Afghan Peach by H.O.C.

Afghan Peach by House of Cultivar

Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we roast the richest fruits. Today’s strain is Afghan Peach which is the cross of Super Sativa Club Seed #1 and Papaya. This strain is advertised as sativa and the lineage does lean towards such, but I cannot imagine a strain heralding Afghan in its name will be that mild-mannered. There is only one way to unravel the treat that House of Cultivar has crafted. Let’s burn it down.

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I release the beast, chasing after a tail of sweet chunky succulence. Candied sausage peppered in floral potpourri. The meaty sweetness rolls over my senses, blooming to entertain tropical exuberance. The allure of a tight mango-skin tang draws me in deeper. I relish the plump awkward zest of the fledgling fruit. A pillowy musk heralds its arrival, a savory companion to the fuzzy mammoth. Trailing this party are imprint of soft tea leaves and beads of honey. A tepid woody rush carves through the gelatinous waves.

In foolish pursuit, I snap the scraggly boulders under my nose. My insolence unearths a ferociously ripe pocket of citrus buoyancy. Afghan Peach presents itself as a floating tropical tree. Sedating fruit invites my nostrils onto an unwilling exhibition of thrilling, skunky, fluffy, warmth.

A codeine grape syrup bleeds out from the raging wound. The contrast of the dank thickness of cough medicine sloshing against the bright snap of luscious fruit is an awakening within itself. A honed floral edge buffed out into a gentle slope of tart peachy resolve. A feathery distortion disperses the remainder of the pilgrim fragrance unto the atmosphere. The epitome of a sweet release.

Not particularly contributing to this masquerade as a sativa is the blubbery bulk of these flowers. Building like massive rolling hillsides, the rotund peaks have been hammered to concrete toughness by the weight of the glistening trichome glaciers above. The polished curvature of Afghan Peach is only defied by sporadic spires, towers constructed to survey over the overgrown terrain. Willful snakes of bloated tangerine tangle through the frosted canyons. The undersides of the voluptuous calyxes seem to overflow with hairs, like armpits. These nests entertain the roots of so many stigmas that they occasionally cluster to completely obscure my view of the flower.

The bolts of bronzed tangerine serve to highlight the firm verdant loam below. Sapped pear absorbs a deviation of the amber glow projected from the vivid bushels. The flustered scheme teeters off into streaks of somber pine and melon green. Resin glands flood the awkward ridges of Afghan Peach, toned wholeheartedly to a tacky gold.

Afghan Peach does offer some tribute to its sativa influence in the form of rambling, rippling, leaf and inconsistent peaks of awkward stand-alone lanky crowns. The raking fans of lively stigmas are also an educated observation of such influence. In my last ditch effort of thoroughness, I sunder the flower. Endless echoes of fresh crunches ripple through the bulky core of Afghan Peach. I feel as if I’m pulling apart meaty tendons as they terminate into a satisfying snap. This strain is exactly as dense as it looks, if not more so. The mystifying presence of this strain becomes more foreign every minute.

Leaf to flame, my taste buds are glazed over by the smoky resin of scorched pineapple. The tree fruit fumes are delivered by hardy meaty means. I feel as if I’d just plucked the roasted chunks from atop a desecrated pizza. Gentle, feathery, and sweet the smoldering tropics billow out plumes of peachy tang. Every hit, a crisp kiss delivered in the mannerisms of dehydrated fruit.

I lick the permeating juices from my lips. My palate is primed, eager to soak up every drop of the enchanting syrupy stew. Afghan Peach aspires to heights of a bold Pina Colada with a skunky body and a buttery floral finish. As the bowl chars, the profile discovers a grassy flat resolve. A backboard of satisfying clapping peppery earth applauds the rich procession while beckoning an encore.

I feel an immediate spike in my mental state. My vision slowly adjusts and sharpens as if binoculars were winding into position. An ethereal padding swells to reinforce my face plate. It feels as if the front of my skull is four-times thicker than its adjoining walls. Perhaps Afghan Peach is bracing me for a powerful impact that I cannot anticipate?

Pillars of frozen consciousness skewer my brain petrifying my spirit with a numbing chill. I am locked into my current emotional state; I’m not convinced that anything could shake me from my unflinching perspective. A dangerous confidence swells around the alien influence, further embedding its cold calculated matrix. I feel as if time is moving in slow motion; that I have the calculative abilities of Rain Main and the agile focus to count droplets of rain as they fall. I am already impressed by the explosive sativa presence I’ve experienced this early on.

My mind grows calloused from overuse. Stampeded over by overworked thoughts, bearing immense weight. I feel as if my soul is tethered to a plummeting meteor. I feel heaviness crawl over my eyes and it was then I knew my fate was sealed. My body calls for warmth and a cushioned surface. Afghan Peace incites your mind to exhaust its abilities in a frantic burst so that you may enjoy a cozy night of sloth.

Everything sure is peachy about twenty minutes after you finish your first bowl. My assumptions ended up being correct, but there is a genuine spike of imbalanced sativa energy that kick starts the imminent coma. I truly enjoyed the soft, yet spicy and challenging profile of Afghan Peach. House of Cultivar is always brewing something new and you’re crazy not to chase down the latest in their exotic genetic lines. As always, thanks for reading.

Afghan Peach score: 87/100

Aroma – 19

Physical – 17

Flavor – 17

Consistency – 14

Sensation – 18

Stay high and stay blessed,

Kushman Bonglegs

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