Crooked Sherbert by H.O.C.

Crooked Sherbert by House of Cultivar

Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where we are proud to announce that we’ve managed to mitigate some of the financial distress of COVID-19 and resume our love of reviewing. To celebrate our triumphant return, what better than some Cannarado genetics grown by House of Cultivar. Crooked Sherbert; noted to be worthy of the distinction, is the cross of Diagonal Kush and Sunset Sherbert. Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of Sherbert strains, but people I respect have told me to give this cut in particular a chance. Let’s hope our path to Sherbert enlightenment isn’t ‘crooked’.

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I breach the vessel to become entangled with the grappling pungency of a woody sour. Sweet caramel rushes to its relief, a gooey syrup driven from berries and sawdust. The collaboration is a clamoring crisp of rubbery elastic gas. The vapors sizzle off into exhausted whiskers of pinching intensity. A sour propelled by scathing fumes carried over a cakey bed of vanilla dank. Skunky diesel tickles the landscape, a carnivorous cornucopia of acidic fruits. The profile spits acidic jets of assimilation towards any newly emerging nuance. The aroma desires to be one complete jacket of essence, rather than several different outspoken notes and adornments.

Lulled to tranquility by the blackened spice of a floral potpourri, I become charmed and challenged by the lilac smack. A dry herbal decoration crumbling to a gingerbread menthol. The avalanche of ginger and cinnamon bite subsides to waft the fresh air baking over a grassy field in spring. A tranquil moment, before my palate is exhumed to be churned through the gassy stabbing sludge once more.

In hopes of fracturing the accumulated identity, I break the flowers under my nostrils. A seething sap of slippery glue is revived with a ferocious edge. A sickeningly tacky paste; the fumes of which seem to carve its permanence into my membranes. A sudsy sour leaning into a pickled diesel. The tincture molds to become firmly raw, funky, creamy, and savory. If there was a brightside to spoiled milk, this odd underbelly is now the supporting element to the voracious gas.

Crooked Sherbert favors the bold, requiring a spark of interaction to set off the magnificent chain reaction of spiced sour. An electric assault consolidated through a lively lime focus and cool cucumber tang. Foolishly diving into the false sanctuary, I am extracted by a snap of penetrating zesty lightning. This strain proves to be a rigid rollercoaster of awakening aromas.

The first thing that I notice about Crooked Sherbert is how bulky and vigorous it is compared to the common Sherbert descendents. My second instinct being to attribute the flourishing growth to its other parent, but somehow qualifying a ‘Kush’ for that makes less sense. Cultivar has a history with being able to bring size into some of the classically stunted strains such as Mimosa, Cookie, Pie, and Glue to name a few. For whatever reason, this is a standout specimen for its breed. A wriggly tower magnetizing sharps of ruffled leaf and slumped noodles of warm beige. The haphazard stack of angular components defies gravity, assuredly frozen into place by the milky sheen of resin that soaks its skin.

A matted jungle of pear, dusty olive, ghostly lime, and pale fern; Crooked Sherbert’s restless demeanor and whiskered surface nestle and knots a tapestry of soothing sylvan tones. The aesthetic of a fuzzy green tomato dawning a diluted halo of hazy white. Such a scraggly appearance calls me to question its fortitude, however, I am met with the familiar stern style of Sherbert. Only a traversing a short distance into the crumpling bramble before being met by a bustling bulwark of tanned verdancy.

Leaf to flame, my tongue has a rope of stretched taffy strung across it. A taught gummy flesh of sour strawberry drapes over my palate, pocketing spikes of gas. Gradually released from a lime blubber, a milky rind of dirty vanilla. A cocoa hardiness is distorted into mulched ambiguity by the carving glue enthusiasm. Crooked Sherbert packs flavor you can feel in your teeth, my gums are tickled by echoes of citrus and forested damp.

The dank confectionary clumps into muddy embankments on my teeth. My molar soil seeds my mouth deeply with the misted pleasures of the voracious jungle. Equally invigorating and invasive, the muddled herbs aspire to a thickness similar to barbeque char. Brittle, thick, and crispy; the profile oozes with the sizzling subtleties of hashish and berry. The staining signature of cannabis resin seeps through cork mazes of peanut satisfaction. A bounding ping pong ball, with every bounce getting a little lighter, flakier, and more brittle…becoming impossibly distant while still being traceable. Masterfully seeding the temptation towards another full-fledged bite.

The high builds modestly, largely dwarfed by the hammering flavor. Once adjusted, I recognize the bloated marshmallow charms of Crooked Sherbert. Unraveled into a universe of physical giddyness, I squirm as if struggling to contain an electric shudder. Releasing myself to the introductory shiver, returning to a plush shell. A groovy feathery quality upholstered my body, ethereal padding that loosens my shackles to reality. Every step, breath, into Crooked Sherbet lengthens the distance between myself and the mortal coil.

My mind feels like a teak box, a sauna without steam. A monument with ancient etchings and inspiration baked into its walls. A soft lattice of porous boards, each swollen with dormant potential. I begin to wonder, “How do I rattle this cage so that I may kick loose some of its buried benefits?” Envisioning the room like a muscle, I visualize what it would be to flex it. A ridiculous concept, but before long, the imaginary room begins to creak from the stress of adjustment.

The force builds, as does my confidence. With every groaning fiber, I feel tensions spring free from my tethered mind. Coils are unhinged from an invisible opposing anchor, an unknowing puppet set loose to liberty. Free from hunger, exhaustion, worry, pain, and desire; I exist only as an idea. An encapsulation of the moment of receiving an epiphany. A new idea, flawless in concept, prenatal to execution. The unhindered delight surrounding the whirs of possibility from a theory untested. The spirit of invention, while not always applicable doesn’t drain the exhilaration during the burgeoning moments of conception.

What is both frustrating that inspiring about cannabis is how you can dislike something fifteen times in a row and then be blown away on the sixteenth. I was so positive that I was done with Sherbert varieties, but this one demonstrated a teasingly sharp edge and layered complexity. Elmer’s Glue, graham crackers, black pepper, potpourri, and hashish…just to name a few. Count on Cannarado and House of Cultivar for consistently bringing fire to the table. As always, thanks for reading.

Crooked Sherbet score: 82/100

Aroma – 18

Physical – 17

Flavor – 17

Consistency – 16

Sensation – 14

Stay high and stay blessed,

Kushman Bonglegs

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