toasted n’ posted proudly presents…
Candy Jack by Burnwell Co.
Candy Jack by Burnwell Co.
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where I am always excited to welcome Burnwell back to my rolling tray. There is something magical about their unique brew of ‘sun-enhanced’ indoor strains that always makes my heart smile. Today we will be appraising Candy Jack. Candy Jack is a sativa strain that is conjured by crossing Jack Herer and Skunk #1. I love heritage strains, so I believe that I will be in for a real treat as far as a multi-dimensional sativa. This particular production carries 19% THC, but I hope it packs a fistful of delicious terpenes as well. Let’s burn it down!
I slip the fluffy cork out from the vial, spilling its essence out into the open air. I am swarmed by a sweet, blissful, citrus zest. In the wake of the buzzing fruit, a revitalizing rawness storms my nostrils and shakes my sinuses awake. I feel as if my nasal passages are renewed with an otherworldly vigor, for the sole purpose of being better to more adeptly digest the vivacious citrusy suds. I bathe in a luscious waterfall of pulsing sour. I lap carefully out from the stream of tepid tartness, it reminds me of a lemon Gatorade. A tender herbal exacerbation draws a bubbly dispersed tang out from the sports beverage kiss. The bubbling herbal note is represented best by a light mint muddled into the flesh of a nectarine. The piercing bolts of citrus finish in an uproar of alert green pine. The bulldozing freshness attached to Candy Jack cements the reduction of tangy vile freshness into the fibers of your nose.
In hopes of disarming the volatile foresty fruit, I tear a bud apart under my nostril. A unique nuance, a peppered smack of bold nut. The raw nuttiness surges, unearthing some rich earthen qualities. The careening cashew crashes through my sensory walls, unloading canisters bursting with sharp citrine gas. The lemon laceration finishes with a soothing, pseudo-peppermint kiss. I cannot wait to see how this raging bouquet translates into the flavor.
Out of the jar rolls fluffy boulders of twinkling green flesh. Every shade entertained on the plane of Candy Jack seems to clouded by a ghostly white haze. Now this influence bares no actual color itself, but it seems that every natural occurring color within Candy Jack is elevated a handful of degrees of brightness. The bizarrely patterned frost almost appears as a degree of imaginative ‘wear’ on the flowers. I intend my awkward analysis of this frosty enchantment purely as a compliment. I simply cannot take my eyes off of the mildly opaque fog that has engrained itself in every fiber of the flower.
Beneath the domineering veil of obscurity, is a salad of rich, somber hues. Perhaps the dark disposition promotes the ominous glow surrounding the flesh. The buds are a dogpile of lifeless pear, pale moss, and extremely rare beaten patches of plum. Like a vortex surrounding the starved mountain of color; wire thin hairs whisk wild structures together, creating fences of tender barbed wire. The winding tanned stigmas carve wild trails across every face of the flower, their peachy-orange color is close to the only that disrupts the frothy distortion.
For a sativa-dominant flower, Candy Jack demonstrates some considerable bulk. You have to exert more force than expected to crack the resolve of Candy Jack, but after an adequate effort the structural integrity of Candy Jack falls to dust. The flower was cured extremely well; it lets off a crunchy squish as foliage compresses, pushing out aromatic jets of its essence. With the deception of the fluffy leaf considered, the buds do manage to bulk up to marbles of a gram or so. Though, I cannot imagine this strain produces many 2 or 3 gram flowers. Amplifying the chilling aura, is the subtle sparkling of the milky white trichomes that weave over every petal. The volume of the trichomes is high, though it does seem a handful are missing their heads.
Leaf to flame, a walk into a musky jet of herbal zest. The smoldering haze cradles my tongue as it demonstrates a playful sucrose expanse on the finish. In contrast, this was just a sprinkle of sugar grazing a roaring mound of smoldering, hoppy, pine brush. The clouds brandish a smokey finish. Each cloud is a kiss of charred firewood that had only been licked by fragile flames. A tentative syrup builds within the roasted body and leaks out from beneath the blackened herbal scarring. Out from the muddled leaf are wafts of a bitter skunky foulness. In tandem with the foresty sucker punch is an intermittent razor thin lash of hot citrus. Incalculable milliseconds of blistering lemon rend my tongue. Soothing my wounds is a flaky cool chem that descends upon the widespread panel of herbal excitement. I find the battle ultimately ends in a truce; a thick stream of milky pepper complimented by a stern woody bite.
I lean back and prepare to enjoy the throes of Candy Jack. I feel as if I’m receiving the ‘hot towel’ treatment. I truly wonder as if I’d really just had steaming towelettes laid across my eyelids. I dare not open my eyes to disturb the illusory pleasure. As the aggressive warmth sets in, I feel pepped awake by an otherworldly energy. My mind chases invisible beads of sweat down my forehead as I am transported.
Upon arrival to my new state of mind, I feel as if I just completed vigorous exercise. As if all my thoughts had been lugged to the top of some steep hill in a burlap sack. My heart pushes a pleasurable throbbing into my skull in the wake of the exhaustion. Feeling adequately exerted, I feel as if all of my thoughts had become more manageable. Assembling data and critical thinking feels less burdensome and menial. If my stream of consciousness was indeed a liquid, I feel as if it now was converted to a steamy vapor that is exceptionally easy to direct. I will literally ‘go with the flow’ as this bubbling cauldron of consciousness maps out wild designs.
The high is ultimately inspiring and creative, but there is an awkward fog preventing my new ideas from being carried out effectively. I feel as if I could invent reams of revolutionary new math formulas, but be devoid of a single way to use it myself. The potency of my existence becomes even more innocuous as this bewildering pattern of thought is matched by a symphony of physical sensation. A warm buzzing surrounds my skin, massaging it full of invisible comfort. My organs then feel to be insulated by familiar plates of styrofoam, leading to a general feeling of decompression within my torso.
It is quite strange, yet charming, to be trapped between ethereal layers of fantasy and success. The only question is to delve deeper or to wade out of the blurry euphoria to bring these grand self-engineered concepts to life?
As the name implies, Candy Jack, did ‘Burn Well’. I don’t know what else you could ask for in a sativa, the high was prolific and long-lasting. I highly recommend this strain, or any other produced by Burnwell, solely because you cannot compete with the power of the sun! There is an unassuming natural quality about all of their strains and it just feels like it is how cannabis is ‘supposed to be’. Within this production, I found a little room for growth in the realm of flavor, and I do wish I saw a few more trichome heads…but Candy Jack is still deserving of a powerful score. As always, thanks for reading.
Candy Jack Total Score: 87/100 points
Stay high and stay blessed,