Strain Safari with The Strainger

BY IAN STUART

Absolute Chronic Farms

I rolled up to the Absolute Chronic Farms office in Gorham with a buddy. It was supposed to be a quick stop as we were headed out to Highland Lake to spend the afternoon clambaking our buddies’ ice shanty. Before I even say “hello,” Jason from ACF presents me with four jars stuffed with expertly cured buds. “Everyone is looking for that Bubblegum,” he laughs as I pop open the container and take a massive whiff of candied vanilla and pine. “We are always out of that Banner too.” I get hints of leather and dark fruit, the visualization of a study filled with books and overripe apples and red grapes. The last two jars could be in a produce aisle — Grape Tape and Planet of the Grapes. As a total sucker for a good strain name, I immediately throw a nug of the Planet into my handy pocket bowl. I am taken by how smooth and flavorful the hit is. A potent mix of fresh clove and grape-flavored hard candy. I finish the bowl and promptly pack up the Grape Tape, which has a rich savory quality to it like a homemade pie filled with late autumn fruits prepared with a recipe calling for extra sugar and spice. The two different strains paired perfectly; relaxed and happy, head high with a body buzz. After a great conversation, my buddy mentions the ice shanty and how late we were running. As we make our way out the door, Jason throws us an infused pre-roll, and I thank him for his generous hospitality. We jump in the car and head towards the lake as I take out the pre-roll. “Flower, live resin, and kief,” I say out loud. My buddy quickly shoots me an eye as he’s driving, “Should we wait and smoke the preroll with everyone on the lake?” I pull a lighter from my pocket, light the giant joint, and laugh, “What pre-roll?” Needless to say, we got lost on the way to the lake. I’m pretty sure it was karma for not sharing that giant joint.

Cheeba Hawk

Cheeba Hawk, a local Portland delivery company, was nice enough to drop me off a little care package on a Saturday night. They stopped by as I was about to make nachos, a dish that I have perfected over my many years of being a fat stoner with a ravaging addiction to cheese and foods that “crunch.” I decide my creativity as a chef will only be heightened if I allow myself a quick safety break before hammering together my nacho ingredients. Cheeba Hawk was nice enough to line me up with a variety of strains. Tropicana Punch and Pineapple Express both had fruity/earthy fragrances. I dug the dark, piney smell from the Purple Cindy, one of those strains that could sit you on the couch with just its aroma, but I landed on the fourth strain I was sent, the Blue Widow—bright and bold notes of overgrown fir and evergreen combined with honeyed citrus. I grind a nug the size of a small cellphone and roll it into a joint that dwarfs my index finger. I decided that my plan of action should be to make the nachos and throw them in the oven, head out back and spark the jibbah, and come back inside to perfectly timed finished nachos. I throw my hurried dish into the oven and head to my back porch with a canon hanging from my mouth. If the first hit had been any cleaner, it could’ve been hired as a janitor at a mop store. The citrus came through with each puff, and the herb was hitting about as smooth as a bass line in a neo-soul hip hop track. I had planned to smoke half the joint, but got lost in the sauce, smoking it all. My cheeks were warm and elevated while the high sat atop my head like a paper crown. I was baked. I went inside to a timer going off and smoke billowing out of my oven. The nachos! You know the weed’s good when you make two meals; most times, I get to eat the first one too.

K. Family Farms

A friend recommended I try K. Family Farms, and I’m glad they did. I got a few strains and some pre-rolls delivered to my house by the well dressed manager, Joey. As someone who has a vast collection of Jordans and Nike SBs, I could completely appreciate the dunks he was rocking, and in the snow no less! After a pleasant conversation about our mutual love of shoes, I was presented a neatly packed bag of jars containing beautifully cured herb. The packaging was clean and professional like upscale salt water taffy targeted to the mucky-mucks visiting gift shops in coastal Maine. I was excited with the strains they had selected: Motorbreath #15, Cheesy Rider, Animal Mintz, and Goji OG. The Motorbreath was sharp with an aroma of fresh-tilled earth and peach blossoms. The Goji OG was impressive both in its buttery aroma and in how crystalised the bud was; if the trichomes had been any bigger, I would have been able to see my own reflection. The Animal Mintz was fruity and light; the jar smelled like an open box of diabetes-inducing children’s cereal filled with marshmallows and sugared fruit rings, but better. They were all killer strains, but my favorite was the Cheesy Rider. Well manicured nuggets of dark green sparkling like a goth’s costume jewelry at an industrial metal concert. It was as if pine tree sap had been boiled down with Mountain Dew, and as a white trash dude from Maine, I can’t tell you how much I appreciated

and adored both the smell and taste of the bud. With a potent and uplifting high, after ripping a gorilla finger on my back porch, I decide I should try to organize my shoe collection. My motivation quickly dies as I stand in front of a closet brimming with retro basketball shoes and see the real task ahead of me. I choose to head back outside and smoke another gorilla finger while looking up the availability of Joey’s dunks online.

High as Hell with High Striker

It’s five in the morning, and I’m wide awake. I’m stinging with a chronic insomnia that hangs over me like a broken backboard holding onto an old rusting basketball rim without a net. I’m outside the front of my house smoking a bowl of the Tropicana Cookies from High Striker Farm in sweatpants, Jordan 4s, and a fur-trimmed down jacket. The Tropicana Cookies couldn’t be nicer. Perfectly cured and trimmed, the dark purple bud is hard to miss. It’s purple-purple, so purple it would make the Joker’s suit look light blue in comparison. With a distinct aroma of citrus rinds and Lava soap, it’s a clean-tasting flower that will remind you of orange-flavored hard candies. As I take a second healthy hit off my bowl, I notice my neighbor open his front door, light a cigarette, and nod sheepishly in my direction from across the street. He takes a few steps down his front walkway, “No rest for the working man, huh?” I can hear him address me as he unlocks and starts his ice-cold truck sitting idle in his frozen driveway. I take another hit of the sugary citronflavored flower. He hops out of his truck and flicks his cigarette butt into the street. “Only a few of us have the privilege of working this early!” His vocal tone is bright but has a false level of enthusiasm only a T-ball coach could truly muster. I realize he thinks I’m starting my day, readying myself for eight hours of hard work. “Haven’t gone to bed yet, bro!” I shout back to him as I hold up my bowl like it’s a crucial piece of evidence at a crime scene. His expression shifts as his feelings about me change in real time. He realizes I am not an early rising member of the work force like himself. I am just some weird, grown-ass man getting high at five o’clock in the morning in the middle of a suburban neighborhood dressed like every drug dealer from every indie film from 10 years ago. He went from thinking we were brothers in arms to “fuck this hippie” almost immediately. As he drove off to work, he gave me a short, formal wave without looking in my direction. I’m almost positive that what he actually wanted to do was flip me off with both of his hands like he was Stone Cold Steve Austin in the ring with Vince McMahon. I waved him off and took another hit. Insomnia might suck, my neighbor might hate me, but g’damn can High Striker can grow some fantastic marijuana.

Lit Girl Goodies and the Remote

A few nights ago, I had the pleasure of reviewing Lit Girl Goodies’ Medicated Vanilla Cocoa Bomb. It was an evening about as icy as a snowman with a diamond Rolex, perfect for a hot cup of cocoa. I had been eyeing the rose-shaped treat for the better part of a week, just sitting in my cupboard waiting for a night like this. There wasn’t much information on the packaging, and I had gotten it from my editor after a meeting. It had the name of the company, a graphic, and a list of ingredients, but I did not spot a THC amount. Based on my previous experiences with most edibles, this treat could be anywhere from 10 mg to 1,000 mg. Rolling the dice, I heat some milk on the stove and place the cocoa bomb in a large pink unicorn mug. Pouring the steaming milk over the bomb, I watch it transform from something that looks like a bar of decorative soap into a hot cup of cocoa that includes marshmallows, fruity pebbles, and sprinkles. My pink unicorn mug had truly come to life! I start to inhale the deliciously decadent drink in a similar fashion to a dry-vac inhaling a light spill on a tile floor. I’m a fat kid, let’s be honest: I drank the cocoa faster than an athlete chugging bright food dyes on a Gatorade commercial. I had made a mistake in my haste, however. The sugar and milk hit my stomach harder than a gut punch from a coked-up kangaroo. After a few moments, the feeling passed, and I waited to see how strong this treat was going to be. It was strong, and the high was thick and dense, much like the cocoa. I sank into my couch and felt a warmth spread across my face like I had just come in from shoveling sheets of ice off a frozen driveway in a sleet storm. I was incredibly relaxed and cozy, stoned to the gills. I noticed my television remote was only three feet away on the coffee table. “Time to watch some mindless shit and zone out,” I say to myself as I start to get up. Nope. Too high. My arms are useless, and the couch begins to pull me back like a lover who isn’t satisfied and looking for more. I look at the remote longingly, I reach my hand out, so close yet so far. I figure the mindless shit on television can wait, and I’ll just do the second best thing and zone out for 40 minutes looking at the remote instead.