Herbert Fuego

I recently heard Ving Rhames say in a radio interview that Quentin Tarantino “loves breakfast cereal.” Rather than go down the rabbit hole of wondering what fucked-up combination of booze and breakfast Tarantino has in the morning, I started craving some breakfast cereal of my own — and you would, too, after hearing Rhames’s gruff, sexy voice over-enunciate those two words.

I’m at a point in my life where cereal is more of a dessert than breakfast; I enjoy Apple Jacks and Cap’n Crunch as sugary delicacies rather than as “part of a well-balanced breakfast,” as their shady commercials suggest. I stay away from Fruity Pebbles, though, because I’ll eat the entire box in one day. Luckily for me, the weed named after Fruity Pebbles will knock me out before I can overindulge.

Herbert Fuego

If cannabis has all this medical value, why do strain breeders continue to label it with names that sound like a disease? I don’t know about you, but I’d never want to come down with a case of Sour Amnesia — which sounds a lot like what most grumpy old men go through on a daily basis. And after a few too many puffs of the sativa-dominant hybrid of the same name, I started to feel like confused old fart myself.

A cross of Amnesia and Sour Diesel, Sour Amnesia is a double shot of espresso that also makes you forget how to put on your pants. The two potent sativas create a delicious yet dangerous strain that will give you all the vigor and intelligence of a golden retriever, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing, if you know what you’re getting into.

Herbert Fuego

When I moved back to Colorado five years ago, sour beers were just about to become something big. Only the brave breweries were making these brews, which had to spend upwards of a year aging in barrels or required volatile yeast strains that Americans weren’t used to. Today you can get kettle sours in six-packs at a corner liquor store. Nothing wrong with that, but the next big thing has lost its luster.

The same thing has happened to citrus strains. The wide-eyed looks and open mouths once evoked by California Orange or Lemon Kush have been replaced by ho-hum reactions; consumers are like a spoiled fat kid who “only” got one cookie. Tart, pinching scents of lemons and oranges are now commonplace, thanks to the vast inventories of commercialized cannabis. But when we fail to appreciate them, whose fault is it? Ours. Mine, specifically.

Herbert Fuego

Most of the strains I choose to review are based on some mix of popularity, novelty and timeliness, but sometimes personal motivation trumps all. Flo OG — or, as anyone who hates syllables calls it, “Floog” — was a case of love at first whiff for me, and any toker who appreciates the lime-green glow and pungent scents of classic chronic would also fall for it.