Romeo y Julieta No. 2

Description

The sting of the salt spray still in my eyes when I cut the engine. I was three miles from shore, the sun low enough on the horizon to turn the Caribbean into a sheet of hammered copper. I’d had four days alone on the boat, sailing and fishing — a trip I’d meant to take for years but never got around to because life gets in the way. But suddenly, there I was, alone on a 32-foot center console, with a thirty-pound King Mackerel chilling in the hold. I felt as though I’d just concurred a small country. After the fight, my hands shook a little; my skin was stretched tight with salt; and silence after a revving engine sounded like the good news of the world. It was a pure moment of unadulterated triumph.

I settled myself on the casting deck, wiped my hands on a soggy rag and dipped into the pocket of my canvas vest. I didn’t want something that would take two hours to smoke — I had to make it back to the marina before darkness fell wholly, completely — but I wanted something fit as a treat. The tips of my fingers ran over a cold, smooth cylinder. I opened the red can with white branding, a break in the orange light. That was the stick I’ve been saving for my first real catch of the voyage.

That smoke? The Romeo y Julieta No. 2. There’s a reason it’s a classic, I thought to myself as in that moment, I took everything the song had to offer.

The Specs

Construction: The Tubo Advantage

I have to say, I’m a fan of the aluminum tube (the “tubo”). Some purists consider them a gimmick, but when you’re at sea or traveling solo through foreign countries, as I was then, that little metal sleeve is a godsend. It keeps the wrapper from getting thrashed around in your pocket and maintains a somewhat level humidity while you’re out in the wilds. I popped the cap — that satisfying little hiss of air — and twisted out the No. 2 into my palm.

This one felt very well put together. It had a wrapper of a light, Colorado-clarissimo hue, and might have been a trifle rustic with some noticeable veins but that’s what you get from an hand rolled Cuban. It felt very firm to the touch and I could not feel any soft spots or ’plugs’. I gave it a quick sniff. Even before the light I received a pride of Cuba smell, hay a little barnyard and that sweet floral scent that RyuJ is known for. I used a simple straight cut. The pre-light draw was pretty much perfect – not too loose, yet there was enough resistance to remind me that I’d actually have to work for the flavor ever so slightly.

There, lighting up is an art. You locate the lee side of the console, huddle down and employ a torch with an ‘E’ that can stand a bit more breeze. Once the foot was burning evenly, I took my first long draw. Smoke was moderate at the outset but intensified quickly, bringing out that pronounced cedar pungence right from the start.

The Flavor Profile: A Three-Act Play

The First Third: Cedar and Morning Coffee

The first draws of a Romeo y Julieta No. 2 are always something of a wake-up call to my lungs. It does not slap you in the face with spice like a Partagas or a Bolivar. Instead, it’s smooth. I immediately got plenty of cedar — as if walking into a woodshop. Beneath that, there was a subtle creaminess—akin to a light roast coffee with just a bit of milk. It’s a medium-bodied open, and I was thankful not to have another one that would warrant my interest, as I still had my eyes pealed on the horizon for any straggler swells. Burn was impressively even, despite the breeze and breakers, and the ash was a tight, salt-and-pepper gray that fell off after about an inch over the gunwale.

The Middle Third: The Sweet Spot

As I got comfortable and let the boat drift, that cigar really started to open up. This is where No. 2 flourishes. That cedar note lingered, but now it was accompanied by a very particular leathery quality. Ever get a whiff of a high-end pair of new boots? That is what it looked like, except that everything was smoke. But then something interesting happened — a flavor that I recall getting in well-aged RyJ’s: a fruity dark sweetness. The research says blackberry, and I get that, although it was more of a dried cherry or dark cocoa situation for me. It wasn’t sweet, not sugary, just a mild natural sweetness that evened out the earthy taste. Smoke texture developed to more denser, “chewy”, and the cocoa notes had a little dance with some roasted nut. This is the section of the cigar where you escape from the world and concentrate solely on flavor.

The Last Third: The Earthy End

By the time I reached the bottom couple of inches, the sun was nearly down. The flavor profile continued to change, with some of that fruit sweetness falling away and a tending more toward deep earth and baking spices — I’m talking about nutmeg or even a touch of cinnamon, but not the heat. It stepped up a notch, hopping into medium-plus land. Toward the very end, I did detect a coffee bean bitterness of sorts in it, but not in a bad way. Not burnt popcorn bitter, just more like extremely strong espresso. The finish remained remarkably cool. I’ve had cigars of this bulky size get ho a nind acrid in the final inch, but the No. 2 stayed cool and was well-behaved. I smoked that thing all the way down to the nub, until my fingers could barely cradle it anymore without a hint of a burn.

Pairing: What to Drink?

Because I was on a boat and needed to get home, I stuck to water and the dregs of some tepid Cuban espresso that someone gave me for free at the marina that morning. The shocker was that the cold coffee was spectacular. The dregs’ bitterness blended well with the cocoa and leather tones of the cigar.

If I were back on land, chilling on a patio? I’d use a medium-aged rum — let’s say, Havana Club 7 Year. You want something that will offer just a touch of caramel sweetness to counter the cedar and spice. Not a spirits person? A straightforward latte or a nutty brown ale would work too. You don’t want anything too heavy or peaty that’s going to drown out the delicate flowery and fruity notes of the tobacco. This is a conversationalist of a cigar, not a shouter; you’ll want to bring along a drink that listens.

The Verdict

Now, listen, I’m not going to sit here and tell you this is the most complicated cigar in the world. It’s not. But that, in theory, is not why you purchased a Romeo y Julieta No. 2. You make the purchase because it’s reliable. You get it because you know it’s dependable. Whether you’re in a London parlor or on a fishing boat off the coast of Havana, you know what to expect every time you crack open that red-and-white tubo.

It’s a “workhorse” Cuban. It’s that stick you hand to the friend who doesn’t normally smoke, because it won’t make them turn green, but it’s also that cigar that a seasoned smoker keeps in his travel humidor for consistency. There’s a reason the Marevas size is a classic—it fits perfectly in hand and its smoking time falls right around 40 to 50 minutes so you’re not at it for an eternity.

In mine, an ideal celebratory companion.

It was only a compliment to the sense of the catch, and the beauty of the sunset, not a distraction. Success, cedar and a touch of the sea went into his mouth. Solid. Truly solid.

Final Thoughts: Sometimes you just gotta grab ’em if you see a box of these. They cellar well, they pack and travel well, and they’re one of the purist expressions of cuban tobacco that money can buy! Just make certain that you have a relatively sharp cutter and 30 seconds or so of peace to enjoy it.