Lemon Cake by H.O.C.

toasted n’ posted proudly presents…

Lemon Cake by House of Cultivar

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Lemon Cake by House of Cultivar

Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where dank genetics is all that we breathe. Today, we will be visiting a strain from a couple months ago. I got my batch a little early and it was emphasized that this new batch, which we will be reviewing today, really hit the cure on the head. I’m always down to re-review an old production to see how its finer aspects have been groomed and honed. Still a hanging mystery over the lineage; but as a placeholder, I will suggest Lemon Skunk crossed with Cheese. I lean towards this pairing simply because I know how much House of Cultivar loves playing with citrus-skunk varieties and am aware of their vast existing arsenal. Let’s dive into the gracious nuances of this potent hybrid known as Lemon Cake.

Cake *clap* Cake *clap* Cake *clap* Cake.

(Sorry, I had to.)

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I replace the lid with my face, enduring every particle of a sugary hellstorm. The blizzard is wrought with shards of citrus, like lemon Gatorade powder. The blankets of jagged flavor rain downward onto a bed of dry warmth. Stirring is a pool of sour lusciousness. The clashing clouds ring out songs of grape, lime, and lemon. Lime is the most fragile of the thunderclaps, falling a touch short in the typical piercing satisfaction of this note. The lashes are too rotund, more reminiscent of an orange or fierce lemon.

An aromatic gummy quality is kicked up from the storm puddle. The sloshing slurry rebounds off of the still free-falling rigidity, aimlessly spreading its sweet salve. I suspected this strain to be definitively lemon in ambition, however, I find myself bludgeoned by a ceaseless sea of tart fruit. My palette is passed off between the varying titans of candied zest. The notes range from soaked cherries, to sour grapes, to granulated lemon, to pulverized kiwi and waves of orange zest.

Lemon Cake appears to be a cake indeed, a fruit cake! The ripe storm is spurred onward by a helix of intrusive gas. The ethereal snake winds around the aromatic hurricane; prodding it, drawing exaggerated shockwaves out of the scent. At the basin of the fruit-filled battering ram, you may find an ounce of mercy. The undercarriage is washed over like enormous boulders perched under a crashing waterfall. A relaxing song of rocky earth bathed in the slick rejuvenation of the free-falling fluid. Wisps of sugary tang hover lowly above the tumultuous basin, tasked with carrying your palette back upstream to once again revisit the tropical fray.

In hopes of finding more definite descriptors for this shapeshifting profile, I decide to sever the largest nug through its heart. I plunge my nose into the wound like a bloodthirsty cannibal, eager to lap up every drop of its essence. An earthen grip emerges from the core of the node and strangles the gassy leviathan. This shakes loose some heavier characteristics. The beast bleeds a concoction of syrupy earth and encumbered berry. This particular notion is reminiscent of the alluring quality behind Afghan strains. I am almost overtaken by the dense tides, until the effervescent limonene zest pierces through, freeing me into its playful sugary embrace.

The ‘Cake’ in the name may also speak to how thoroughly these trichomes are caked onto the petals. Resin glands stand tall, heads in tact, and in very close succession. Some even become trampled by their sisters, pinned down to make way for the overflowing bounty of psychoactivity. The sheer volume of the plastered resin glands causes the natural color of the foliage to be raised a couple hues. Discerning through the kaleidoscopic wheel of deception, I am able to pluck out kernels of natural color. Lemon Cake is woven together by streams of stern pear, relenting pine, and embedded moss. The colors of each cola shift quite consistently so it would be difficult to award dominance to any one color. One thing is certain, sitting in my palm is a glorious chunk of crystallized verdancy.

The bud structure seems largely inspired by, what I would expect is, the Skunk parent. The colas are bulky and bulbous, but generally light in weight. There is a feigned density with how well filled out the buds are, but it can be dismantled with very little effort. I felt like I was plucking teacups from the trees in Willy Wonka; astounded by the light weight and masterful decadence. Writhing over the glistening leaf are wide spread nets of stigmas painted an iridescent orange. The hairs seemingly spawned out of a bag of Doritos, weave and wind wild trellises across the faces of the flower. The vibrant network pulls a lively warm glow out of the frosted flesh of the flower. At certain angles; the flowers are rich with pulsing greens, while at others it glimmers like a nugget of tarnished gold.

Leaf to flame, I find myself dancing upon a smoky bed of acute citrus. Transported to the heart of a blackened log bleeding out a fierce citrine sap. The peppery blood leaks out onto my palette, gradually solidifying its incendiary advance. Eventually, the rude awakening subsides and the flower unleashes some of its more delicate qualities. A succulent tendril of lemon gas grazes my senses like a soft hand caressing my face in tender reassurance.

Aromatic berry snakes out into the forming pool of boiling citrus. The tender floral quality exaggerates the aforementioned spice while cushioning the surge by augmenting the natural sugars in tandem. I sit blinded by potency at the heart of a smoldering prism.  Each note reflected at brilliant angles, stoked by an endless chorus of fruity flames. As the bowl chars, I am startled by a tart kick. The note emulates fields of lemongrass set ablaze, unleashing panicked gasps of scorched sour. The profile finishes smoothly as it lays down all arms with no virtual harshness. I am surprised by the careful transition into ash, many flowers do not finish this cleanly.

A foggy disposition washes over my physical vision, but my mental clarity as well. I feel my figurative sight restricted, I can harness no desire to look past what is directly in front of me. Quickly finding it impossible to contemplate the remaining day, I remain isolated on the isle of bewildering complacence. Rescue arrives in the form of heart-stopping pleasure. I feel my skull beset with a featherweight crown of euphoria. The tender ring numbs everything it touches, the sensation compounds as it creeps onward to incapacitate the rest of my body.

This strain strives to embody Medusa as it renders you paralyzed in its concrete glare. I sit incredibly still, welcoming the damning dominance of this high. While my mental state is still very much active, it is restricted to acting very locally. Apparently, that means sitting here and watching as the tides of weighted pleasure consume me. I feel rushes of adrenaline when the pleasure peaks, my heart pounds to keep up with the swarming sensation. My limbs pulse with tingling warmth, sending me deeper into the depths of the boundless high.

There is a unique cruelty about the design of this high. It desires to render you completely useless with seductive comfort, but keep you overstimulated enough that you stand no tangible chance of escaping through sleep. Lemon Cake is delighted to hold you as a willing hostage. Whatever you make out of Lemon Cake, you will surely be pressured to enjoy every ounce of the drastic high.

I’m sure glad I decided to try this strain again because this is a huge improvement over the last batch. There is an important lesson in there for the common cannabis consumer. Harvests differ and so do practices. The same strain from the same company could vary wildly from when you last had it, making consistency and integrity an enormous part of quality cannabis practice. I know I can always count on House of Cultivar to never backslide and to continue bringing top shelf terps! As always, thanks for reading.

Lemon Cake Score: 89/100 points

Stay high and stay blessed,

Kushman Bonglegs

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