Cigar Review: Padrón Black PB 97 Maduro

When tobacco becomes time. 

Introduction

There are cigars you smoke to pass the time, and then there are cigars that redefine it. The Padrón Black PB 97 Maduro belongs firmly in the latter camp. Released in March 2024 as a PCA-exclusive limited edition, this cigar was created to honor what would have been José Orlando Padrón’s 97th birthday. Unlike the majority of Padrón’s portfolio—known for its classic box-pressed formats—the PB 97 is rolled in a hefty 6¾ x 54 torpedo vitola with a traditional round body, immediately setting it apart in look, feel, and experience.

Beneath its dark Nicaraguan Maduro wrapper lies a blend of all-Nicaraguan tobaccos—binder and filler aged over a decade—crafted entirely in-house, as is Padrón’s signature. Each cigar comes individually numbered with a gold serial band over the black Padrón band, underscoring the exclusivity of this release. Priced around $40 per stick and sold in boxes of ten, the PB 97 was never intended to be a casual smoke. It was made to mark a moment—and to demand one in return.

Pre-light Impressions

The cigar rests heavy in the hand—solid, sculpted, grounded. Its thick Nicaraguan wrapper is veiny, toothy, and full of character. Like all Padróns, there’s a tactile imperfection to its beauty—an honesty that feels hand-wrought, not factory-polished.

The aroma off the wrapper is pure barnyard: dry hay, leather, and a soft hint of wood. But the foot ignites the senses—a burst of dried fruit notes like raisin and apricot, earthy undertones, and a trace of sweetness that teases what’s to come.

The cold draw surprises with its complexity—chocolate-covered raisins, a faint musk, and an unexpected tingle of spice on the tongue. The draw, tighter than most Padróns, is perfectly calibrated to focus the smoke and heighten the experience.

First Third

The cigar lights easily and cleanly. Foot smoke rolls upward with the scent of spiced cherry cordial, and the first few puffs arrive with stunning clarity.

This cigar doesn’t ramp up—it arrives fully formed: A rich torrent of bitter chocolate, dark coffee, and dried oak, all tied together by a measured sweetness and a dry spice that lingers in the throat. Each puff is present—not loud, but complete. The retrohale is fierce and unapologetic—pure peppered heat that clears the senses like a wave crashing over rocks.

The smoke billows. It’s thick, oily, and satisfying. The cigar doesn’t whisper—it speaks directly, and it expects you to listen.

This is a cigar that feels sculpted rather than painted—grounded, powerful, and absolutely intentional.

Second Third

As the ash builds into tight, stacked rings, the cigar begins to darken in tone.

The sweetness evolves—maple, maybe molasses, woven through a growing espresso bitterness that stretches out across the palate. Like sipping strong black coffee with a melted chocolate truffle resting on your tongue.

The spice on the retrohale fades into the background, replaced by deeper, more elusive notes—toasted cacao nibs, a touch of licorice root, and a soft wood char. Still intense, but no longer aggressive. The cigar coasts here. It catches its breath. The pace slows, the flavor becomes contemplative.

The aftertaste stretches longer than expected. The finish doesn’t vanish—it rests. Even between puffs, the cigar remains fully present.

The music I played began to feel like part of the experience, not just ambiance. It feels like sipping a very dark espresso, the music providing the scenery. Sitting and chatting with a loved one. Contemplating words from your favorite book. Or just finding a moment of stillness as the world still whirls around you.

This is why we smoke.

Not for nicotine. Not for flavor alone. But for this—when tobacco becomes time, and fire becomes stillness.

Final Third

The bands come off easily. I could have slid them over the tapered end, but chose not to. There was satisfaction in the tear—like unwrapping a final gift, even this far into the cigar. The experience hadn’t waned; if anything, it had narrowed into sharp focus.

The bitterness returns here, but it’s mature—charred wood, burnt espresso, and a faint lingering sweetness like hot cocoa dust. The finish continues to stretch, painting the palate long after the smoke itself is gone.

At one point near the end, I noticed something rare: a perfect cohesion between the retrohale and the mouthfeel. No contrast. No shift in emphasis. Just a unified note—dark, sweet, and whole. Like the cigar’s voice had aligned into one singular tone.

And even as the final inch approached, the cigar didn’t unravel. It moved with the gravity of a train—not slowing down, just confidently continuing toward its destination. No panic. No collapse. Just presence.

Conclusion

Some cigars are strong. Some are flavorful. Some are luxurious.

But a rare few—like the PB 97 Maduro—are complete.

This is a cigar that commands full attention, not by being loud, but by being true. It speaks with depth. It lingers with dignity. And it leaves you feeling like you’ve been given something, not just smoked something.

This was not a performance.

It was a conversation.

I listened to it.

And I got the sense that, in its own way, it listened to me.

The Retrohale Score: A (94)

A rich, contemplative masterpiece. Box-worthy. Blog-worthy. Memory-worthy.