for? It’s not for the guy who wants a quick puff while he’s mowing the lawn. It’s not for the beginner who hasn’t developed a palate for full-bodied Cuban tobacco yet. This is for the enthusiast who wants to mark an occasion—or someone who just needs to disappear from the world for a couple of hours.

The construction is top-tier. The flavor transitions are clear and engaging. It never gets boring, which is the biggest risk with a cigar this large. Is it expensive? Yeah. Is it hard to find? Sometimes. But for a special morning on a boat, or a quiet night by a fire, I haven’t found many things that can compete with it.

I sat there for a few minutes after the cigar was out, just watching the sun finally clear the horizon. The mist was gone, the water was blue, and I felt… settled. That’s what a good cigar does. It doesn’t just provide flavor; it provides a container for the moment. And the Partagás Salomones is a very big, very sturdy container.

Final Thought: If you see a box of ten in an LCDH, don’t overthink it. Just grab them. You’ll find the time to smoke them eventually, and when you do, you’ll be glad you have them.