Strain reviews, stoned stories, and hot takes with Leah G.
Show Notes
This week on Highly Recommended, host Leah G reviews the uniquely savory and creamy Zesty Parm strain, an indica-dominant hybrid found at Strains of the Earth in Jordan, a short drive from Minneapolis. She details its bizarre aroma and flavor profile, describing an initial rush of mental clarity and euphoria that transitions into a warm, relaxing body high. Leah also recounts a hilarious cooking disaster and delivers a passionate hot take on the phrase "trust the process."
Key Highlights:
• Leah G reviews Zesty Parm, an indica-dominant hybrid from Strains of the Earth in Jordan, describing its bizarre savory aroma and euphoric, relaxing high.
• She recounts a hilarious kitchen mishap where she accidentally used lavender bath salts instead of sugar in her fancy tomato soup recipe.
• Leah delivers a passionate hot take, arguing that the phrase "trust the process" is the most useless advice ever invented.
• Listeners are encouraged to visit Strains of the Earth in Jordan, a dispensary housed in a gorgeous old brewery building with an immaculate vibe.
Topics: Zesty Parm, Strains of the Earth, Jordan, Minneapolis, cannabis review, hybrid strain, cooking disaster, hot takes, trust the process, Bartholomew, MN Cannabis Hub
---
TRANSCRIPT
(Upbeat, slightly chaotic indie music plays for about 10 seconds, then fades)
Leah G: Oh my god, you guys. Welcome to Highly Recommended. I am your host, Leah G, and I am broadcasting live from a pile of unfolded laundry that has officially become a permanent feature of my apartment. Bartholomew, my cat, my furry little chaos agent, has decided it's his new throne. He knocked a full cup of water all over it yesterday, so now it’s… damp. It’s a damp throne. And you know what? He deserves it. He’s a king. Anyway, I’ve been so deep in a Wikipedia hole about the history of the spork this week that I have forgotten to eat actual meals more than once. So if I sound a little floaty, it’s because I’m currently powered by half a bag of salt and vinegar chips and the sheer force of my own enthusiasm. Today, we are going to talk about a strain that sounds like it was named by an Italian grandmother who just discovered a grinder. It’s weird, it’s wonderful, let’s get into it.
(Short musical transition)
Alright, so this week I took a little field trip. A pilgrimage, if you will. I drove out to Jordan, which is like, a totally manageable 40-ish minute drive from Minneapolis, and you gotta do it, you have to. I went to this dispensary called Strains of the Earth. It's in this gorgeous old brewery building, they have a consumption lounge, the whole vibe is just... immaculate. And I went for one reason: a strain I saw on their menu that broke my brain. It’s called Zesty Parm. Yes. Like the cheese. And I am here to tell you, it is a journey.
So, Zesty Parm is technically a hybrid, a little bit indica-dominant. And when you open the bag… whoa. It does not smell like weed in the way you’re used to. It smells like someone is cooking a very strange, very delicious meal in another room. You get this sharp, peppery, herbal thing right up front, and then underneath it, there’s this wave of what is unmistakably a savory, creamy, almost cheesy smell. It’s like a fairy sneezed in a spice cabinet that happens to be next to a deli. It is bizarre and I am obsessed with it. The taste is just as wild—you get the citrus and the spice, but on the exhale, man, there's this funky, earthy flavor that just lingers.
The high is what really sells it, though. It comes on super bright and happy. I felt this immediate rush of… I can only describe it as "mental clarity." Suddenly, I wanted to organize my bookshelf and maybe finally learn how to properly fold a fitted sheet. It’s super euphoric and focused at first. And then, just as you’re about to start color-coding your entire life, this lovely, warm, relaxing feeling just melts down your body. It’s the perfect strain for after work when you need to switch gears from chaos-mode to chill-mode but you still want to be, you know, a person. I paired it with watching old episodes of Grand Designs and just feeling deeply satisfied with other people’s architectural choices. You can find this magnificent weirdo, Zesty Parm, at Strains of the Earth out in Jordan. Highly, highly recommended.
(Short musical transition)
So. Speaking of needing to chill out. I had a classic Leah G moment this past Tuesday. I’d just enjoyed a little bit of that Zesty Parm, feeling focused, feeling good, and I decide, you know what? I’m going to make that fancy tomato soup recipe I saved three months ago. The one that requires roasting the tomatoes and doing things with an immersion blender, which is already a high-risk kitchen appliance for me. So I’ve got the tomatoes in the oven, my apartment smells amazing, Bartholomew is trying to trip me at every turn, as is his sacred duty. I’m feeling like a domestic goddess. The recipe says to add a pinch of sugar to the soup to balance the acidity of the tomatoes. A pinch.
I reach into the cupboard, I grab the container I *think* is sugar. It’s in a little glass jar, looks right. I’m not measuring, of course, I’m an intuitive cook. An artist. I dump a very generous… let’s call it a "Leah pinch," into the pot. I stir it in, I’m feeling great. The soup is simmering. I go to grab a spoon to taste my masterpiece. And as I’m reaching for the drawer, I glance back at the counter and I see the actual jar of sugar. The one I always use. And next to it is the identical jar I just used. The one filled with… bath salts. Lavender-scented bath salts. I had made, not a balanced and delicious tomato soup, but a cauldron of hot, savory, lavender-scented tomato garbage water. I just stood there for a full minute, spoon in hand, having a complete existential crisis. Bartholomew looked up at me, blinked slowly, as if to say, "This is your path. This is the life you have chosen." I ended up ordering a pizza.
(Short musical transition)
Okay, hot take time. Can we please, as a society, stop telling people to "trust the process"? I hear it everywhere. At work, in movies, my yoga instructor said it last week right before I almost fell on my face. And I’ve decided it is the most useless phrase ever invented. What process? Whose process? Is it a good process? Because I have trusted many a process in my life that has led directly to disaster. Assembling IKEA furniture, for example. That’s a process. A process designed by Swedish chaos gods to test the limits of human sanity. I trusted that process and ended up with a bookcase that leaned at a 45-degree angle and a mysterious pile of "extra" screws. Following a new recipe? That’s a process! I trusted that process and ended up with soup that would be more at home in a spa than in a bowl. It’s a verbal shrug. It’s what you say when you have no actual advice to give but you want to sound wise and serene. It’s like saying "thoughts and prayers" to a broken dishwasher. No. I will not trust the process. I will question the process. I will interrogate the process. I will ask the process for its credentials. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.
(Upbeat indie music fades back in)
And that is our show for this week, my friends. I’m already excited for next week, I’m going to be reviewing something that smells like it came from another dimension, in a good way. For real, fact-based Minnesota cannabis news and updates, because I am just a chaos agent with a microphone, please check out the folks at MN Cannabis Hub. They do the serious work. You can find me right back here next week, probably sitting in a slightly less damp pile of laundry. This has been Highly Recommended. Stay golden, Minneapolis.
(Music swells and plays out)
What is Highly Recommended?
A weekly Minneapolis lifestyle podcast for the 90s-baby mid-30s crowd. Concerts, restaurants, art fairs, Mystic Lake shows, what's actually good in MPLS this week — plus a strain review, a chaotic story, and a hot take you didn't ask for. Sponsored by mncannabishub.com, mplsveganhub.com, Dr. Bronson at Uptown Core (uptowncore.com), and Quiet Coyote (quietcoyotemn.com).