Pink Prosecco by House of Cultivar
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we are always getting into the nitty gritty of the sticky icky. Today, we will be revisiting a strain that I’ve personally witnessed evolve into a beast. Pink Prosecco by House of Cultivar is one of their flagship sativas and I feel that it is now better than it has ever been. This sativa-dominant strain is an unknown cross stemming from the famous Jack Herer. I’m not sure what they’ve been doing differently, but their modern Pink Prosecco clearly exceeds the one I reviewed some odd months ago. I highly suggest you revisit this strain now if you’d dismissed it in the past. Indica-head or not, here I come.
I plunge into my glass of Pink Prosecco. I find myself quickly dazzled by the introductory wave of bubbly citrus. My nostrils are pried open by the stinging lemon vice grips. My palette is forced to guzzle down every ounce of the effervescent fruity waterfall. A candied skunky note swims at the basin, the compliment causes the candied qualities to surge. Caramelized lemon slices are heaved into mountains of fresh pine needles. The culmination that is Pink Prosecco is exceptionally bright. I feel as if the aroma is naturally caressed to float up into my nostrils.
I find some relief as I spin backward onto a backboard of crispy forest leaf. On this plane, I uncover an icy crunch that chases the bubbling tide of tangerine magma. I sever the largest flower, in desperate hopes of understanding. Little did I know, my insolence resulted in the fruity qualities becoming more aerated and maneuverable. The feathery citrus augments itself to entertain the aloof fluffiness of peach. The stone fruit stirs with the prickled citrus zest to sound off whirling kisses of intoxicating bliss. The aforementioned luscious moisture has also been emphasized to dramatic levels. The heart of the fragrence bleeds out onto the floor; I find myself drenched in the potent essence of this boundlessly sweet tincture.
Pink Prosecco appears to be glowing with radioactivity as it projects auroras of perverted limes. Illuminated moss crescendos into frothy lime and stern pear. The seamless flow of color is so appetizing I’m drawn to pop the nug into my mouth, but I know better. The flowers stack into wide-based arrowheads with rounded points. The bulging nodes are genetically carved and chipped into a haphazard spear.
A surface composed of entirely of scraggly green petals somehow maintains an illusion of a structured blueprint. The churning sea of wild verdancy is occasionally highlighted by sparse bolts of orange lightning. Thick stigmas weaves into stout bushels of quieted flames that camp on the ridges of Pink Prosecco. The soft tangerine glow adds some welcome illumination to the dampening sea of emeralds.
Answering the famous question; “How much sativa?”, I attempt to crush the base of the largest flower. While the structure does quickly collapse pressure, the thin brittle of its petals rank into a pseudo-chain mail. The linking resistance is considerably tougher to dismantle, but overall, still frail. Based off of this test alone, I would suggest that this strain is probably 75% sativa or more.
Leaf to flame, my eyes instantly swell with tears. My nose attempts to squirm off of my face as my sinuses are bludgeoned by the abrasive sweetness of Pink Prosecco. The combination punch begins with a bold slick hashy fist. The lancing blow is followed by an uppercut of floral sweetness. Then, while I’m still reeling from the unwieldy floral expanse, a flurry of sharp citrus jabs are delivered to my chest. I fall towards to floor, spewing out a spittle of earthy citrus. Perhaps in pitiful sympathy of my defeat, the strain tosses me a towel of smoky charcoal. I manage to use the neutralizing blanket to climb back to my feet for another round. The delivery of Pink Prosecco is deliciously punishing, but you may need time to recover between each hit.
Trailing the boxing metaphor, this high is a real bell-ringer. Almost exclusively cerebral, my brain contorts with otherworldly energy. My skull bloats into a cotton candy pillow that cushions the caramel center of my mind. I still feel very present, focused, and poised; however, I feel like my head no longer exists. I am now simply a cloud of vaporous perspective perched upon human shoulders. My mind slides through libraries of thought with ease, its rails greased by the demented citrus muse.
My body drips with a tingling warmth, temporarily distracting me from my existential dilemma. My joints swell into distant inebriation. It appears the rest of my body is intent on phasing out of existence as well. I relax and enjoy the symphony of my undoing. My gentle unraveling into the broth of space and time. I am at peace, contemplating metaphysical conundrums of menial importance. This strain is excellent for meditating and entertaining the soul of the introvert.
This Jack Herer offspring has sure left me feeling jacked up. I struggle to finish this article as I am still being drawn towards the void of disembodied thought. This strain is explosive in terms of aroma and sensation. Revisiting Pink Prosecco was a well-researched decision and it did not disappoint. If you want your faith revived in hard-hitting sativas, pick up some of this Pink Prosecco from House of Cultivar. As always, thanks for reading.
Pink Prosecco score: 94/100
Aroma – 20
Physical – 18
Flavor – 18
Consistency – 18
Sensation – 20
Stay high and stay blessed,