Dubb Breath #3 by House of Cultivar
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we chase the bizarre nomenclature of this industry to its roots. This evening we will be appraising a phenotype of Dubb Breath from House of Cultivar. Dubb Breath is an indica-dominant hybrid parented by Sour Dubb and Motorbreath. Motorbreath has become renown for its tearing rawness and gaseous funk. Sour Dubb is often overlooked as one of the parents of the famous Gorilla Glue; alongside Chem Sister and Chocolate Diesel. In my experience, Sour Dubb wears nearly countless masks and I cannot wait to see what its fusion with the ever-potent Motorbreath inspires.
Dubb Breath greets me down a slick chute of lemongrass sour that encircles an uproar of soothing floral berry notes. A bold profile peppered gently by woodland crispness, lavender, chamomile, and peppercorns. Hazy flour clumps along the invigorating rub, sanding over the daggering sweetness with mossy grape damp. A hardy beef smoke smolders its charred charms across my palate, exhausting me with its cozy wooden breath. Crackling over the sugary tinder are vapors of warm cake, softened vanilla, and tea leaf grease. The parade of confectionary delights ends along an embankment of peachy tang spirited by a half-hearted chem edge.
Barrels of rocky lime cool bob out from the meaty waters of pseudo-chem exuberance. Carving through the pillowy mounds of sucrose, I find gasping pockets in the pixie stick valley. Within these kind basins are intermittent creamy spurts reminiscent of a key lime pie. A crust baked to be a continuance of peppered alpine refreshments, now kennels the boiling ambiguity of cherry, lime, and tangerine.
While outwardly complex, the aroma seems to be withholding additional traits. I crumple the flowers under my nostrils with reckless abandon. A honed resurgence of crisp mountain freshness now streams bolts of candied lilac. Tepid wafts of chem continue to encourage the stiff invigoration to unfold into a bounty of lime zest.
Effervescent, focussed, and tingling; the embrace of Dubb Breath penetrates as a gaseous cousin to 7up soda. A wall of vaporous tang wrought with voracious sprites of diesel. The exhuming curtain of sudsy inspiration unearths cornucopia of sour and tangy fruits. An enchanting expanse familiar to the initiated notes of cherry, lime, and tangerine; only now augmented to the penetrating magnitude of diesel.
I break the barrier to become subject to brilliant sites of frost-drained wintergreen. Pinecones laddered together by awkward bulges and tumultuous petals, the mammoth buds defy their broad architecture as they pinch off into bulky spear tips. The calyxes pack together like a pyramid of cannonballs; rotund nodes of hardened determination granted character by its surface of invitingly disheveled leaf. The flesh of Dubb Breath is stout and compact but leaves deep valleys between its puckered brush.
A mangled mess of chartreuse, shadowy lime, and potent pear; Dubb Breath weaves a ruffled scarf of color through pockets of dank shadow. Twinkling streams of contrast are further highlighted by the frothing flood of trichomes. At times, plastered together into solid sheets, the plentiful glands add a shifting aura of seafoam pistachio. Radiating the faintest green, helplessly diluted by stormy hues of azure white.
Short-stalked and plentiful, the resin reflects a tarnished white gleam like roadside snow banks that have become speckled by mists of muddy slush kicked up by passing traffic. Cresting through the dusted cloudy glow are arms of burnished crimson that streak through the snowy haze. Bloody strands of seaweed that raking through ethereal algae in our invisible ocean of atmosphere. The stigmas are quite temperamental when choosing settling location, seeking the most outward ledges upon which they can stretch their plumes of matted bronze flame.
Leaf to flame, my taste buds become emblazoned with candied dewdrops of banana and lime. A helix of tart tree fruit skins and the buttery pulp within; winds down into a canyon of sharded lemonade grit. Emanating from the crashing cliffs of citrus are waves of roasted floral candy. Between Lemonheads and lavender hand soap, the profile embodies some signature touches of Zkittles.
My mouth now a muddled garden of zesty eucalyptus. Breaths of coconut smooth and almond bark spill across a rubbery edge. Biting crumbles of black coffee acidity flake down unto a hashy surface. A composite foam of earthen musk, lemon, lime, and whipped cream. I weave through the alternating blows of heavy-handed citrus and roasted nutty cocoa. The assault resolves into a muddied wishwash of kelpy green chem and echoes of pine nut. The flavor profile is astoundingly resonant, offering the irresistible kiss of ‘green hits’ again and again.
Captain of a functional glacier; I feel capable of thawing and imprisoning emotional states as I see fit. I’ve become enamored by a sense that there is all of the time in the world and nothing is so pompously dubbed as urgent. I can wash the dishes or count every star in the sky; it matters not, there is time for it all. An internal winter sounds intimidating, but I am suffocated with calm. A sensation I imagine isn’t unlike floating in space. Careless, yet so very mindful. Peace washes through my spongey mind like hot bathwater, dispelling any impurities of thought. A theme of preservation in both body and mind, I feel my flesh gradually glaze over into lukewarm paralysis.
Still affected physically by the creeping chill, my movements become cumbersome and awkward like that of an animated statue. The warmth of my heart feels so far away, perhaps I was always a statue. A pinocchio complex aside, my personality and drive are drowned in an avalanche of self-love. After some time, I find myself revived. Disturbed back to reanimation by the lightest flicker of desire. A continued source of stretching aspirations I feel my cavernous mind fill with meaty humidity. A biodome of swaddling bayou mist draws me dreary, anchored by an ever-intensifying gravity.
It has been sometime since I’ve come across such a flavorful strain. A huge fan of my initiation into the strain Sour Dubb, I couldn’t imagine to what extent it would be represented in this production. I was not disappointed, quite frankly, I’d be tempted to give the flavor aspect of this score higher than a 20. Dubb Breath, a strain that will reliably tickle your tastebuds and melt away worry. As always, thanks for reading.
Dubb Breath score: 92/100
Aroma – 18
Physical – 18
Flavor – 20
Consistency – 19
Sensation – 17
Stay high and stay blessed,