Wrapper: Connecticut Broadleaf / USA
Binder: Nicaragua
Filler: Nicaragua
Size: Toro (6 x 54)
Strength: Medium → Full (nub)
Body: Medium → Full (last inch)
Price: $9.86–$12.96 USD (varies by retailer)
Factory: My Father Cigars S.A., Estelí, Nicaragua
Blender: Crowned Heads (Jon Huber), in collaboration with My Father Cigars S.A.
Release: November 2025 (Regular Production)
Smoking Time: 1:50
Experience Rating: 94
The Tennessee Waltz began as a tribute to Jon Huber’s maternal grandfather. Jon has said that his grandfather met his grandmother at a dance while “Tennessee Waltz” was playing, and he remembers him whistling the tune throughout his childhood. The cigar was also a tribute to Tennessee, where Jon met his wife, raised his family, and built Crowned Heads.
Originally released in 2014 as a Tennessee exclusive, the Tennessee Waltz remained tied to the state for more than a decade. In November 2025, Crowned Heads brought it nationwide, added two new vitolas, including this Toro, and gave the line a complete visual rebrand.
One thing that’s become clear to me about Crowned Heads is that its cigars seem to be built with purpose. They’re not just throwing leaves together and hoping the result will sell. There’s a vision behind what they create.
I’ve smoked five Tennessee Waltz Toros leading up to this review, and this cigar is no exception. It has a story to tell.
And it’s a great story.
Synopsis
Strength begins at medium and climbs gradually throughout the smoke, holding at medium-plus through the home stretch and last couple of inches before rising to full at the nub. Body increases much more quickly, jumping from medium to near full as the cigar settles, then remaining near full until reaching full in the last inch. Activity starts relatively low, rises sharply through the progression, peaks in the home stretch, and then falls rapidly through the final stages.
The deep-brown wrapper is so toothy it feels like sandpaper. The new branding is busy, but I love the orange and gold coloring. An orange ribbon circles the foot, adding a nice finishing touch while giving it a little protection.
The cigar feels heavy and densely packed. Crowned Heads lists the Toro at 6 x 54, but it looks and feels more like a gordo.
The first thing I pick up from the wrapper is a gorgeous honeysuckle aroma, followed by fresh-baked bread, almond cookies, and the rich tobacco sweetness of Connecticut Broadleaf. The foot is redolent with dried cherries and apricots, more of that deep sweetness, and something akin to the hops in an IPA.
The cold draw is perfect, with just a little resistance, and full of bread and wood.
Lighting up the cigar, the aroma off the foot is rich and dark, with cedar and oak. From the first puff, the cigar makes a declaration: I am wrapped in Broadleaf. But it isn’t sweet.
There isn’t much going on at first. Espresso, burnt sugar, and darkly charred oak form a loose foundation, with occasional glimpses of overripe stone fruit, cocoa powder, and dark toffee.
To be honest, the start feels awkward and unfocused. There’s no real organization, and the few flavors that are present seem disconnected. But I feel it was deliberately designed that way.
It’s really like two people meeting for the first time.
It’s awkward.
About three-quarters of an inch in, the cigar begins to settle. The body becomes chewy and thick, while the strength remains moderate. Unlike the other sticks I smoked before this one, I still haven’t felt any nicotine.
The profile starts coming together. The disconnected elements find some organization, and the cigar suddenly feels more structured.
Gorgeous bread notes appear: sourdough, Hawaiian bread, and panettone. Then raisins show up. That’s really interesting.
As I get more into the first half, a pleasing sugary sweetness forms on the finish. At the same time, the burn suddenly straightens out. The first half to three-quarters of an inch was wavy and required a few touch-ups, but once the cigar settled, it began burning straight as an arrow.
That’s why I feel the unfocused opening was designed. Even the construction up to that point was a little wonky.
Sweet cream forms and immediately establishes itself as the base of the profile. Coffee and toffee join it, and the three become the structural center. Strength isn’t changing much, but the body continues inching toward full.
Then the activity spikes.
Fresh-cut cedar, Green Mike & Ike, strawberry preserves, roasted cacao nibs, Herbes de Provence, shiitake mushrooms, rosemary, and sage file into the profile in a steady procession.
A grilled tri-tip steps in like Bubba throwing his weight around, but he’s quickly pushed aside as astringent minerality and black pepper join the throng.
It looks like everyone’s here now, and the flavors begin moving around the profile.
Hmm… Kind of like a dance.
Even with the previous sticks, the cigar always started awkward and unfocused. Then, once it got going, the flavors started dancing. This one is no different.
By the halfway point, the dance is in full swing. As with the other sticks I smoked, I’m enjoying myself so much that I just want to sit back and watch what it’s doing. I abandoned three previous reviews because of that.
But I’m resisting it right now.
A light touch of spice finally enters, and the music seems to speed up in response. The cocoa nibs join the coffee and toffee at the center, and all three begin picking up in intensity. Strength rises just a little with them.
It’s becoming difficult to track the dancers. They’re moving too fast. And that gorgeous sugary sweetness on the finish has persisted the entire time.
As the cigar enters the home stretch, the dancers begin breaking off into groups.
The bread notes come together and step forward first: sourdough, Hawaiian bread, and now shortbread. They’re followed by the meaty, savory elements, with Bubba’s grilled tri-tip returning alongside soy sauce and shiitake mushrooms.
Even the core comes forward for a moment, then moves back. Is the band joining the dance? Then it’s the herbal notes’ turn.
Wonderful complexity.
I don’t know what kind of dance Jon Huber’s grandparents met at, but I’m getting a strong sense of an old dance hall. I know they met while “Tennessee Waltz” was playing, but that’s the imagery this cigar is giving me.
In the last couple of inches, the activity dies down almost as quickly as it spiked. The spice steps forward and persists, leaving the core flavors and only a few stragglers behind.
That light, sugary sweetness continues punctuating the finish.
The profile is sparse again, much like it was at the start, but now it’s structured and organized. There’s nothing awkward about it. Interestingly, the profile isn’t compressing. There’s no added pressure and no increase in strength.
As the cigar reaches the final inch, the body moves to full and the strength finally begins climbing.
The spice intensifies again. It isn’t overwhelming, but it’s now prominent in the profile, coating my mouth and moving onto my lips. I can see Don Pepin García’s influence at work.
The sugary punctuation fades, leaving only the core. A touch of nicotine finally appears as the profile begins to compress and grow darker.
From here, the cigar seems to settle into an easy cruise.
It’s like the band is packing up.
At the nub, the strength finally reaches full as the profile compresses even further. The nicotine asserts itself a little more, but it never becomes powerful.
It’s all core now. The cream is still there, but the espresso has taken over as the thematic center. Then the sweetness comes back. Wow.
That’s a very nice way to finish the cigar.
This is a remarkable smoke.
Admittedly, the opening is so awkward that it borders on discouraging. The first time I smoked one, the thought running through my head for most of the first inch was, where the hell is this going?
But the cigar gathers itself beautifully. Once it settles in, it bursts with activity and complexity, then spends the rest of the smoke telling a story.
And I love the story it tells.
As a tribute to Jon Huber’s grandfather and the evening he met his grandmother, the Tennessee Waltz feels like a recreation of that first dance. The awkward introduction. The room filling. The music picking up. The dancers moving too quickly to follow. Then the crowd thins, the band packs up, and the evening comes to an end.
I haven’t smoked the entire Crowned Heads and Oz Family Cigars portfolios, but every one I have smoked has been unmistakably built with intent.
The Tennessee Waltz is no exception.
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