The last time I was in Seattle for Cannabis Grand Cru 2015, I bought some outdoor product from another farm, but was pretty unimpressed with the smell and flavor profiles. Now that I was back for CGC 2016 and Washington’s growers had a little more experience under their belts, I was hoping I would find some better outdoor bud.
So, took a trip down to #Hashtag Recreational Cannabis, in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, where I got some UW Purple (and a few other strains).
When I bought my flower, including the Dirty Girl from Tiller Natural, my change included a two-dollar bill, a first for me at a rec store. Every time I see a two-dollar bill (aka “Tom”), I think about why they are not widely circulated — for some time, two dollars was the cost of a prostitute (along with several other less-than-savory activities). So, women didn’t carry them to avoid being taken for a hooker, and men avoided them so as not to be thought of as the type of person who would frequent one. As a result, the currency was relegated to desk drawers, seldom to be seen again.
When budtender Dom handed me a Dirty Girl and a Tom, I felt like a pimp taking money from a john.
Dirty Girl by the numbers: $12/gram at #Hashtag Recreational Cannabis, 3540 Stone Way N, Seattle, WA 98103
Tiller Natural’s Dirty Girl was the one outdoor strain I bought. Having spent some time around Washington’s cannabis industry, I was familiar with the push for outdoor grows east of the Cascade Mountains, which separate the Seattle, Tacoma and Olympia metro areas from the eastern two-thirds of the state. This area gets 300 days of sun, competing with the same stat many of us Denverites boast about like overzealous parents at a toddlers’ soccer match. As this Men’s Journal article points out, the Yakima Valley, directly southeast over the mountains from Sea-Tac, produces nearly three-quarters of the nation’s hops.
(If you’ve ever wondered why every PNW bar carries Bud Light, Rainier and 17 different IPAs on tap accompanied by a bro boasting to you that “the Yakima Valley is the hops capital of the world, bro!” in an attempt to alleviate the look of bewilderment on your face, this is it.)
Chelan County is known for producing Washington’s apples, pears and cherries. The Yakima Valley AVA (short for American Viticultural Area) and Lake Chelan AVA are both part of the larger Columbia Valley AVA, which is famous for its grape varieties and wine production.
What makes this area so fertile are the long, dry growing seasons, volcanic soil and plentiful sunshine. Indoor growing produces top-quality herbs in any environment, but many growers will tell you there’s no replacing natural sunlight — not to mention it’s a lot more environmentally friendly. Tiller is no exception, stating on its website, “Not only does natural sunlight create a rich terpene profile impossible under artificial lights, it lessens our carbon footprint, creating a sustainable model and superior product.”
Weed reviews and a little advice for the paranoid
Paranoia: Neil Young tells Howard Stern his secret cure for high paranoia
Tangerine Man: The clear winner in Snoop Dogg’s new line of cannabis products. Tangerine Man held up despite its extended time in the jar. The citrus notes weren’t quite as bright, more akin to a car air freshener that is overdue for a change, but the black pepper and cane sugar became more pronounced. Compared to Leafs by Snoop’s lackluster Blueberry Dream, I was vacationing in Terp City, U.S.A.
Juicy Fruit: I popped the jar open and stuffed my nose into it. It was fruity and tropical with hints of pineapple and creamy coconut, along with the subtle undertone of grass. When I sparked it up, the sweet fruitiness was prominent on the front end, followed by a spiciness that hit the back of my tongue and throat on the exhale, causing me to cough. The second hit made me question whether I had just smoked a mango lassi, and it made me cough even more.
Grape Stomper: While it wasn’t very purple, the resin production on this nug stuck out against many of the strains I’d tried lately. What I didn’t get on the initial open was much discernible smell. A faint grape fought with chem notes for control of my nose. Clearly, the Sour Diesel and Headband in the lineage were winning out.
NEW: Get podcasts of The Cannabist Show.
Subscribe to our newsletter here.
Watch The Cannabist Show.
I saved the Dirty Girl for my last day in Seattle when I was due to meet up with a local industry friend, Jon. I took the light rail and met him near the airport. After catching up over a late lunch, we had just enough time to smoke before I had to head to the airport.
So we found a spot to smoke legally and I busted out the bud. According to the package, Dirty Girl is a cross of two well-known strains, Cinderella 99 and Trainwreck. I tore open the sealed ziplock and took out the nug.
It had a very round nug structure with undefined calyxes, leading me to believe that it was machine-trimmed. It was lime green with a certain yellowish hue, and hairs that were a salmon shade of pink. When I first stuck my nose in the bag, all I could smell was hay, bringing on the same feeling of disappointment I had felt the year before. However, when I put the nug up to my nostril and cracked it open, a subtle sweet and fruity smell came out. The berry fragrance reminded me of Fruity Pebbles. Jon compared it to some of his homegrown Snoop’s Dream, which he happened to have with him.
Considering the sweet smell and Cindy 99 lineage, the nug was round and extremely dense. It wasn’t too moist, but I was grateful Jon had his grinder, because breaking it up would have been quite a chore. I quickly ground it up and rolled a joint worthy of a compliment from my friend.
When I sparked it up, the first thing I noticed was that the taste was almost nothing like it smelled. Most strains have a fragrance that carries into the smoke. This Dirty Girl, however, had a very faint sweetness that was overwhelmed by a chemmy taste — and I’m not talking about the chemmy/diesel taste that comes from ChemDog genetics. This was more like hand soap. The smoke was quite harsh, with both of us hacking continuously between hits.
We finished the joint, said our goodbyes and I headed to the airport. I had already checked in online and just needed to drop my bag. As I made my way to the counter, I was greeted by a very funny look from the airline reps, probably due to the redness that I could now feel in my eyeballs. I knew I probably had the smell of the joint lingering on my clothes and body, but their reaction made me slightly paranoid. It was nostalgic of my high school days, when I would get stoned during my off-period and then go back to class, hoping the teacher didn’t figure it out. Unlike when I was in high school, being high in Seattle isn’t illegal (even at the airport) which helped to alleviate some of my paranoia. I stopped caring that my cherry-red eyes were kindly informing everyone that I was high as a kite.
I wandered around the airport aimlessly in a pseudo-daze while trying to make it look like I knew exactly where I was going. I walked past the same Seattle’s Best coffee three times before I decided to grab a cup of coffee. As soon as I sat down at the table, I felt like a dumbass, as I realized it was too hot and I wouldn’t have enough time to drink it before I went through security (doh!). So, I drank all ten sips I could and threw it out.
I made it through security and got to a nearly empty gate. When I got on the plane, I realized I was one of the last passengers to board (thanks to my coffee stupidity). Obviously, people were looking at who was holding the plane up, though the paranoia made me think it was my big black beard that was drawing all the glances.
I made my way to the back of the plane to my window seat. I was relieved to see that the other two seats in my row were occupied by friends who were also at the Grand Cru. Seeing Brittany (better known by her modeling name, Damsel W. Dank) and Louis made any lingering paranoia dissipate. We talked for a little before takeoff, and I was able to use the cerebral and stimulating high to work clear through the flight.
I’m usually immune to the paranoia that accompanies even the raciest of sativas. The Dirty Girl, however, brought it out (likely due to my environment), making me feel like everyone who saw me walking around the airport knew I was a dirty girl.