Vegas Robaina Famosos

Description

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I just remember the moisture more than anything else. It was not only heat; it was the weight of it, a physical burden, like a damp wool blanket laid over the city of Havana. I was on a solo trip; the kind where you don’t tell your office the exact name of your hotel because nobody should be able to find you. I wanted to evaporate into the salt air and the noise of vintage engines reverberating off decaying limestone. It was pushing 2 in the morning and I was on a skinny stone balcony at a hotel that had plenty of years to burn. The streetlights down below were flickering, swinging long pendulous shadows across the pavement. I felt as though I were a character from a spy novel secretive, detached and utterly alone with my thoughts.

I’d spent the afternoon rambling through the backstreets of the San Luis district, not like a visitor, but like a pilgrim. I needed to go see where the magic was made. You know, you always hear about the top brands, the ones that have billboards in all of the airports. But I wanted something with more soul, something that felt of the earth to which it was bound. I’d managed to score one, unmarked box from a contact whose word was as good as gold he had claimed it was the real thing direct from source. I sat in the dark with only the sound of the Malecón’s waves crashing off in the distance, and removed a single stick. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t need to be.

That smoke? The Vegas Robaina Famosos. It held in my palm with its own sort of silent authority. I didn’t miss having a crowd at all; in some ways, the silence on that balcony made the entire experience seem more like a ritual than a hobby. I cut the cap, felt the drag and knew it was going to be a l-o-n-g night. This wasn’t a cigar you smoked quickly. It was the kind of cigar that required you to not budge until it was done.

The Breakdown

Construction: A Handshake With the Soil

I’ve got to say, the construction, when I looked at the Famosos under that dim yellow light on that railing ptthhpthtt nothing but honest. Honest is the word for it. It’s not one of those over-styled, vein-free sticks that looks like it was made by a machine. No, this had a rustic charm. The wrapper was a dark, deep caramel shade very nearly edging into milk chocolate territory, and there was a light oily sheen on it that caught the moonlight. When I pinched it and rolled it between my fingers, it held a firm line — no soft spots or voids inside. Or so it seemed to have been packed by someone who just knew how much pressure that Vuelta Abajo leaf could bear.

It was at the pre-light where that story truly began. You know how sometimes you take a cold draw and you just know? There was a puff of dry hay, a little old barn wood and some faint sweetness that tipped me off with dried figs. It was as clear as an open throat, but had just enough resistance to let me know it would not burn like a chimney. The cap was put on with an old school triple-seam process that appeared very good. It was a straightforward straight cut, and nothing tore at the seams. No stray leaf bits on my tongue, just a clean channel ready for the smoke. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, which I consider a good sign. It felt like it was concealing a lot of secrets.

The First Third: The Nutty Hello

And when I finally did light up, the first few puffs had unexpected punch. I’m telling you, this isn’t a “good morning” cigar for anyone who just began smoking last week. It’s got that “Old School” Cuban strength from the word go. The first flavor was a big wash of black pepper, but that quick bite didn’t linger. Within five minutes, it flatlined into this unbelievably rich and nutty profile. It has the taste of roasted walnuts with a touch of cocoa powder.

The smoke was ample; white, thick clouds that lingered in the humid balcony air. There was a sweetness, too, along the lines of dark honey or molasses, but it was always second fiddle to that peppery heart. It felt balanced. Not “perfect,” because nothing in life is, but it just seemed right. The burn line kicked off a touch wavy — Cubans can be fussy that way — but it straightened itself out before I’d even begun pondering the need of pulling my lighter. It was light grey, nearly white ash and held for a good inch before I decided to tap it off. Solid start.

The Second Third: The Heart of the Plantation

Once I got in the middle of those Famosos, the flavor changed gears. The somewhat chocolately notes I had in the begining began to disappear and were taken over by a much more “earthy” feeling. I mean, leather and oak. It was like walking into a curing barn, where the leaves have been hanging for months. There was something floral in there too, not strong at all but one of those tangy, slightly peppery notes like the wild bushes that border tobacco fields in Pinar del Río. It was a complex jumble — spicy, I guess, but fatty in a way that we all “understood.” It was very round and had a lot of mouthfeel.

Here’s where that Vegas Robaina heritage really comes into play. The dude this brand is named after, Don Alejandro Robaina, was pretty much the godfather of wrapper leaf. A family member has been doing this since 1845. When you smoke this, you’re not just smoking tobacco; you’re smoking a lineage. The strength remained at a solid medium-full, and I felt it in the back of my throat. It wasn’t harsh, though. It was just… present. Firm against the cool stone of the balcony, watching the smoke spiral into the dark, I was sinking inside what it is to lose oneself emotionally and understand why people develop yearslong obsessions over this particular patch of dirt in Cuba.

The Final Third: Run for the Finish

Once I got down to the final couple inches, the Famosos thought, hey this is a serious matter.

The flowers disappeared, and the power kicked in. The leather stuck around, but it darkened more like an old saddle. The heat came back, but not the black pepper in the beginning, more of a deep baking spice — cinnamon and clove without the sugar. It was intense. (Though the smoke remained surprisingly cool, my fingers were heating up.)

I didn’t mean to stop reading it. You know that feeling when a cigar is so good you’re going to willingly singe your fingertips? That was me. The “fatty” character of the smoke was accentuated even more from this point on. It was rich and savory — near a heavy meal. No bitterness, which is the usual calling card of a nicely aged Cuban. It ended with an exclamation point of cedar and a long-lasting spice that hung on my tongue for many minutes after I finally did lay the nub to rest in the ashtray. Inhaling the remaining scent I sat still for another ten minutes. It was one hell of a capper to the night.

Pairing: The Right Companion

If you’re going to smoke something this rich, you want a drink that can hold its own. On that balcony, I drank a glass of Bordeaux — something tannic and inky. The wine’s structure sliced through the fattiness of the tobacco. They didn’t argue, they had a conversation. If wine’s not your forte, I’d probably go for a dark and aged rum — something that’s been in the Caribbean damming out those vanilla, oak notes against the leather of this cigar. I wouldn’t put this with a light beer or gin and tonic because the Famosos will just completely run them over. You want something with a little heft.

The Verdict

So, who is the Vegas Robaina Famosos for? Listen, if what you’re after is a projectable, unassuming smoke to tamp while you mow the lawn or re-hang that door in your mom’s small Cape Cod-then this isn’t it. This is a cigar for the person who wants to sit down and *experience* their smoke. It’s for the experienced palate that is extremely fond of the rustic, old-school Cuban profile. It’s powerful, it’s intricate and it harks back in time to Vuelta Abajo history.

I have smoked many cigars in many places but that one night in Havana really drunk with Jong was memorable. The Famosos never felt the need to bribe me with a cool band or novelty. It was just smooth sailing for an hour of wakefulness and pure, unadulterated tobacco bliss.” It’s a strong, powerhouse Robusto that deserves its spot in any serious humidor. If you can get them — and you have the patience to let them age a bit — you’re in for a treat. It’s the real deal. No fluff, just soul.

Final Thought: If you ever, say, wind up on the balcony of a hotel room in another country late at night coming home from an evening nobody else will ever know about and need something in your pocket that sustains the mystery just a while longer — pack one of these guys.

It is the best company you could want.”