Partagas Serie P No.2

Description

I was somewhere outside of Sintra, Portugal, driving a rented 1966 Alfa Romeo Giulia that smelled more like gasoline and old horsehair than a car should. The engine had this rhythmic, metallic ticking—a mechanical heartbeat that felt a little too vulnerable for the winding coastal roads. It was one of those gray, heavy-misted afternoons where the Atlantic Ocean looks like hammered lead. I was alone, which was the point of the trip, but the silence in that cabin was starting to feel less like freedom and more like a weight. I’d spent the last three days trying to outrun a specific kind of melancholy that follows you when you realize you’re halfway through your life and most of the people you started the journey with have taken different exits.

I pulled the Alfa over onto a gravel turnout overlooking a cliffside. The wind was whipping up salt spray, and the car’s heater was doing exactly nothing. I needed something to anchor me to the moment, something to stop the internal monologue from spiraling into the “what-ifs.” I reached into my travel humidor and pulled out a stick that had been sitting there, waiting for a moment that wasn’t necessarily “special,” but necessary. It was a torpedo, thick and imposing, with a wrapper the color of a well-worn leather saddle.

That smoke? The Partagás Serie P No. 2. I clipped the head, struck a match against the dashboard, and for the first time in four hundred miles, I finally felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The Specs: Partagás Serie P No. 2

Before I get into how this thing actually treated me on that cliffside, let’s look at the vitals. This isn’t a small commitment; it’s a cigar that demands about an hour and a half of your life, maybe more if you’re a slow puffer like me.

Construction: The Feel of Havana

I’ve held a lot of cigars in my time, but there’s something about the Pirámide shape of the Serie P No. 2 that feels right in the hand. It’s got a heft to it. The wrapper on mine was a deep, oily Colorado brown—not quite chocolate, but close—with a few visible veins that gave it a rugged, artisanal look. It didn’t look like it came off a conveyor belt; it looked like someone spent time on it in the Partagás factory on Calle Industria.

The pre-light draw was a bit of a revelation. I gave it a shallow cut to keep the smoke concentrated. I got hit with immediate notes of cedar, cold cocoa, and a heavy dose of what I call “barnyard”—that earthy, fermented hay smell that tells you the tobacco is the real deal from the Vuelta Abajo region. It felt solid, no soft spots, and the wrapper had a slight toothiness to it. When I ran my fingers over it, it felt like high-grade parchment. I gotta say, the construction was tight. No loose leaves at the foot, and the taper at the head was sharp and symmetrical.

The First Third: A Salty Greeting

Lighting this beast up in a drafty vintage car was a bit of a challenge, but once the foot caught, the smoke production was massive. Right away, I got that signature Partagás “twang.” If you’ve smoked the Serie D No. 4, you know the pepper, but the P2 starts a bit differently. It’s got this distinctive Cuban saltiness right on the lips, balanced against a wash of cedar and white pepper.

It wasn’t as aggressive as I expected. There’s a certain creaminess to the texture of the smoke—velvety is the word that comes to mind. About ten minutes in, the pepper settled down, and I started picking up floral notes and a bit of citrus zest. It was a strange contrast to the cold, salty Atlantic wind blowing through the Alfa’s window, but it worked. The ash was a light gray, holding firm for nearly an inch before I got nervous and tapped it into the car’s tiny, chrome ashtray. The burn wasn’t razor-sharp, but it was behaving itself, which is all you can really ask for from a hand-rolled Cuban.

The Second Third: The Heart of the Matter

By the time I hit the second third, the melancholy was starting to lift, replaced by a deep, contemplative focus on the flavors. This is where the Serie P No. 2 really shows its complexity. The citrus faded into the background, and the “darker” notes started to move in. I’m talking about espresso, leather, and a very specific hazelnut flavor that reminded me of roasted nuts at a street fair.

I also noticed a bit of cumin and honey. It sounds like a weird combination, but in the context of the earthy, oaky base, it felt incredibly balanced. The strength was definitely building. It’s a medium-full experience, but it’s not trying to kick your teeth in with nicotine. It’s more about the weight of the flavor. There was a touch of caramel and nougat that would pop up every few puffs, keeping things interesting. I found myself leaning back into the leather seat of the Alfa, watching the smoke curl around the wooden steering wheel, feeling that “sweet-salty” balance that Partagás is famous for. It’s a solid, reliable transition that doesn’t leave you bored.

The Final Third: The Bold Finish

As I got down to the last couple of inches, the cigar decided it was time to get serious. The strength ramped up to a full-bodied roar. The cedar turned into charred oak, and the espresso notes got darker, almost like a 90% cacao dark chocolate. I started getting hits of nutmeg and a surprising sweetness that felt like maple syrup or fresh coconut—just a hint, though, nothing syrupy.

The pepper made a comeback, but it was more of a black pepper heat on the back of the throat now. Even toward the end, it didn’t get bitter or mushy. It stayed cool, which is a testament to the quality of that Vuelta Abajo filler. I smoked it right down to the nub, until my fingers were feeling the heat. The finish was long and bold, leaving a taste of cured tobacco and earth that lingered long after I’d put it out. By the time I was done, the Alfa’s cabin was a cloud of blue smoke, and the world outside didn’t seem quite so gray anymore.

The Pairing: What to Drink?

On that cliffside, I was stuck with a thermos of lukewarm black coffee, which, to be honest, was a solid companion. The bitterness of the coffee cut through the creaminess of the cigar perfectly. However, if I were sitting in a proper lounge (or if I wasn’t driving a temperamental Italian car), I’d go a different route.

A dark, aged rum—something like a Havana Club 7 or a Diplomatico—would be the move here. The molasses sweetness of the rum would play incredibly well with the leather and cocoa notes of the P2. If you’re a scotch person, go for something with a bit of peat but also some sherry cask influence. You want something that can stand up to the Partagás strength without drowning out the subtle floral and honey notes. A stout beer, something thick and creamy, would also be a killer choice for a weekend afternoon.

The History: A Modern Classic

The Serie P No. 2 isn’t some ancient relic, but it carries the weight of a brand that’s been around since 1845. Partagás has always been the “bold” choice in the Habanos portfolio. This specific stick is part of the “alphabet series” that started way back in the 1930s, but the P2 didn’t actually join the regular lineup until around 2005. It was an instant hit.

It’s often compared to the Montecristo No. 2 because of the shape, but they are completely different animals. The Monte is more about spice and cocoa; the Partagás is about earth, leather, and that raw, Cuban power. It’s consistently ranked high by the big magazines—I think it even hit the top 10 in Cigar Aficionado recently—but more importantly, it’s a staple in the humidors of guys who actually smoke every day. It’s a “working man’s” premium smoke, if that makes sense. It’s not flashy, it’s just consistently good.

The Verdict

Look, I’m not going to tell you this is the “best” cigar in the world. That’s a load of marketing talk. What I will tell you is that the Partagás Serie P No. 2 is a dependable, complex, and deeply satisfying smoke for anyone who likes their tobacco with a bit of soul. It’s less peppery than the Serie D No. 4, which makes it a bit more approachable for a long session, but it’s got enough evolution to keep you engaged for the full ninety minutes.

Who is this for? It’s for the person who wants to sit down and actually smoke. It’s not a cigar you puff on while you’re mowing the lawn or distracted by a loud party. It’s a cigar for a solo trip, for a moment of reflection, or for a deep conversation with an old friend. It’s got a bit of that old-world Havana grit, and in a world that’s increasingly polished and plastic, that’s something I can appreciate.

When I finally turned the key in the Alfa and headed back toward the city, the smell of the Serie P No. 2 was still clinging to my jacket. The melancholy hadn’t totally vanished—life doesn’t work that way—but it had been put in its place. Sometimes, all you need is a well-rolled piece of tobacco and a few miles of open road to remind you that you’re still in the driver’s seat.

Final Thought: If you see a box of 25, buy ’em. Age them for a year or two, and they only get smoother. Solid. Truly solid.