Strain Safari with The Strainger

BY IAN STUART

Bobbing and Weaving Through a Hangover with Weaving Genetics Everyone needs a hangover cure; mine happens to be dabs. Lots of dabs. I turned 35 at the end of November and celebrated by drinking like a land-locked shark at a water fountain. The next morning I was a wreck—oldschool, college-level hangover. After spending most of my morning shower lying down and groaning, I make my way to my office where I have a variety of new concentrates from Weaving Genetics waiting for me: three amazing live resin strains, Wilma, Ms. Universe, and Island Spice. The first concentrate I tear into is the potent and pungent Ms. Universe. A mix of citrus and pool chemicals, the scent alone will give you a buzz. One hit and my body is vibrating like a cheap motel bed. I reach for the Wilma next. A lighter event than the previous dab, it was almost like smoking a can of Sprite. Clean and refreshing, the hangover begins to slow its pace. “The last dab will do ya,” so I dig into the Island Spice. A floral aroma hits your nose with the subtlety of a bouquet being used as a pair of brass knuckles. The heady hit tastes as if someone added black pepper to your guava juice. Every dab was unique and tasty, and I was also too high to be hung over anymore. Mission accomplished. Now if only dabs helped you clean up after a party too, that’d be some best friend status right there.

Cannabis Cove Hydroponics and Comedy I had a socially distant corporate comedy gig this last weekend. Before heading up to the venue, my buddy introduced me to his friend over at Cannabis Cove Hydroponics in Harpswell. They were nice enough to hand me off a sampling of their frosted flowers. Their Mimosa strain smelled and tasted like champagne and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Their Wilma strain was dark and sweet like a cherry-lime rickey, tasting like a trip to a penny candy store. Lastly, the Miss Universe strain smelled and tasted like a week old box of BerryBerry Kix; Ian tested and Ian approved. I loved the Miss Universe strain, and at over 22% THC, it was my strain of choice as a road companion to my gig. The show went well, and I had fun. As I jumped off stage and headed to the parking lot to spark my jay, the head of the company walked up to me with his hand out holding a business card, “You were made for this. I could get you into your own office with an assistant immediately.” I take the card, study it, and think, “Does he want to offer me a job because he thinks my on-stage persona is THAT charming or because he thinks I am a terrible performer in obvious need of real employment?” So I look at him with a grin, “Eh, couldn’t pass a drug test.” He shrugs it off and laughs, “I wouldn’t have offered you a job if we drug tested here.” Headed back home, I throw the business card out the window as I light up the remainder of the super tasty Miss Universe strain.

Casco Bay Cannabis on the Line “You ready to party this weekend, maaaaan?!” My buddy couldn’t be more excited to take me on my first ice fishing trip. We are headed up north to his cabin in the woods, and my only instructions are “bring a ton of weed dude!” Done. I had just gotten a generous care package from my friends over at Casco Bay Cannabis. They set me up with four different strains of organically grown ganja: Mob Moose, Blue Cheese, Blueberry Ice Cream, and Purple Lemon Nightmare. All of the buds were varying degrees of dark green, all of them coated in trichomes that shimmered like a sunset reflecting off of a churning ocean. The Mob Moose and Blueberry Ice Cream strains were earthy and peppery on the nose and the lips. The Purple Lemon Nightmare and the Blue Cheese both had overt fruity elements in their aromas and smoke. The Blue Cheese smelled like an exotic blueberry muffin mix, and the Purple Lemon Nightmare had a pungent gasoline and lime scent and flavor, the latter being my personal favorite of the group. I had a great variety of some fire buds and was excited to bring them up to the cabin. On Friday evening, I made it up to my buddy’s where I was met with sad eyes and a pouty face, “Ain’t safe, the ice isn’t thick enough to fish on.” My buddy looks at me like a doctor after an unsuccessful surgery. “I was gonna call you, but I didn’t have cell service up here.” “No worries,” I say, “I brought a cure-all.” Now, we may not have caught any fish that weekend, but we did catch a high so dramatic that if we had been any more stoned, you could have freeclimbed over our faces.

Silverchild Confectionaries: Deliciously Stoned Silverchild Confectionaries has been a staple in the Maine medical marijuana scene for a long time. Their

quality and consistency is a shining example of a great local marijuana business. Their dedication to the craft translates to a superior product. I got my hands on some of their newest truffles: Espresso, Strawberry, Vegan Coconut, and a special edition Yuzu Raspberry, where a portion of the proceeds from the sale of the truffles will be donated to the Sexual Assault Response Services of Southern Maine. I tried the Espresso truffle first. It was so good, the first word I said after tasting it wasn’t in English. Hell, it wasn’t in any known language. It was a language that I invented just for that moment in time and space. It tasted like a Starbucks coffee and a Hershey’s Kiss had a beautiful baby. Next was the Vegan Coconut. The chocolate was a delicate shell harboring a coconut filling so rich and lavish for a moment I was relaxing in the shade on a nude beach in the tropics. The Strawberry truffle was my personal favorite, with smokey chocolate and a flavorful fruit filling. I happen to think strawberry and chocolate mix like mullets and monster trucks—a classic. The quality of the chocolate and the filling is on full display in the last truffle on my desk, the Yuzu Raspberry truffle. Not only do the proceeds benefit a great cause, the truffle tastes like a nutella/jelly sandwich, a personal favorite among wooks too stoned to make ramen. My only complaint is that I ran out too quickly; I could have spent my evening shoveling these truffles down my gaping gullet.

Curated Cannabis and the cookies that I shouldn’t have eaten I’ve always been a fan of Nick and everyone over at Curated Cannabis Co. I was excited when I got the chance to review their Fluffanutter #4 strain as well as their Banana Kush Live Rosin. I had a night to myself and planned on watching some HBO while diving head first into my Curated Cannabis stash. I throw Critters 2 on the TV and loosen the cap on the Fluffanutter. The expertly cured buds glisten and gleam more than a jewel thief’s dream. Earthy and leathery on the nose like a well-used gimp mask, with a well-rounded indica high, relaxed and happy. I go a step further and add the concentrate to the mix. The Banana Kush Live Rosin is a majestic golden color, smelling bright and fresh like a bouquet of freshly picked mountain flowers and herbs. I take two dabs of the savory/sweet tasting concentrate and head into the kitchen to find some munchies. I see an exotic-looking box on the counter that looks new. In big cursive letters on the side of the box, I see “Milk Chocolate and Salted Caramel.” I don’t need to read anymore, I like all the words in that sentence. I break the box open with the same force an MMA fighter would use to break a foe’s nose. I wolf the cookies down into my bottomless pit of a stomach, and I don’t even remember chewing. I polish off the box and throw the carcass into the recycling bin, but not before I read the much smaller words above “Milk Chocolate and Salted Caramel.” I squint and am horrified to read “Lactation Cookies.” Good god, no! I ate the cookies my fiancée bought for herself to help in the production of breast milk. I smoked another joint of the Fluffanutter and forgot all about the cookies until the next morning when I woke up to find that I had gone from a C cup to a D cup.

Ganja Candy Factory in a Warzone “Where’s Ian? Is he still with us?” I hear one of my teammates ask over the headset. “Yeah, I think he’s just super high,” I hear in response. “Ugggghhhh,” I chime in, sounding like a tone-deaf zombie that had his tongue replaced with a mouthful of peanut butter. “Oh yeah dude, he’s all fucked up,” my teammates laugh. I am currently in the throes of modern warfare by way of a Playstation 4 and a whole mess of the dankity-dank. I play online video games with a group of guys most nights. All of us are stoners in our thirties; yes, it’s as sad as it sounds. On this night, I had just come back from the Ganja Candy Factory in Biddeford where I was handed a gift bag filled with some of my favorite things: medical-grade marijuana that is to be smoked and eaten. I was given a colorfully packaged 250mg Dark Chocolate Bar as well as some of their equally colorful Sherb Breath, an indica, and their Don Mega, a 50/50 hybrid. I decided to eat the bar in a single sitting becuase I’m a fucking genius. The chocolate itself was sweet and melty, a perfect candy bar to mindlessly munch on. Even with 250mg of THC jammed in the sucker, I couldn’t taste the weed at all. While I waited for the bar to hit, I pop’d open the jars of the flower. The Sherb Breath was a light-colored flower with a wonderful floral scent, and the Don Mega was a darkcolored flower with a mature, earthy, Ivory soap aroma. I throw the Sherb Breath in my handheld vaporizer and get an immediate taste of a tart confection, tasting like a treat ordered from behind a glass display case from a fancy bakery. I then throw some of the Don Mega into my vaporizer. Not only does this strain taste like a $20 fruit salad, but it was also some potent shit. It hit me like I owed it money from years ago. Higher than a satellite broadcasting raggastep music, I sit down, turn on my console, and hit my friends up for a game of Call of Duty...and that’s when the chocolate bar takes hold. If I had been any higher, NASA would have needed to send a team to get me.

Grass Monkey and Woo-Sah Life ain’t easy for most of us currently. I get it, you feel like a muddy ball of stress, your jaw is clenched, your fists are balled, most days just seem to suck...I understand, and I empathize. I don’t know the exact reason you feel down but I do know the cure: good weed. I was having a hell of a day before heading into Grass Monkey in South Portland where they threw me some samples of their Thugs Breath and their Triple Chocolate Chip, both popular strains at the dispensary. I head home to shrug off a shit day and unwind with buds so frosty they’d be perfectly camouflaged next to a pile of powdered donuts. I fix myself a bowl of each

strain and head outside wearing earbuds while playing a few ZZ Top songs at full volume. I take a single hit of the Thugs Breath and hold it in while practicing a couple sloppy karate chops in the air in front of me. The Thugs Breath tastes like ripe citrus fruit; think of an expensive orange juice you can only find at extremely specific health food stores. Satisfied with my tasty hit of the Thugs Breath, I take a hit of the Triple Chocolate Chip and throw a few karate kicks into the darkness in front of me. I release the hit while doing my best Bruce Lee pose. Damn, does this strain taste good! Dark berries and sugar, like a sultry Valentine’s Day gift of chocolate-covered fruit, I take two hits for posterity’s sake. The level of tension I had been feeling when I had gotten home compared to where I was currently at was like night and day. Thanks to two amazing strains from Grass Monkey, my stress and frustration had melted like half-frozen ice cubes in an overheating Easy Bake Oven.

Peak Cannabis and Their Bag of Tricks If you haven’t taken advantage of one or more of the amazing local medical marijuana delivery services, you are missing out. What a time we live in where you can browse for specific strains and products online and then have them delivered to your door by someone who looks like they’ve been fired from Palace Playland at some point in their life. The homies over at Peak dropped off a goodie bag of some of their go-tos. I attacked the package like a present on Christmas. I was beyond excited to find an eighth of their Lemon Moonshine, an eighth of their Tropicana Cookies, a Twisted Bananas pre-roll, a High Roller Peak Pack, and they even threw in a pack of papers like f’ing pros. I ripped open the eighths first; the Lemon Moonshine sparkled more than a shattered disco ball in a fun house. The buds filled the room with a wonderful perfume of high-test gasoline, Lemonheads, and Jack Daniels whiskey. The unique smell was luckily also how it tasted. The high was strong and comfortable but isn’t a strain I’d recommend before a college test. I kept trying to take off a pair of sunglasses that I was not actually wearing. The Tropicana Cookies had a nice purple tinge to the buds, crystalized like frost on the windows of a poorly heated car on a frozen commute. I enjoyed the strain immensely and don’t mean it as an insult when I say it smelled and tasted like industrial-strength cleaner used to clear the drains at a hippie commune. The Twisted Bananas pre-roll was nice, smoking it was like breathing in the fresh air of a pine grove if it got you high. My favorite item Peak blessed me with was the Peak Pack. Six Tropicana X MAC Oil joints neatly fit into a futuristic metal tin. Not only did the joints smoke great, but the weed was tasty and potent too. My tastebuds were treated to notes of sour candy and sweet grass, a truly enjoyable smoke. Overall, I couldn’t have been more impressed by the quality of flower Peak presented. Give ‘em a ring, take the batteries out of your smoke detector, and get some fire delivered to your door. Best Friend Farms Helping to Make a Friend I live in a white-picket fence, Bernie on the bumper of every Volvo, suburban neighborhood. There are two separate places on my street where you can “check out” books from these little birdhouse-like-things called “book nooks,” mostly filled with heavily dog-eared contemporary adult fiction paperbacks. It’s so fucking suburban it almost tows the line on parody. Though living in the ‘burbs can be mind-numbing at times, you can always look forward to the holiday seasons. One of the cool things about living in a suburban neighborhood is witnessing the majority of my neighbors measuring their dicks every other month with holiday decorations. You can be sure that every other house on my block will glow and shine like a Vegas slot machine filled with toxic waste on the Fourth of July, Halloween, and, of course, Christmas. The displays on my street would give Phish’s lighting guy chills. Noticing a warmer than usual evening, I decided to walk around the block, stoned, while checking out all the pretty lights. I had a couple new samples from Best Friends Farm: their White Haze and their Strawberry Angela. I figured I’d roll two joints, one of each strain, one to smoke before I leave on my adventure, another to smoke while on said adventure. I break open the White Haze first; the buds are a light pale green and cured perfectly. The flower breaks apart like styrofoam peanuts, crumbling without the need for a grinder. A scent of lemon and ginger hits my nose like a smelling salt. I roll it up and light it as I begin to tear open the eighth of Strawberry Angela. The White Haze is flavorful and smooth. I can feel it relax my shoulders and back, melting away the tension in my neck as I begin to break apart the Strawberry Angela. The dark-colored buds burst with bright trichomes and a fragrance of mint and leather as I physically refine the beautifully trimmed flower between my fingertips. In a relaxed body and in a level headspace, I finish the first joint and make my way into my neighborhood holding my second joint like it’s a flashlight in a Scooby Doo episode. The first few houses were classically done: candles in the windows with white lights meticulously placed around the door and window frames of their middle class homes. Then, I get to a house that could only be described as a “Christmas Tree Shop Fuck-Fest,” a real orgy of X-mas decorations. Not only was every inch of the property covered in mismatched blinking lights, but they had also blown up and displayed a whole slew of those over-sized holiday sex dolls everyone seems to enjoy. I light up my second joint as I laugh to myself at the spectacle. The Strawberry Angela hit like Babe Ruth after pointing to the outfield. Some top-shelf flower for sure, it had a flavor that brought a spring breeze and fresh linens to mind. The front door of the orgy house opens, and a guy my age steps out. “Happy Holidays!” he waves at me, and I wave back, “Merry Christmas, man!” I cough out, “Just enjoying your lights.” He grins and starts to move his hands around like a magician who has just completed a trick. “Can’t help myself, I love the holidays,” he says

as he beams at me. “Right on, man!” I respond and take a toke of my joint. He looks at me and says, “Are you smoking marijuana in front of my house?” I shrug and say, “Sorry man, walking around the neighborhood with a nightcap.” He waves off my apology. “Hey, I used to be known as quite the ol’ stoney-baloney back in my college days.” He laughs at himself, looks back at me, and changes his tone. “Any way I could try some?” I laugh, “Not really into sharing joints during a pandemic but you can have the rest of this if you’d like.” I hand him my joint. “Whoa, damn, smells like some powerful stuff, thank you!” I laugh, “What are neighbors for man?” I turn and start to leave, and he goes, “I’ll probably just smoke one hit then put it away for another time.” “Cool, man.” I give him a quick nod. He continues, holding up the joint, “This will probably last me all month.” I nod again, look at his X-mas lawn orgy and then back to his goofy suburban-dad grin and nod even harder, “yeah... I’m sure it will, man.”

OMG The Dogs Need a Bath I was lucky enough to get a sample of OMG’s Bob Ross Diamonds. I was supposed to give my dogs a bath, which sucks because neither are very good with water, soap, or staying still in the bathtub. Because the job sucks and to keep my nerves steady through the bathing process, I decided to take a quick dab before wrangling the first pup into the bathroom. I make my way down to my office, grab my trusty rig and the OMG diamonds, and throw a glob of a concentrate, which looks like a high-end golden caviar, into my banger. I take a large cold-start dab and inhale a puff of smoke that tastes like I’m chewing on the top cola of a living marijuana plant. Daaaamn, what a taste! It’s sharp and clean like the corner of a square on top of getting you so damned baked you think of lines like that last gem. I am immediately hit in the face with a high that puckers my entire face. Squinting like a man looking directly into the sun, I decide to take another hit, for safety. After my third hit, I notice my acoustic guitar lying seductively against the bookshelf nearest to me. I pick it up, blazed like a forgotten brick oven pizza, and begin to jam. I jam for a while. I have no idea how much time has passed when my office door swings open and I am questioned by my fiance like a detective that already knows the story. “It’s midnight, Ian!! Did you wash the dogs???” ...No, but I did teach myself a Citizen Cope song. I blamed it on OMG’s diamonds, but we both knew it wasn’t their fault for distracting me. It was that friggin’ guitar’s fault.

Green Lion Crew Jammin’ on Gummies I met Zeke from Green Lion Crew the day we shot the pilot episodes for the new podcast the Cannabis Chronicle is currently putting together. We had shot all day, and Zeke came in to spin some bass-heavy reggae tracks to put the finishing touches on the production of the pilot episodes. Every track he played was a banger, and I was floored to learn that they were his tracks. I tracked him down on Spotify after our meeting and had been listening to his channel for a week straight when I was given a package of the Green Lion Crew medicated gummies. I was pumped; if these were half as good as the music he makes, I’d be ripped like a chainsaw with a broken starter. Strawberry-flavored gummies, eight in a pack at 25 mg a piece for a total of 200 mg. I love a strong edible. I never have to spend an evening asking myself if I “feel anything yet?” When you eat 200 mg of anything, it’s probably going to creep up on you more violently than Jason Vorhees happening upon a coed showering at his cabin. The gummies had a freshly picked berry taste. Light and enjoyable, they were too easy to eat; I couldn’t stop myself. I scarfed down the entire package like I was trying to beat an imaginary clock hanging on the stark white walls of sobriety. As I waited for the gummies to kick in, I decided to start the fourth Friday the 13th film. As Vorhees began to creep around the camp in the movie, the edibles began to creep through my system. By the end of the film, I felt like most of the co-eds in the movie: heavenly.

Empyreal Coffee Review Shoveling snow sucks. Cold, wet, and back-breaking, there are few activities I hate more than shoveling out my driveway. Just in time for a blizzard, Matt dropped off a few Empyreal Coffees and Green Teas for me to try. With a foot of snow in my yard and a five-dollar shovel as my only tool, I knew I’d need to be ripped up before heading out to deal with the snow. I grabbed the 100 mg coffee and a 20 mg green tea—double trouble. I set up my shovel and outerwear and popped the coffee open. A classic black coffee that was flavorful and rich, it took me two chugs to kill it, tasty and smooth. I love drinking cannabis. Fully dressed and armed with my little plastic utensil, I start to clear the front steps. Damn, shoveling is a lot harder with an extra 20 pounds of pandemic weight. I finish off the steps and walkway and stop for a break. I pop open the green tea, wow! It’s a tasty drink! A sophisticated adult version of all my favorite store-brand green teas, I couldn’t taste the THC at all. An extra pick-me-up was exactly what I needed right then. Four chugs, it was harder to gulp when I couldn’t feel my face. The snow is so deep I have to shovel the same snow two or three times just to get it out of the middle of the driveway. It’s beyond laborious, and I’m beat. I’m not even 20% done with my driveway when the 100 mg of cannabis from the coffee comes over to say hello. Oh shit, I am waaaaay too high for this. Just then, my neighbor swings through with his plow truck. I jump out of the way as he throws snow around like chairs at a Jerry Springer taping. He clears the driveway in two minutes and rolls down his window to address me, “You owe me beer!” I laugh, “How about weed?” “Even better!” he exclaims. I head inside to grab him a couple drinks but not before I hear my neighbor yell from his truck, “Your walkway looks like shit by the way. If it’s any indication of how good those drinks are, I bet that shit rules!” He was pleased.