Griffin's No. 500 Torpedo Review

Overview

In a world increasingly defined by boldness, strength, and complexity-as-virtue, Griffin's No. 500 Torpedo stands as a quiet aristocrat—a cigar built not to impress with power, but to reward with composure. Born from a brand founded in Geneva, Switzerland, and cultivated for the discerning palates of European luxury travelers, Griffin's has long occupied a rarefied space: seen in the lounges of five-star hotels, the humidors of private clubs, and the duty-free cases of international terminals. It is a cigar designed for a different kind of smoking—one where conversation, not concentration, is the priority; where the blend serves the moment, not the other way around. The No. 500 Torpedo, a 6 x 50 vitola, is the flagship of that ethos. It is hand-rolled at General Cigar's La Romana facility in the Dominican Republic, a factory known for its exacting standards, and it wears a Connecticut Shade wrapper of pale golden hay—silky, minimal-veined, and almost luminous. This is not a wrapper chosen for drama; it is chosen for refinement, and it delivers exactly that.

The first third opens with a creaminess that is deliberate and controlled—fresh cream, lightly toasted bread, and a whisper of white pepper that cleanses the palate without heat. The Connecticut Shade wrapper contributes a gentle grassiness, bright and herbal, that keeps the profile from becoming too placid. It is a classic opening, performed with impeccable balance. By the second third, the cigar reveals its subtle architecture: mild cedar, a faint floral note recalling dried chamomile, and a soft nuttiness—blanched almond or cashew—that knits itself into the creamy backbone. There is no sudden shift, no radical transformation; the No. 500 is a cigar of nuance, not surprise. Its strength, measured at a modest 2 out of 5, never ascends beyond mild-medium, and its body remains steady throughout. In the final third, a mild earthiness and dry oak emerge, firmer on the palate but never harsh, while the retrohale offers a faint honey sweetness that lingers cleanly. The finish is remarkably free of bitterness—a testament to the blend's discipline and the restraint of its Dominican long-leaf filler, lightly aged for smoothness over complexity.

What makes Griffin's exceptional is not what it does, but what it refuses to do. It refuses to shout. It refuses to challenge. It refuses to impose itself upon the smoker. In a marketplace obsessed with the next full-throttle release, the No. 500 Torpedo is a reminder that the highest form of craftsmanship can be invisibility—the seamless integration of every component into a whole that feels effortless. This cigar is criminally overlooked in North America, largely because it was never marketed for it; Griffin's target audience remains the European luxury traveler, the guest at the Beau-Rivage Geneva, the man or woman who values a cigar that complements rather than dominates. The No. 500 is not for the strength chaser or the complexity hound. It is for the aficionado who understands that sometimes the most profound experience is the one that asks nothing of you—and rewards you simply for paying attention.