I'm gonna be honest with you—I almost didn't give this cigar a fair shot. The first time I saw a Hemingway Short Story, I thought someone had made a mistake at the factory. It's this stubby little perfecto, tapered at both ends, and it looked like a cigar that got lost on the way to becoming a full-sized cigar. My grandfather would've called it a "cigarrito" and laughed. But a guy at my local shop in Tampa—Carlos, who's been selling cigars since before I was born—put one in my hand and said, "Just trust me, mija." And damn, was he right.
What You're Looking At
The Hemingway Short Story is a 4 x 49 perfecto, which means it tapers at both the head and the foot. It's a figurado shape that most factories won't even attempt because it's genuinely difficult to roll. [Fun fact: Carlos Fuente Sr. found a collection of antique perfecto molds in a Florida warehouse back in the late '90s. The shape had basically disappeared from cigar making since the 1920s and '30s, and he brought the molds back to the Dominican Republic and retaught his rollers the technique.] That history shows in every stick.
The wrapper is African Cameroon—a golden, slightly toothy leaf that gives it that warm honey color. Inside, you've got Dominican binder and Dominican filler tobaccos. Strength-wise, it sits in mild-to-medium territory, which makes it a perfect introduction for someone who's curious about cigars but intimidated by the bigger, darker stuff.
And the price? Usually somewhere between $8 and $12 depending on where you shop. That's honestly kind of ridiculous for the quality you're getting.
Construction
Look, here's the thing about perfectos: they're hard to make. The taper means the roller has to gradually increase and decrease the amount of filler tobacco, and if they get it wrong, you end up with a cigar that plugs up or burns unevenly. The Short Story's construction is consistently excellent. The Cameroon wrapper is applied with this delicate precision—thin seams, no visible veins, and a slight oily sheen. It feels solid in the hand without being dense.
The closed foot is a nice touch. You clip the head like any other cigar, but the foot you just toast directly. Because there's less tobacco exposed, the initial light is gentler, and you don't get that blast of bitterness that some cigars hit you with right off the rip.
The cold draw gives me sweetness—brown sugar, maybe a hint of raisin. It's inviting in a way that a lot of cold draws just aren't.
Lighting Up and the First Third
Because of the tapered foot, the opening of the Short Story is unlike most cigars. The flavor starts narrow and focused, then blooms as the ring gauge widens. First draws are sweet cedar and something almost like a sugar cookie—I know that sounds weird, but it's the Cameroon wrapper doing its thing. There's a gentle earthiness underneath and, if you retrohale, a whisper of cinnamon.
The smoke is surprisingly full for such a small cigar. Creamy, dense plumes that hang in the air. Draw is perfect—just the right amount of resistance.
Back when I was starting out, I would've killed for someone to hand me this cigar instead of the dry, cracked gas station thing I actually started with. (We don't talk about that.)
The Second Third
As the burn moves into the wider part of the perfecto, the flavors deepen. The cedar evolves into toasted wood, and now you're getting baking spices—nutmeg, a touch of allspice. A nuttiness emerges, like roasted almonds, and there's a vanilla creaminess on the finish that just lingers.
This is where the Short Story really shines. It's not trying to blow your palate apart with pepper and earth. It's conversational. It's the cigar equivalent of sitting on a porch with a cup of coffee and no agenda. My abuela would've loved this cigar, though she'd never admit it.
Burn stays even, ash holds tight. No touch-ups needed on the one I'm smoking right now.
The Final Third
The last inch and a half picks up a bit of strength—nothing dramatic, but there's a new warmth. Coffee notes come in, and the sweetness takes on more of a caramel quality. A mild white pepper appears on the retrohale, adding just enough complexity to keep things interesting.
Because the perfecto tapers back down at the head end, the smoke concentrates and the flavors intensify naturally. It's clever engineering, honestly. Carlos Fuente knew what he was doing with those old molds.
I smoked mine for about 45 minutes, which is impressive for a four-inch cigar. If you're patient with it—puffing every minute or so—you can stretch it even longer.
Burn and Draw
The Hemingway line has some of the most reliable construction in the business. Draw was smooth from start to finish, never tight, never loose. Burn line wavered slightly once around the midpoint but corrected itself within a few puffs. Smoke output was generous and consistent. For a perfecto—a shape that many brands butcher—this is about as good as it gets.
The Value Thing
At $8-12, the Short Story is one of the best values in cigars. Period. I'll go further—it's the single best cigar to hand to someone who's never smoked one before. It's approachable without being boring, complex without being overwhelming, and short enough that a newcomer won't feel committed to a two-hour session.
And here's my hot take: I think the Short Story is better than the more expensive Hemingway vitolas. The Masterpiece and Best Seller are fine cigars, but the Short Story's perfecto format concentrates the flavors in a way the larger sizes just don't replicate. Fight me on that if you want, but I've smoked them all back to back, and the Short Story wins every time.
Who Should Smoke This
Everyone. Genuinely. If you're brand new to cigars, start here. If you're a veteran who's been chasing full-bodied Nicaraguan puros for years, keep a few of these around for when you want something different. If you only have 45 minutes on your lunch break, this is your cigar.
I keep a box of these in my humidor at all times. They're my "I don't know what I want to smoke" cigar, my "hand one to a friend who's curious" cigar, and my "Tuesday afternoon on the patio" cigar. The Hemingway Short Story doesn't try to be the most impressive cigar in the room. It just quietly is.