Wrapper: Nicaraguan Corojo
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: 6.25 x 46
Strength: Medium
Price: $22.99
Date Released: April 2023
Quantity Released: 5,000 Boxes of 10
Factory: El Titan de Bronze

BACKGROUND:
From Cigar Aficionado:
“For the first time in the history of the non-Cuban Partagas brand, a limited-edition version is being made in the United States. Produced at the El Titan de Bronze factory in Miami’s Little Havana neighborhood.

“Available in only one size, the Gran Corona measuring 6 1/4 inches by 46 ring gauge, Partagas de Bronce is named in honor of the factory it is produced at (bronce is Spanish for “bronze”). Made of only Nicaraguan tobacco, these cigars are covered in a Corojo-seed wrapper, and blended by product development manager Justin Andrews of Scandinavian Tobacco Group (owner of the non-Cuban Partagas brand), and Sandy Cobas, owner of El Titan de Bronze. According to the company, this is a medium-bodied cigar.

“Production will be limited to 5,000 boxes of 10 cigars. Each box is signed by the factory roller who made the cigars within. The cigars are set to retail for $22.99 each (before taxes), similar in retail price to the Cohiba Serie M, another cigar made at El Titan de Bronze for STG.”

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
My box is numbered 428/5000.

I lucked out because the two years of box aging has done its wicked deed. I received these cigars a week ago and smoked the Let’s See cigar the next day. Spoiler Alert. I was duly impressed. This blend is unlike any non-Cuban Partagas I’ve smoked. And as this was a limited release in 2023, I thought I’d bring you my thoughts before this blend morphs into just a memory…like the entire catalog from Coldplay featuring the Menendez brothers on the double barrel.

Initially, the one thing I don’t care for is that the cigar is very light. There is no heft which means two things…either it plumps from heat, or it burns quickly. I pierce the toast with my Humidimeter and it reads 65%.

I put stick to schnoz and there is barely any signs of life. The cigar’s foot steps in and there are aromas of extreme sweetness, an earthy playing field, baking spices, red pepper, and mocha java.

The smallest punch on my PerfecPunch works beautifully on this narrow-gauge cigar. I only use the 8mm (5/16”) on corona gordas or coronas. The cold draw falls in line with the wrapper’s aromas with notes of flashy baking spices, golden sugar, earthy leather, mocha java, and red pepper.

Spicy start that is mollified by its creaminess. A woody tanginess follows. Smooth as she goes. Cedar, milk chocolate, caramel, and black coffee. All this from a few opening puffs.

I could never do a serious blind taste test. I would make an ass of myself guessing all the wrong leaf stats. The flavor points recommend a diversely strange brew of flavors I’d never have thought would come from Nicaraguan leaves.

The coffee surges but now with added slices of orange and heavy cream. This thing morphs quicker than tariffs on Central America.

The burn was slightly erratic on my two previous sticks. This morning’s review stick follows suit. Annoying and certainly not photo worthy.

And true to my prediction, the slightly underfilled cigar burns a scoche too quickly. It needs to settle down. This might be the single reason that the cigar did not sell out in 2023. Word getting out on social media can scuttle sales.

But the damn thing tastes so good that I’m willing to forfeit scarring criticism for its construction.

The non-Cuban Partagas is widely considered just another catalog brand that finds a customer base in the slightly unsophisticated. Not that I consider us sophisticated, just savvier to possibilities.

Flavors coexist on a level playing field. Equal amounts of sugary sweetness and savory nuttiness with a hint of saltiness. Strength began at medium and remains in force as inch two finds its demise.

The burn issue self corrects. And then a wonderful floral aroma hits the airwaves. My spongey brain deciphers the bloominess as a flavor.

The blend finds its complex roots. El Titan de Bronze rarely falters. With the price of cigars going through the roof, my budget mindedness must count on manufacturers with pristine records. Some of those include Warped, DT&T, Stulac, Padron, RoMa Craft, Atabey, Lampert, and Viaje.

Serious depth precedes a leavening of the transitional quality. The cigar plumps as I’d hoped. Time slows down and my age spots disappear. The simple leaf stats belie the treasure underneath.

The blend is now in killer territory as the first half comes to an end.

People get in line to have El Titan de Bronze produce cigars for their lines. Manufacturers will simply buy cigars in stock and call them their own. Often, orders are placed and cigars find themselves in lost luggage. There is also a tidy queue to get these forgotten, but golden, blends. El Titan thrives like the military industrial complex in the 1950’s. I watch too much Oliver Stone.

There is nothing boring about the de Bronce. It is nearly impossible not to huff and puff constantly due to its deliciosity. Full bodied but only medium strength. A more than perfect morning cigar with coffee. Not a lick of nicotine. But why must it cost two sawbucks? I saw that our European brethren will soon be paying $75 for an Alec Bradley and others of the same ilk. I should just shut the fuck up about what we Yanks pay.

The blend is on cruise control. Not a single criticism. Other than I wish I had a cigar puller to extend its life. Dr. Rod…are you listening?

I haven’t taken a single sip of water. That’s how smooth this blend is. Never end a sentence with a participle.

For you old players with arthritis, I’ve found that the D’Addario finger exerciser works miracles. Even if you aren’t fighting time, it is a wonderful device for teaching your fingers to do what you tell them to. Another participle.

The last third begins at the 90-minute mark. Rich as a bitch. Corpulent as a platitude for your boss. A good cigar that is fun without a single crispy edge. This baby is a nubber.

With two years of box aging, you won’t need to let them sleep.

You can purchase the Partagas de Bronce from sponsor Small Batch Cigar. Take 10% off with promo code KATMAN.

RATING: 95

I last posted this story 3 years ago in 2022. It is a very fond memory and while those younger smokers may not relate, I know my older readership does. But if you like old westerns, you’ll understand.

And now for something completely different:

Way back in 1973, I played with a drummer named John and a guitarist named Tim. We would jam at John’s house all day long. Smoking doobs, play for an hour, smoke another doob, play for an hour…well, you get it. Strictly woodshedding. This had an enormous positive effect on my chops. We recorded on John’s pro equipment the entire time and we would sometimes take breaks to listen…and smoke another doobie.

John played out in a couple of country bands. I was a rock n roller and jazz enthusiast. Country did not interest me. It was too simplified for where I was musically. Back in the day, country basslines were so maniacally dumb that the only way you’d get a gig was if you sang lead.

One day, John invited me to come record with him at a small studio in Newport Beach, CA.
Only film nuts and old guys will remember this name: Chill Wills. He was a cowboy movie actor. And seems to have been in just about every western made in the 1940’s and 1950’s. And almost always in every John Wayne movie. They were buddies.

I was star-struck when I met Mr. Wills. His venture was strictly a vanity project. He got some good players together to record songs that he had written on guitar. And they needed a bassist. I got the gig.

I was nervous, but at the end of the night, Chill took me aside and told me, “You did good, kid.”

I was invited back once a week. He paid me $20 each session. That’s $145 in 2025 dollars.

Now these fellas could drink. I mean really drink. Strictly whiskey, shot by shot. I’ve never been a drinker so I was barely trusted. But John always brought some weed and we all imbibed, including Chill. It was the coolest thing to be among these old-time actors and smoking joints.

Wills looked exactly like he did in the movies: scruffy, unshaven and never combed his hair. Of course, the guys made fun of my afro. To get even, I made fun of my afro. They liked that I wasn’t overly sensitive and could laugh at myself.

I did this project for a year. And then I left for Europe. I never saw the finished product. But since it took a year, you get that the project was mostly an excuse for old friends to get together and have fun.

But you would not believe the people I met while hanging with Chill Wills. All the cowboy movie stars of the time like Jack Elam, Kris Kristofferson (who had just finished “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” with Wills), Slim Pickens, and Harry Dean Stanton. Fellow actors and musicians from that 1973 film would show up now and again. Bob Dylan was a no show.

John Wayne even showed up a few times to sing with Chill. It was hilarious. Neither could hold a note. But they got drunk, and they didn’t care.

I was never allowed to keep a cassette copy of what we played. Chill was adamant about that.

Every time John Wayne showed up, he wore a cowboy hat. But once inside the safe confines of the studio, he never wore that silly hairpiece. I could have become a millionaire if I had just gotten one pic. I never got used to looking at him this way.

Once, Wayne invited all the musicians on board his yacht docked in Newport Beach. He bought a Navy mine sweeper and converted it into the biggest yacht I had ever seen. This was one cool boat.

On the last night we recorded in April 1974, Chill Wills gave me the biggest bear hug. He wished me well on my journey to Europe. And we both shed a couple of unexpected tears. We had become pals. He was 72. I was 24. He gave me his home address and told me to write. He winked and said, you can call me Teddy. I had no idea his real name was Theodore.

I never saw him again. But it was certainly one of those once in a lifetime experience. Sadly, Chill died in 1978 at 76.

The only bummer about the experience is that this big group of good ol’ boys were bigots and racists. Hollywood bigots. You know…the damn Jews run everything, and we hate them all. Wills knew immediately I was a Jew by my last name. John Wayne did too. But they got used to me because Wills liked me playing bass for him…and I was pretty low key.

Sometimes we’d be sitting in the control booth, and they would all be dissing the Jew film company owners, Jew agents, Jew managers, Jew accountants, etc. They completely forgot I was there, but I think they just didn’t give a shit if I heard it or not.

I was pretty affable at 23. And they recognized that and since I was there to play, not horn in on their clique, they accepted me…eventually. The Duke called me “Jew Boy” a couple times and I gave him the serious stink eye. He would erupt in laughter and of course, his own Cowboy Rat Pack would join in. He took me aside after the last shitty comment and told me he thought I was one of the good ‘ones.’ I shrugged. I didn’t want to end up as a barnacle underneath his mine sweeper.

Interesting note about John Wayne. Back in the day, the Orange County Airport was named John Wayne Airport. But the guy lived under one of the flight paths of the jets landing and taking off. He constantly complained to everyone that would listen. He would show up at city council meetings and complain some more. It pissed off all the pilots. So, the pilots stopped calling it John Wayne Airport and only referred to it as Orange County Airport. It stuck.

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Tags: cigar reviews, cigar reviews by the katman, cigars, el titan de bronze, katman, partagas cigars, Partagas de Bronce | Cigar Reviews by the Katman, phil kohn