Wrapper: Mexican San Andrés
Binder: Indonesian
Filler: Nicaraguan
Size: Toro (6 x 52)
Strength: Medium -> Medium-plus
Price: ~$14.00–$16.00 (varies by retailer)
Factory: Casa y Hernández
Blender: Jamond Hackley
Release: May 2026 (regular production)
Experience Rating: 93
Another psychological mind-fuck from Jamond Hackley.
Out of all the blenders I follow, he may be the one most willing to take risks with his blends. His original lineup, including the Chairman, Equalizer, Defigero, Noir, The Goods, and others, consisted of excellent cigars built within a more conventional framework. Each one had a traceable progression. Each one gave the smoker something to follow.
But with GEN 413, and now One13, it feels like Jamond decided it was time to change the game. These cigars aren’t merely display pieces meant to be observed. They require participation. They don’t merely ask the smoker to complete the experience. They demand it.
Here’s the thing: He doesn’t care if you enjoy the cigar. He just wants you in it.
With GEN 413 and One13, the casual smoker will find an approachable, pleasant, and balanced profile on the surface. Most people will probably say they’re enjoyable. But Jamond throws in little gotchas that suggest something deeper is lurking underneath.
Peek beneath that surface, and you get pulled into Jamond Hackley’s world.
Like all Definition cigars, the One13 is gorgeous. The wrapper is a deep Colorado, verging on Rosado and mottled with large, dark-brown splotches. It’s toothy and glistens with a layer of oil.
The wrapper presents cedar and floral notes, with a sweet, exotic spice character. The foot adds bread and citrus to the mix, while the cold draw, has shortbread, a touch of barnyard, and more of those exotic spices.
It reminds me of walking through the spice bazaar in Istanbul.
I immediately think about how Jamond described the cigar as being about memory and foundation. Apparently, he’s not wasting time communicating his intent, even in the pre-light inspection.
Lighting it up and taking my first couple of puffs, I’m instantly hit with a blast of roasted exotic spices. Beneath it is an indistinct dark character and an astringency that is almost harsh.
The dark character resolves after a few puffs into inky-black espresso, super-roasted cacao nibs, and burnt cedar. And when I say dark, it’s very dark, but not unpleasant. This is undoubtedly the core. It’s too massive to be anything other than that.
As the cigar settles, the exotic spice pervades the entire profile, seemingly filling any gaps. It’s not strong, but it’s everywhere. Red pepper spice has emerged and gradually built, moving to the top of my palate. It provides a nice tension with the exotic spice.
I start getting hints of flavor notes: cake with berry filling, chicken adobo, my mom’s seafood chowder, Pillsbury crescent rolls, and roses.
I call them hints because, as they arrive, they’re not fully articulated. They’re incomplete. They make me stop and focus, and then my mind completes the picture. It’s a lot like Gestalt closure. You look at an incomplete circle, and your mind completes it.
Maybe I’m being influenced by Jamond’s description, but the side effect of that Gestalt closure is that it evokes memories from my own childhood: my mom’s kitchen, cousins coming over at Christmas, my father, and playing with the kids in my neighborhood.
I must admit, the experience is not comfortable.
On the surface, the flavors I’ve identified are pleasing, and the memories they evoke are generally heartwarming and positive. But I suddenly realize that because they’re so vague, what I taste may not be what others taste when they smoke it.
I’m reminded of GEN 413 and how that blend leaves it up to the smoker to define the experience. With One13, Jamond goes even further. He doesn’t just leave space for interpretation. He stirs memory. It’s going to be different for each person.
And this is where the mind-fuck becomes real.
Jamond says One13 is deeply personal to him, representing the number of his grandparents’ house. It’s about memory and foundation. But I now see that “personal” isn’t limited to him. It’s about the smoker. In this case, me.
As an aside, this is not a cigar I’d smoke after taking psilocybin. Who knows what I might dredge up? And no, I don’t do magic mushrooms — at least not in a few decades.
I get through the first half unscathed. Fond memories of a simpler time.
Then I sense a shift in the profile.
Red pepper spice moves forward and down to my tongue. Instead of tugging against the exotic spices, it tugs against the dark core. Nicotine arrives in a gentle wave, and I feel pulled into quiet contemplation.
More hints arrive: boiled quinoa, green tea, fresh-baked bread, charred oak, tannins, leather, rich tobacco. There’s no sweetness in the profile, but it’s not savory either. But interestingly enough, little sweet darts flash: Sweet Tarts, roses, Botan rice candy, fruity Jelly Belly. They’re quick and fade immediately, but they add energy to the experience.
It triggers another memory.
Now I’m sitting in my mom’s family room, a couple of months before she passed. This was a time of closure for both of us as we recounted things we experienced as a family. The good, bad, and even the ugly.
It’s a bittersweet memory.
At this point, part of me wants to curse Jamond for what this cigar is doing to me. But I can’t. These are my own damn memories. He didn’t put them there.
He just created a cigar that knew how to find them.
As I reach the home stretch, the profile seems to take on a lighter hue. The profile shifts and becomes balanced. The core is still dark, but not nearly as intense as before. All the flavors are accounted for and begin to slowly cycle. Fresh-baked bread seems to be at the center of the activity. It’s not part of the core, but it feels like the column that the flavors rotate around.
In the last couple of inches, the mood is definitely lighter. The flavor cycling picks up energy. The red pepper spice softens, and the exotic spice fades to a whisper.
And of course, that triggers another memory.
But this time, it’s of my own family: my beautiful wife and our eight children. They’re my foundation. Thinking about them, I sense an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I may not have struck it rich financially, but I’m rich in my family’s love.
In the last inch, the cycling activity continues. But the spice reasserts itself, and the core compresses and darkens again. The bready note at the center of the activity becomes more pronounced. It’s very pleasing and comforting.
And as expected, that shift comes with another memory.
This time, the memory lands in the pandemic lockdown. Five of my kids were living with us then, and the house was chaos. But it was joyous chaos. I was running a small micro-bakery out of my home, baking and donating bread to shelters in the area. Two of my girls and I recorded music videos of songs we sang at church and shared them with friends. I recorded guitar tutorials. I cooked some incredible meals.
And somehow, One13 brings all of that back. Not as a sentimental flashback, but as a moment of recognition. I feel complete. I feel like I am who I am, and that’s all I am.
There’s a strong sense of inevitability here, but it isn’t rooted in the cigar alone. It’s rooted in me. In my life. In the strange certainty that, for all the chaos and uncertainty around us, I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
One13 is difficult to celebrate in the usual way because the memories it stirred weren’t all fond ones. Some were warm. Some were heavy. Some were private enough to remain mine alone. That’s part of what makes the cigar unsettling. If memory is the point, then the cigar doesn’t get to decide which memories arrive. It opens the door, and whatever’s waiting on the other side walks in.
After I smoked it, I had to light a Curivari BV Pralines just to get back to solid ground. That isn’t a criticism. It’s a measure of how unsettling One13 was. Some cigars leave you satisfied. This one left me needing to steady myself.
One13 is absolutely worth trying, and I’d buy a fiver without hesitation. I don’t know that I’d buy a box, but that has nothing to do with quality. This cigar reaches into memory in a way that can be beautiful, unsettling, and heavier than expected. I respect what it does. I’m just not sure I’d want to live with that experience twenty times.
Leave a comment