CANNABIS-TASTING PARTIES ARE SAN FRANCISCO'S NEXT BIG THING - CAN CANADA BE FAR BEHIND?

I read the following article and wondered how many of these I start getting invited to here in Canada and if we will put own own special Canadian twist on them.

"On a dimly lit street in SOMA, black drapes hung from the windows of a popular lunch spot for techies. A spunky brunette woman, dressed in a short black dress, welcomed me as I pulled the curtain back. Before I could take another step, she asked for my name and what color pen I’d like to have. As a self-proclaimed rookie smoker—someone who has never experienced a commendable stoner phase in high school or college—I wondered why she was offering me a pen.

“Vaporizer. You get to keep it after the party,” she said.

“Of course I do,” I thought to myself, irritated by my own ignorance.

I chose a blue one and quickly entered the room.

Inside the establishment, four wooden bars were tucked away in the corners.

The centerpiece of each bar was a row of tiny glass jars filled with weed. Each one was topped with a wine cork. They looked like shooters of marijuana.

Stationed behind each bar was a cannabis sommelier. There was Ruby with red hair; Matt, who organized the event; Nat, whose weed we would be tasting—he runs Madrone, the marijuana collective of small Mendocino farms—and his wife, Pearl. They were all dressed in black too.

I was immediately drawn to the vintage vibe of the crowd. I couldn’t help but think that if this were a wine-tasting event, I’d be surrounded by high heels and collared shirts. And if we were sampling beers, I’d spot more Vans and hoodies. But no, I felt like I took a time machine back to San Francisco in the 1960s. Everyone was dressed in something they had purchased from a thrift shop in the Mission. The women wore little makeup, and the men’s beards looked effortlessly trimmed. A record player emitted old tunes in the background—probably the ones that my parents lit up to.

As a young twentysomething who is in tune with trendy events happening in the city, this was a party I’d never heard of before. I asked the organizer how often he hosts these types of events, and he explained that it was actually the first “tasting” of its kind.

“With everything going on with the legalization of cannabis, we hope to have more in the future,” he said.

I was told that if I had fun that night—and if I had a medical-marijuana card—I could attend their “Luck Pot” dinner party next month in Oakland. Since I didn’t have a card, he suggested that I go to Amoeba Records on Haight Street. All I have to do, he told me, is tell the doctor about my medical problem and pay $50.

A bell interrupted our conversation, and someone quieted the room to explain how the evening would proceed. The sommeliers would grind and pack our Vapir pens, and each marijuana strain would be paired with an exquisite dish prepared by the chef. An important detail, he pointed out, is that the food isn’t “medicated.” And finally, I was told not to get too high.

“There’s no limit to consumption, but consume at your own risk,” he said.

The music started again, and everyone flocked to a table. I approached Matt and told him that I wanted to taste the first strain—called ’78 LA OG Affe—but didn’t want to get too high. He said that this was the perfect strain to taste. He took two chopsticks in his hand and lifted a small chunk of flower (what they call the cannabis) out of the glass jar. He placed it in the grinder, packed my pen and told me to take a pull. It tasted woodsy and a lot like rosemary. The chef brought out a crostini filet with horseradish aioli.

The second bell rang, which meant that it was time for the next strain—Mr. Nice. With 16% THC and 0.7% CBC, we were sure to feel its smooth effects. I was told that the THC is “just right” and that this is a great strain to smoke during the day to make sure I’m still creative and awake.

I moved across the room to Ruby’s table and asked her more about Mr. Nice. I explained that I was feeling a little high from the first strain but that I’d like to try this one too—at least for the taste. She smiled and said that having a low dosage of cannabis always makes for a nice way to live life. She packed my pen, and I took a pull. This one tasted more like weed with a hint of spicy pepper. Suddenly, the crab cakes to my left looked more appetizing, even though I don’t eat fish.

The next two strains appeared to be for those with a higher tolerance: Blueberry Haze and Sour Flower. I opted out of tasting them but headed for the plate of stuffed mushrooms they brought out. After eating about half of the plate, I found myself in a conversation about cannabis trade shows. I was told that CannaCon in Seattle is a blast and that everyone in the cannabis industry knows how to have a good time. I didn’t doubt it.

As I grabbed my belongings, the hostess who greeted me asked how I was feeling and if I had had fun. I thanked her, and she handed me a gift bag. “What’s in the bag?” I asked. “Samples of all the cannabis you tasted tonight.”

Maybe I will be using that pen after all. "

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