Cohiba Serie M 2022 Corona Gorda | Cigar Reviews by the Katman

Wrapper: Nicaraguan Corojo
Binder: Nicaraguan (Double Binder)
Filler: Dominican (Piloto Cubano), Nicaraguan (Estelí and Jalapa)
Size: 6.5 x 48 Corona Gorda
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $29.99

A $30 cigar. And I don’t play golf. Who am I going to impress with this stick? If I herf with it, I should add a price tag on the cigar band.
Ratings ranged from 85-95 for both the 2021 Toro release and the 2022 Corona Gorda release. Yikes.
A cigar at this price point should get a 95 and a clitoris buffing kit.

The original Serie M, in the 6 x 52 Toro size, was released in April 2021. This is a new size for 2022.
According to General Cigar:
“Cohiba Brand Ambassador Sean Williams said, “Since its debut a year ago, Cohiba Serie M has been a resounding success. We’ve received high praise from cigar media, shop owners, and cigar lovers who have called Serie M one of the most exciting Cohiba blends they have ever smoked. Together with Sandy Cobas (Owner of El Titan de Bronze Factory in Miami) and her team, we’re proud to release the blend in a new size, giving cigar connoisseurs another opportunity to experience the artistry of Serie M.

“MSRP is set at $29.99 per cigar and it is limited to 5,000 boxes of 10 cigars.”

Not exactly a stunning looking cigar. For $30, they could have prettied it up some. Lots of veins, lumps and bumps, and visible seams that look like they want to separate from the mother ship. The fantail is missing due to removing it from the cello. My bad. It has a closed foot. Somewhat oily and with a fine tooth up and down the flagpole. If you stare at the near hologram looking cigar band after taking two hits of blotter acid, it becomes mesmerizing.

Aromas aren’t impressive…in fact, they are faint and take some real schnoz focus to pick up on dark chocolate, peanut shells, cedar, barnyard, black pepper, baked potato, and cinnamon from the cut cap.

The cigar is very light. Doesn’t feel like it is jam packed. The draw is wide ass open. This stick is going to burn lightning fast. My PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool will need to bide its time. I smoke several cigars per day and at least 75% need the help of my little friend.

The cold draw presents peanut shells, black pepper, dark chocolate, espresso, cedar, dirt, liverwurst on rye, and that’s all folks.

I smoked one a week after receipt. I was pleasantly surprised that it showed some interesting potential. Now, a couple months later, screws to thumbs for the final showdown.

The start lacks everything. Not much flavor of anything…certainly, no complexity. Probably should have waited 6 months or longer to review this cigar. Too late…I’m moving forward, even if it is merely based on my perceived potential.

Once the shroud covering the foot burns away, things cheer up. Big blasts of black pepper and cinnamon, a natural, but undistinguished, sweetness, very meaty, roasted almonds, malt, espresso, and a bit of coca flowers.

I see an uneven burn at the starting line. I grab my hand with the lighter, using my other arm…like the Peter Sellers character in “Dr. Strangelove,” and refrain from putting torch to cigar.

A very pleasant balance begins its dance in the tulips. There is a definite character forming that keeps my interest.

But some of most recent reviews of both high-priced sticks and moderately priced sticks started off better than the M.

Strength is medium but feels stronger due to an excess of black pepper. If this spicy element would calm down, it may allow more subtle nuances through the morass of a dark and stormy night.

It’s taken 10 minutes to burn 1”. Using my advanced 3rd grade math skills, that works out to a one-hour smoke. Not packed like a good cigar.

Torch to foot to calm the insanity.

I rant, piss and moan about this every time I smoke an upscale priced stick…I just reviewed the Isabela Mammoth 660 for $13 and it was one of the best cigars of the year. That’s $17 less than the Cohiba M. Isabela ages the shit out of the tobacco and finished product for years. You’d think Cohiba could have used some serious aging instead of putting the onus of hibernation on its unsuspecting customer base. Would that be too much to ask? It should be rarin’ to go.

In the end, it’s all P.R. bullshit. Some smokers see an expensive stick and they must have it. Other smokers see an expensive stick and say, ‘Not in this lifetime.’

The strong sweetness wretches up caramel, cinnamon candy, and lemon custard.

The complexity is there but in minute quantities…which I believe mandates that you let this cigar hibernate for a long time before lighting up.

Creaminess enters from the black lagoon. Transitions are minimal as the balance is off kilter. If this cigar has any chance of redemption, it should show up in the second half.

To be fair, if Cohiba decided that you the smoker, is responsible for the cigar’s aging, my gut says that extended humidor time just might make this an excellent blend.
In other words, I am on a tight rope of pulling the potential from what I experience.

The blend isn’t quite linear but there are no dynamics at play.

A very pleasant blend. I think that after laying down 3 sawbucks for this cigar, I expect a cheap hooker to take care of me in the gas station’s filthy restroom.

I posted my 1983 Eddie Munster music video on my homepage. And I also posted the outtake reel. So long ago. Makes me feel ancient. But it was a surprise, as I haven’t watched the outtake video in so long. There is a (3)pie in the face scene at the end of the outtake video. It was Halloween 1983, and we had a big contest to win a trip to Transylvania with Eddie Munster. It was sponsored by Rocshire Records, Life Magazine, and Tiger Beat magazine.

The big party was held at the Hollywood Palladium. But Butch and I couldn’t be there as we were touring to promote the record. I hired Grandpa (Al Lewis) Munster to emcee that party. In the lobby was a giant screen TV on a loop showing the music video and then Butch hitting me with real cream pies. It was a one take deal as I was wearing an expensive Alexander Haig suit. But if you look and don’t blink, you’ll see I’m smoking a cigar.

At 1-1/2” burned, the body is exhumed, and the cigar explodes with delicious flavors and complexity.

The spiciness calms way down and the balance is fixed.

Transitions start their journey. The finish is pretty toasty with elements of every aroma and flavor I’ve described.
And the cigar goes out.

But now, at least, the M is finally performing like a champ…which reinforces my assertion that extensive humidor time is needed.
Those earlier subtle nuances spring free from their constraints as an apology.

Miraculously, the char line is dead nuts perfect now. It seems it took that 1-1/2” to warm up in the bull pen.
Now, it is pitching 95mph strikes down the center of the plate.

The heightened spirit of the newly found character relaxes and calms me.

Strength remains at medium.

I read that Halfwheel let the original 2021 Toro age 10 months before reviewing it and it was a blockbuster.

Flavors are queued up in order of intensity. Changes begin to shift every couple minutes. Huzzah.

This cigar is still going to be only an hour smoke but the lovely qualities, now observant of all the high holidays, slows me down to experience the delicious finish.

“At Last” by Etta James is playing on Pandora. What a beautiful classic.

The sum of its parts now run the show. Individual flavors do not stand out…which is a shame because the blend does have some very subtle elements that I’d like to experience.

Preparing for that Hollywood Palladium event, Butch Patrick and I met with Grandpa Munster several times at Art’s Delicatessen & Restaurant in Studio City. A very popular and busy place. Al Lewis loved the attention he got. Everyone stared at us. I found it unsettling as folks were trying to figure out who the third wheel was. The first time we lunched together, I started whining about the project and Al lit into me. He raised his voice and told me that if I couldn’t stand the pressure, that maybe show biz ain’t for me. I was so embarrassed. But Al let it go and I never whined again in front of him and he never brought it up again.

Grandpa was a real mensch and always insisted on paying for our meals despite me trying to wrestle the check from him. What surprised me was the fee that Al wanted for hosting the Halloween event: $500. I figured he was only asking for a token amount because he was such a good friend to Butch.

The M now displays all the good parts of a beautifully blended cigar. Sips of water finally gives me a head rush from the vehemence of the cigar’s need to please.

Once, around 1980, a couple guy friends and me took the helicopter ride to Catalina Island. On board was David Carradine of “Kung Fu”. He had two very Hippie looking chicks with him. We chatted briefly and said our goodbyes as the chopper landed. My friends and I rented a little golf cart in order to see the whole island. We found an isolated spot and sat on some big rocks and lit up a joint. Moments later, out of the dense foliage, Carradine shows up with the chicks and says, “Hey buddies…smelled the pot. Mind if we join you?” Naturally, we concealed our excitement.

After we finished the joint we brought, Carradine brought out a huge splif. We smoked it and clearly Carradine had a better dealer than we did. We nearly left the planet and it was a sea of laughter the entire time. We shared the same helicopter on the way home, and we couldn’t wait to tell our friends how we got stoned with Kwai Chang Caine of ‘Kung Fu.’

The halfway point arrives, and the cigar has a big smile on its puss.
Complexity is full on. Its depth is impressive.

There is a lovely uniqueness being displayed. The blend has a distinct flavor all its own.

Now, I don’t know if this cigar is worth $30, but it has become a bucking bronco all over my palate.

I don’t understand why a really good blend relaxes me. I’m calm and ready to join the Ukraine fighters. This would make for a good research subject. Get an MRI of your brain while smoking the cigar to see what shows up. Although, most of the MRI’s I’ve had don’t allow smoking.
But wouldn’t that be something if a paper was written explaining how a cigar causes certain brain synapses to open and shut.

Michael Jackson is playing. I still like his music despite the fact he was a pervert. But most of the credit should go to Quincy Jones for his arrangements. Jones created his own wall of sound since Phil Specter invented it. But Jones doesn’t use chimes in every song.

I stand corrected. It’s been over an hour of smoke time, and I still have 2-1/2” to go.

Flavors: Creaminess, caramel, dark chocolate, espresso, peanut shells, lemon custard, black pepper, almonds and cashews, cedar, and head cheese.

Strength moves up to medium/full.

I hate admitting this, but I am truly enjoying the M.

Not a big fan of the American Cohiba line. The M is the first one to deeply impress me.

When I rate this cigar, I am going to include its potential. I have a couple more that will rest for several months.

The spiciness suddenly ramps up. And the nicotine kicks in.

I found a local gas station that is only charging $16.99 per gallon. Jumped on that.

With added humi time, this cigar will be more definitive in the area of constant changes.

Even though it took a bit for this blend to find its soul, I am happy that I don’t have to diss the shit out of the cigar. Despite what the future aging will do for this blend, it just isn’t worth $30 unless you light your cigars with a $10 bill.

Final smoke time is 80 minutes.
A good cigar. If you have the discretionary cash to make this purchase, I say go for it.


And now for something completely different:

A tale of New York City…Back in the mid-90’s, La Guardia Airport was going through some renovations. I was senior project manager for a high-end foo-foo gingerbread ferrous and non-ferrous metal fabrication company. The outfit was in Phoenix, and I had to fly to NYC regularly.
What I didn’t know going into this was the stranglehold the unions had in that city. It was my first job in that city.

The Ironworker Union’s business agent had decided to charge us triple time without cause or reason (We employed 3 crews of seven union guys each…8 hours per day). We went back and forth, via phone, with the union for a month on this issue and I got nowhere.

The owner of my company was a weasel who told me to take care of it but would not get involved himself. He was my age but a real pussy. Afraid of confrontations but talked the talk but couldn’t walk the walk.
Sometimes, a contractor would demand that both he and I attend a meeting that I knew would be a confrontation over contract issues.
My owner would be all, “Yeah, I’m going to take this asshole down. Who does he think he is fooling with?
We’d sit down in a closed-door meeting with our customer, and he would start a rage opera on something that they forgot to include in their budget and was looking for us to take the fall. I had done my research and knew the contract and what we included and excluded, backwards and forwards. When the contractor finished, he looked at the owner and this guy just sat there not saying a word. Finally, I jumped in and ran the meeting. The owner had put his wife as the 51% owner and then proceeded to cheat on her like a madman. He even cheated with a new chick hired in some menial office role that looked like Bucky Beaver. This girl could bite into corn a foot from the cob. Not a looker. He got caught and his wife took him to the cleaners. The idiot had two small children. Forfeited the whole thing over skanky sex.

I dreaded every time I had to get on a plane with the owner. I knew it was futile as he never helped. He was eye candy. The owner cowered like a 13-year-old in the boys’ locker room whose genitals had not matured and got whipped with towels until the kid cried. And yes, the owner inherited the company from his dad.

Each time I arrived at the job site, my NYC crews were nowhere to be seen. Other trades would get on their radios, alerting my men that I was there so by the time I got back to where they were supposed to be working, there they were with an Alfred E. Newman look on their faces…”What? Me worry?”

Why weren’t the assholes working?

I finally demanded a meeting with the Local Ironworkers B.A. I had to scuttle this triple time thing in the bud, or we would take a horrendous dollar loss on the job.

We were to meet at the Waldorf Astoria. It was winter and very cold.
I stood in the lobby waiting at 8am. They were late. Sending me a message, I guess.
And then they walked in.

Four guys in trench coats. All of them huge guys.

And they all sounded very New York.
“Hey. How you doin’? My name is Vinnie.”

The BA and I shook hands but the other 3 spread out. We went into the empty dining room and sat down.
The BA and I sat at one table and the other 3 sat at separate tables. They had surrounded me.

“Didja’ know that I’m the third BA in a year for this local?”

“Yeah, dat’s right…last BA just up and disappeared one night ‘bout 3 months ago. Hasn’t been seen from since…I got the job.”
Double gulp.

And then he leaned into me and asked why I was causing so many problems?
I told him that there was no basis for charging me triple time during ordinary working hours.
All four of them laughed hard.

“Look here, kid…I say it’s triple time so that’s what it is. Capiche?”
I told him my budget would not allow for that.
They laughed again.
I was literally pissing my pants.

When I insisted that we pay them standard pay, one of the guys opened his coat to show me his shoulder holster. Never said a word. Just smiled.

“You should know how t’ings run around here, kid. It goes like I say it goes. Capiche?” (He kept saying “Capiche.”)

My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t speak, so I just shook my head…I didn’t have a shoulder holster.
And with that, they got up and marched out the front door of the hotel.

I went back to my hotel and said, “Fuck it.”
I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. What if I had really pushed it? Would I have disappeared?

I called the owner of my company and told him how it went. He was pissed off at me for not “handling” it correctly. I got mad. I yelled into the phone, “Well, why the fuck don’t you fly out here and straighten it out?”
Then I heard “Click.” He never brought up the job again.