Crowned Heads Juarez Willie Lee – Bury the Leaf
There are cigars you review.
Then there are cigars that spend the entire evening reviewing you.
The Willie Lee turned out to be the second kind.
By the time this smoke was over, I’d spent nearly two and a half hours trying to determine whether I was genuinely impressed or simply being manipulated by a cigar that understood exactly who was holding it.
Because here’s the problem.
I’m not a mild cigar guy.
I’m not searching for delicate floral notes harvested from a secret valley and blessed by woodland creatures.
I like bold food.
Bold music.
Bold cigars.
If flavor had a volume knob, my first instinct would be to turn it clockwise until something important started rattling.
The Willie Lee seemed to know that.
Every time I thought I had it figured out, it would throw something else into the mix.
A little spice.
A little earth.
A little swagger.
A little surprise.
And before I knew it, I wasn’t evaluating a cigar anymore.
I was negotiating with it.
By the Numbers
- MSRP: TBD
- Paid: $4.44
- Vitola: Willie Lee
- Wrapper: Mexican San Andrés
- Cut: Guillotine
- Pairing: Still Water
- Humidor: 67% RH / 68°F
- Duration: 2 Hours 28 Minutes
Construction & First Impressions
My most recent experience with Crowned Heads came through the Serie E line, an entirely different blend that impressed me far more than a four-dollar cigar probably should have.
That set the table for the Willie Lee.
This was also another fresh stick.
The Willie Lee arrived just four days prior courtesy of whatever route Christopher USPS Columbus charted across the known world before eventually landing in Louisiana.
In other words, this wasn’t a cigar that spent six months acclimating in humidor witness protection.
It barely had time to learn my address.
Cut.
Lit.
Judged.
Construction was excellent right out of the wrapper.
The cigar felt firm without being hard. The wrapper carried a subtle oiliness, and there wasn’t a soft spot, crack, or visible concern to be found.
The aroma off the foot delivered earth, tobacco, and spice.
The cold draw followed the same path.
Rich tobacco.
Earth.
Pepper.
Something darker.
Something that lingered.
The more I thought about it, the less I could identify it.
Part of me wanted to blame the San Andrés wrapper.
Part of me wanted to call it weathered barnwood.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t generic.
The linger hung around long enough to get my attention before the first flame ever touched the foot.
The second I pulled this stick from the cellophane, my brain immediately wandered toward dusty ponchos, crossed bandoliers, and a pair of well-worn Colt .45s.
Why?
I have absolutely no idea.
Maybe that’s just the wiring diagram of a grown man reminiscing on his days of decades gone by with the old-school cap gun and red cowboy boots.. Or maybe this little Boosie of a stick really is just a bad ass.
First Third
About a half inch in, the Willie Lee settled down and started showing its hand.
A solid spice emerged that landed on the back corners of the tongue and refused to leave.
Not black pepper.
Not red pepper.
Not cayenne.
Just spice.
The kind that lets you know it’s present without feeling the need to introduce itself.
The retrohale wasn’t much help either.
I kept chasing a specific note and never quite caught it.
That usually bothers me.
I enjoy being able to point at a flavor and confidently say, “Yep. That’s the one.”
This wasn’t one of those cigars.
The profile felt familiar while somehow remaining difficult to pin down.
Earth.
Wood.
Spice.
A lingering richness that stayed just outside identification range.
The smoke itself carried noticeable weight.
Not syrupy.
Not muddy.
Just substantial enough to remind you that you’ve been smoking a cigar and not flavored air.
Several draws later, the Willie Lee was still sitting on the palate reminding you that it had, in fact, been here.
The Willie Lee isn’t subtle about the fact that it’s been here.
And honestly?
I liked that.
This wasn’t black truffle butter melted over a two-inch Wagyu ribeye paired with a rare bourbon.
But it was good.
Real good.
Second Third
By the midpoint, the Willie Lee had settled into a groove.
The flavors weren’t changing dramatically.
The spice remained.
The mystery note remained.
The mouthfeel remained.
What started demanding attention was the ash.
Now we’ve collectively learned that ash retention is not necessarily proof of great construction.
We’ve all seen cigars stack two inches of ash while simultaneously tunneling their way to Mexico.
We’ve also seen perfectly constructed cigars drop their ash every fifteen minutes because gravity showed up for work.
But this little booger was doing its best to make a convincing argument otherwise.
The ash stacked.
The burn line remained remarkably straight.
The draw never tightened.
The cigar simply kept doing cigar things without complaint.
Naturally, I grabbed the camera.
Because if there’s one universal law in cigar smoking, it’s this:
The second you photograph an impressive ash, that ash immediately resigns from its position.
Sure enough.
I took the picture.
Set the phone down.
And the Willie Lee made the kind of ash deposit that should be followed up with government paperwork and looked away like it was nothing.
As tradition demands.
Fortunately, the most used—and perhaps most overlooked—accessory in The Evening Draw remains the brushless Ryobi cordless hand vacuum.
The Ryobi was already on the clock.
Then something unexpected happened.
Out of absolutely nowhere, the Willie Lee tossed a little Italian vinaigrette into the mix.
One draw.
Maybe two.
Just enough tang and brightness to make me stop and ask where in the world that came from.
Then it disappeared.
A few minutes later?
Back again.
At that point it stopped being a fluke.
It became part of the profile.
Earthy brightness.
Oily tang.
Something that somehow managed to cut through the heavier earth and spice without replacing them.
And honestly?
Come on wit it.
At four bucks and change, you don’t get to show me a new trick halfway through the performance and expect me to complain about it.
Somewhere around this point, I realized this little Boosie of a cigar had settled on a simple mission:
Set it off.
Not recklessly.
Not obnoxiously.
Just enough body.
Just enough spice.
Just enough attitude.
And by now my conclusion was becoming increasingly simple:
Give me fuel.
Give me fire.
Give me the five-pack I desire.
Final Third
Entering the final third, the Willie Lee finally revealed another card from the deck.
The retrohale picked up a spicy oak note that hadn’t shown itself earlier in the evening.
At first I wanted to call it cedar.
But cedar didn’t quite fit.
This was darker.
Richer.
More mature.
Like seasoned oak carrying a little heat along for the ride.
The spice that had been present from the beginning suddenly found a running mate.
The earth remained.
The vinaigrette note occasionally drifted back through the smoke.
The body remained firm and flavorful.
And now the retrohale was carrying a spicy oak character that added another layer of depth to an already enjoyable experience.
The Willie Lee wasn’t getting softer as it approached the finish line.
It was tightening the poncho.
Turning Boosie up another click.
And reminding everyone exactly why it showed up.
This is a good freakin’ stick.
There.
I said it.
It’s bold.
It’s unapologetic.
It isn’t scared.
It isn’t trying to smooth out every rough edge in pursuit of mass appeal.
Matter of fact, by this point I had a pretty clear picture in my head.
The Willie Lee is standing there with a Ride the Lightning t-shirt hidden underneath a dusty poncho.
There’s a boombox riding shotgun on its shoulder pumping Boosie.
That Colt Single Action is sitting at three-quarter cock.
Not because it’s looking for trouble.
But because it’s absolutely prepared if trouble decides to show up.
And somehow, that description makes perfect sense for the cigar I’m smoking.
The Millennium of Aftermath
As the cigar approached the final inch, I found myself wrestling with the score.
Not because the Willie Lee had done anything wrong.
Quite the opposite.
The problem was that I found myself asking a dangerous question.
“Is this a five-band cigar?”
That’s a question I try to approach carefully.
Because my palate is not your palate.
I used to drink 120-proof whiskey neat.
I want the meat.
I want the bark.
I want the smoke.
Hell, I want to climb inside the smoker and personally rub the brisket with mesquite if it’d let me.
So when a Connecticut doesn’t move me, that doesn’t automatically mean it’s a bad cigar.
It simply means we’re speaking different languages.
Likewise, when a cigar like the Willie Lee shows up throwing earth, spice, oak, attitude, and occasional blasts of tobacco-flavored Italian vinaigrette, I’m naturally inclined to smile.
That’s my lane.
That’s my music.
That’s my food.
That’s my cigar.
The challenge is remembering that not everyone showed up to the concert for the same band.
But here’s the other side of that argument.
This is The Evening Draw.
Not Everybody Else’s Evening Draw.
The score has to mean something.
It has to reflect what happened in this chair, in this lounge, on this night.
And tonight?
Crowned Heads made one hell of an argument.
I spent most of the final third trying to talk myself out of a five-band rating.
That’s usually not a great sign for the cigar.
That’s usually a great sign for the rating.
If Cigar Page dropped one of those bundle deals tomorrow, I wouldn’t spend much time thinking about it.
I’d buy the bundle.
Not because it’s the greatest cigar I’ve ever smoked.
Because it’s exactly the kind of cigar I want sitting around when I open the humidor.
That’s about as honest a rating system as I know.
As the final draws approached, I couldn’t help but think of the character this cigar had become throughout the evening.
The poncho.
The Colt.
The Boosie.
The Ride the Lightning shirt hidden underneath it all.
And somewhere in the distance…
Willie could hear the riders coming.
He said, “This is my last fight. If they take me back to Texas, they won’t take me back alive.”
As night fell, Willie Lee finally laid down its weapons.
No bitterness.
No surrender.
No regrets.
Just 148 minutes of bold flavor, flawless construction, surprising complexity, and enough personality to fill a cigar costing three times as much.
The poncho never came off.
Boosie never stopped playing.
The Ride the Lightning shirt stayed hidden underneath the whole operation.
And that Colt remained resting comfortably at three-quarter cock until the very end.
When the battle stopped and the smoke cleared…
There was thunder from the throne.
And seven Spanish angels took another angel home.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (5 Bands)
“I already bought a stack and I will buy more.”
Because if Cigar Page dropped a bundle tomorrow, I’d probably buy it before finishing my morning coffee.
Leave a Reply