7th Heaven by House of Cultivar
Welcome back to toasted n’ posted where our stash jar never comes up dry. Today, we will be unveiling one of the new phenotypes that will potentially move forward to be regularly included in House of Cultivar’s lineup beginning this Spring. There is not much natural information available about 7th Heaven, but I needed little more convincing than the name itself. What I can offer you, is that it is the cross of Motorbreath and Grateful Breath. Grateful Breath, again for those who don’t know, is a backcross stemming from Cherry Pie Kush and Joseph OG. Enough thinking, let’s see what’s stinking.
I lean past the ‘gates’ of 7th Heaven to find a chorus of honeyed haze, porous wood, and beguiled citrus. The soothing green quality of tea leaf stirs with a creamy reflexiveness spurred by tender geysers of lime pulp. A firm hashy musk sits at the bottom, a basin ripe with lively bitterness. Underripe banana bounce bleeds out from under the fruity crispness. A seething chem gas stirs prolifically with the gritty effervescence of lime. Teasing lances of herbal acuity is present, but sits withdrawn.
In pursuit of its secrets, I snap the frosty spheres beneath my nose. A brittleness of sweet nut crumbles like a buttery pound cake. Fleshy peels of underripe banana adds a baked warmth to the texture. While nuanced by a floral and hillocked lavender cream, the enlivening and slicing citrus is on a renewed rampage. A subdued hazy syrup, wintergreen hops, and a touch of blueberry. Sizzling tangerine and sour cider pours over a medley of nutty lavender chasing every breath of exacerbating lime.
Leaning tidal waves of petrified moss, frozen in time at the moment just before the tipped point shifts downward into a galloping roar. The fractured wave foams into shades of fuzzy pear, drained seafoam, and frosty fern all cemented together under a minty pistachio glow. A bluish stone quality hazes over any natural vibrance from the salad of greens. A denim camouflage carefully constructed across a sea of shifting spikes and petals.
An ear of corn; a strong core matted by layers of stingy exterior. Imbued by the golden white of the desert, the already soft aesthetic is amplified by brittle snakes of peach. Snakes of weathered champagne gold cling closely to rounded ridges of crystalline leaf. Frosty and delicate, the snowcone casing shells a hearth of deep emerald. A shrouded core of spinach, emblazoned by twinkling frills of milky white. A determined squeeze finds relief through the scraggly exterior, but willful resistance in the form of several concealed marbles. I cannot wait to taste the fruits of the labyrinthine jungle.
Leaf to flame, my tongue becomes blanketed in the rolling smooth of honey. Booming above, a hash driven storm sweetened by cocoa berry. A gritty line of jelly anchored between grape and marionberry. Tea leaves, chem, and slick lime serration crashes into the mounds of quelling chalky hash. As the profile matures, the pickled lime sour and burps of cucumber freshness become effortlessly captivating.
Refining to spurts of white grape and scalding chem zest. Chem and lime are so explosively complimentary that it nearly drills through the quelling backboard of clapping chalky hash. The bog of sylvan satisfaction becomes unsettled freeing spiced burps of sour graham cracker. The storm settles to unveil beds of buttery wood and blackened hash. I commend 7th Heaven on maintaining the entire suite of bloomed complexities until the final ash.
My head feels like a polished apple that is slowly being dipped in caramel. I lean into a wall of blanketing confectionary, coming out the other side armored by stiffening sweet. My body feels saturated, weighted by otherworldly damp. I fight through the blanketing encumbrance with a newfound lubricated reality. Ankles and knees having reverted ten years, movement feels like gliding. A strain for dancing and enhanced confidence; 7th Heaven is suited for presenting your most unique self with renewed enthusiasm. Free-spirited and enlivening, every breath brings me a step closer to levitation. The magic of Peter Pan burns away in my hand.
As time saunters on, the sensation dramatically shifts from a liberating dnce to a blood drunk mosh. A realm converted within a flash of lightning, my spine was swapped with an arm of gelatin, body quickly falling forfeit to the tug of war with gravity. My spirited frolic of emotion falls to an exhausted slouch. Eyelids now stone tablets, as if my vessel seeks to smother any remaining spark of energy. Well prepared for the newfound trend of hibernation, I focus on finishing what remains of this review. I cannot fight the quickly falling night, just rush to prepare.
Out of all of the phenotypes, I feel lucky to have met this one. Sometimes strains with such dramatic names are quite bland, overcompensating in classic fashion. This is not one of those strains. House of Cultivar’s 7th Heaven is an instant buy and has quickly become one of my favorites. Ultimately falling somewhere between Hashberry, OG Kush, and Sour Breath… I could smoke this for months. As always, thanks for reading.
7th Heaven score: 95/100
Aroma – 20
Physical – 16
Flavor – 19
Consistency – 20
Sensation – 20
Stay high and stay blessed,