Update 7/1/26 - This newsletter has been updated to reflect that this preview was part of a pilot experiment and not a formal offering available to guests at this time. (But it probably wouldn’t hurt to express interest! ;) )

Last month, I was among a handful of journalists given an exclusive first look at the future of cannatourism in New York State. Increasingly, that is pointing towards the Finger Lakes as New York’s premier green destination.

Four years since New York’s first legal harvest at Beak & Skiff, the East Coast is finally catching up with its West Coast counterparts like The Clarendon in Arizona, Madrones and Mine + Farm in Northern California, and the Patterson Inn in Colorado, with the bonus of a destination-worthy bucolic backdrop and legendary Riesling. (Hot tip: Pick up the latest edition of “Fodor’s Bucket List U.S.A.” to plan your next trip to New York State with picks from yours truly!).

Beyond being the easiest sell I’ve ever heard in my life, I was shocked, impressed, and intrigued to see that the new resort—Skaneateles Fields Resort & Spa, owned and operated by Woodbine Hospitality—is part of the Curio Collection by Hilton. An AAA Four Diamond Award property piloting an experimental cannabis culinary program? In Upstate New York?! It felt like all my worlds converging. Obviously, it was a yes.

There was one catch though: the grief. It’s still happening. Three months is still pretty fresh, which is something I have to remind myself because my natural inclination is to keep moving forward. If there’s anything I’ve picked up from “The Year of Magical Thinking,” it’s that grief is not linear and random disorientation is the norm, often coming in waves—something that has been pretty damning for me as a writer trying to maintain focus, especially when it comes to articulating anything near and dear to my heart.

I’m typically pumped for a cool press trip, but have been forced to turn many of them down lately because of this. However, seeing as this was the exact moment that I could use an escape rather than sit with discomfort. Beyond the pull of a really good story with a mystery cannabis experience, I convinced myself that the wellness offerings might be useful to help cure a grief-stricken heart with weed, massages, and a private sauna experience, ot the very least, I could try.

A few months ago, I wrote an article about my recent gripes with modern hospitality. Perhaps if I had been to this property first, I might not have been so salty. After all, I live in New York City where I am miserable all the time while living my best life ever, which includes (unfortunately) occasionally encountering and putting up with really terrible hospitality. If exceptional hospitality were still the norm in 2026, I wouldn’t have been complaining.

That’s why I’m raving because the hospitality was exactly the first thing I noticed at Skaneateles Fields. Everything is elevated. Everything is connected. Everything is human and wonderful. A cannabis program would simply offer a sprinkle of kief on an otherwise wonderful weekend getaway. I almost forgot properties could operate at that level, let alone with weed.

Though cannatourism is quietly folding into the norm of hospitality, it’s been tricky as a travel writer how to advise. Mainly because there are so many reasons why someone might want to use cannabis on vacation and how they’re doing it. Though Skaneateles Fields is a cannabis-friendly property, ultimately it is not a cannabis hotel. It’s a luxury resort looking to normalize cannabis use as part of the experience, and doing so organically, sustainably, and with a hands-on education component that will hopefully evolve into more infused dinners and other experiences. It’s laying the groundwork for future integration, which is very exciting.

It’s important to remember that when you consider who the average cannabis traveler is, and whether or not they are newcomer or someone who is functionally stoned most of the day. As someone who errs towards the old head side of the cannabis spectrum, I was curious about how far I could take a weed weekend at the property and local attractions.

It’s safe to say that while you can probably quietly get away with Big Lebowski bathrobe casual, you also shouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself encountering a look of extreme disappointment from a family that has decided to use the side smoking designated exit to unload their car (even if it is fully within your legal right to be using that space to consume!!)

While it’s not said explicitly outright, there’s a certain level of basic etiquette with staying at a fancy hotel unless you are a celebrity trying to outdo Billy Idol and Led Zeppelin. Even then, this is not that place or the vibe. The vibe is more like “cool girl spa weed weekend getaway” with farm-to-table dinners using regenerative grown produce from nearby living soil farm, Tap Root Fields, enjoying a private barrel sauna or relaxing with hydrotherapy services, facial and body treatments, and a massage using CBD topicals from Tap Root Fields’s cannabis brand (shout out to Javier whose hands are so magical that he has a local cult following). Ideally, you should be feeling blissed out rather than in party mode.

But it’s not just bougie — there’s a genuine connection to the land and a sense of place that makes it feel restorative and inspiring. Resorts often get a bad rap for sequestering guests and depriving them of local culture, so I appreciated that Skaneateles Fields is a huge champion of their neighbors and works proactively to support them as part of the experience.

Skaneateles, Iroquois for “long lake”, is the tenth of 11 Finger Lakes from west to east, situated just between Owasco Lake and Otisco Lake. It’s the second cleanest lake in Ameirca behind Tahoe with a landscape shaped by rolling glacial hills, bucolic fields, and picturesque vineyards, making this a well-worn destination for Riesling lovers, leaf peepers during fall foliage season, and the wedding circuit.

Despite hearing the name all weekend, I still can only half-pronounce it. Essentially, it’s “Skinny Atlas.”

The Skaneateles Fields property is only a 30-minute drive from Syracuse Hancock International Airport and 20 minutes from Beak & Skiff. Both are accessible via Amtrak, offering the scenic magic of a train ride that takes 5 1/2 hours without suspended service or union strike vs. a breezy hour-long flight, barring any issues with suspended service, strike, or government shut down. Otherwise, it’s a little under four hours by car. All-in-all, not bad for a weekend getaway, especially when the destination is worth it.

The property offers complimentary shuttle service, so I decided to peek into town before settling in. Skaneateles is quite charming with a picturesque view anchored by a beautiful gazebo along the lake and plenty of benches and green spaces to take it all in. Every shop is an independent, often with a secret back window offering panoramic views.

Shelly Drooz of local gift shop DROOZ & Company was the first to tip me off about Skaneateles. One of the first to carry my book on Hudson Valley and the Catskills in 2020, she was inspired her to open a second location in Livingston Manor, so I had been long overdue for a visit to the flagship. Much like the Catskills location, DROOZ & Co.’s Finger Lakes shop is well-curated with hand-picked original and quirky items that can brighten someone’s day. In the back, an adorable table filled with cannabis-related books leads to a massive window overlooking the lake, offering even nicer views that the main strip.

I enjoyed some local wine from my old friend Dr. Konstantin Frank and a pile of nachos big enough for two (conquered by one) at Bluewater Grill, popped into a gentlemanly maritime store, Sea Culture, along with curated home good store, Nest 58, leather good shop The Local Branch, and treats from Skaneateles Bakery, passing by a fish fry shack and taking a few snapshots along the water before heading back to the resort.

You can still catch a whiff of new paint as the Skaneateles Fields property only opened recently in October of 2025. The resort sits on over 100 acres of pastoral landscape with access to putt golf, a pickleball court, snowshoeing, mountain bikes, several indoor-outdoor year-round pools and hot tubs, bocce courts, a seasonal pool bar, gaming arcade for kids, and five miles of trails are in development that will connect to nearby Tap Root Fields, which will make up the cannabis agritourism programming for the property.

Because this is truly an all-inclusive resort that is a family-friendly, couples-friendly, and solo-friendly place, it’s an ambitious moment for the hospitality, tourism, and cannabis industries alike. As states continue to come online for recreational cannabis at varying speeds, rules, regulations, and restrictions in a post-pandemic world, hospitality operators have had to experiment with normalizing use, education, and etiquette for staff and guests about how to imbibe in a newly legal landscape. And here I am, just a girl in the thick of it all!

As someone who has been smoking weed for a really long time, I sometimes cringe having to explain to people how to be stoned. I come from an era of when you just “figured it out” and weed was whatever you got from some guy’s friend’s roommate’s cousin, then looking up on some shitty message board about the best way to infuse butter to make quite possibly the worst brownies you have ever eaten in your life.

The fact we now have milligrams with precise labels from California being hawked on the legacy market is both a wonderful necessity and a gigantic joke. Weed is still counterculture even as it is becoming increasingly mainstream, and there’s nowhere that felt more special than at a luxury resort in the Finger Lakes reminding me that there are dope people doing cool shit everywhere. It’s hard not to love it.

The recent easing of TSA restrictions to allow for marijuana in carry-on luggage undoubtedly signals toward future national expansion, but in the meantime until federal legalization passes, we’re all just sort of waiting here in legal states for everyone else to catch up. It’s cool that you can now eat some gourmet gummies before bed, but there’s something to be said about doing things stoned beyond walking around your neighborhood’s alley looking sketchy because you need somewhere to discretely smoke or sitting on the couch for another night of Netflix.

People are looking for places to consume and they’re interested in the local goods. What do stoners love? Plants. Good food. Wellness amenities. Comfy beds. Being chill. Not being an asshole. Minding your own business. Walking around in a bathrobe unbothered. At Skaneateles Fields Resort & Spa, you can comfortably achieve most of those aims, understanding that there are also other guests there who may not be partaking so you have to be kind of have to be cool and respectful about it.

Among the non-weed amenities and programming, the property partners with local yoga studio Sky Yoga for heated morning flows, offers weekly spirits tastings from the award-winning Last Shot Distillery and other local distillers on Fridays and Saturdays, and evening campfires with year-round s’mores service. The Spa is definitely worth writing home about, robust with the aromatics of real cedar, a hot tub and cold plunge, Himalayan salt inhalation chamber, barrel sauna, wellness sanctuary, hydrotherapy, and more. (I am still thinking about that spa).

The culinary program is heavily tied to the agritourism partnership with Tap Root Fields. The farm had previously been destroyed from mono cropping before it was revived thanks to the magic of regenerative farming and composting. Chef Esperanza Guzman of the property’s restaurant, Fields Restaurant, does a daily pick up for veg from Tap Root that includes anything from rhubarb and cherry blossoms to seasonal lettuces. Working with Cornell for one of the only cannabis composting program, the farm uses sun hemp as a cover crop growing tubers that can be used in the kitchen, with clover going in next year.

But the farm’s most coveted grow is in its open air greenhouse, housing roughly 900 to 1,000 cannabis plants housed in custom beds using living soil. For an indoor grow, the approach Tap Root is using is very innovative from a sustainability perspective that I hope some of these methods continue to catch on. It still breaks my heart working in an industry that calls itself green and has some of the worst sustainability practices on the planet so some guy can do a gravity bong using a strain called Deez Nutz. Drawing a direct connection between cannabis and veg reminds us it’s all farming and the value of what it looks like when it’s done well.

Whether or not you stay the property, you can book a tour to learn about genetics and sustainability first hand. After, you can visit the Tap Root Station dispensary, which operates on a NY Adult-Use Microbusiness license that allows them to vertically integrate (i.e.; cultivate, process, and sell) cannabis products strictly from their own farm. Even the roisin cartridge vape pens are made using recycled ocean plastics.

Coming full circle, the property hosted Chef Travis Petersen of The Nomad Cook for a special cannabis-infused dinner featuring cannabis and veg from Tap Root Fields. Petersen, a self-taught professional chef, famously developed the cannabis culinary certification training program for the American Culinary Federation. Having attended many amateur cannabis culinary events in the past, it was refreshing to be guided through an exceptional dinner by someone so meticulous about proper dosing and education. Even without being infused, his plates were incredibly sophisticated and it was impressive to see the level of detail he puts into every dish. That’s someone who is genuinely passionate about what they do.

Petersen’s dosing strategy operates on levels so that guests aren’t fighting their way through a randomly dosed item that will give them a full-on anxiety attack or couch lock. What he’s doing is very meaningful, especially as someone who has taken so many risks to make this type of experience so accessible and welcoming. It’s the epitome of hospitality to offer care and safety to travelers who can feel like they are truly guests, not just customers.

Before I left on the final day, I stopped into the property’s gift store, Fields Pantry. I’m a huge fan of souvenir shopping and this place was no exception. Along with cute Finger Lakes branded snapbacks, t-shirts, and sweatshirts were locally-curated goods including chamoy salt and black garlic salt from Tap Root, YesFolk kombucha, hibiscus Bjorn Corn, Fletcher & Lu seed crackers, wines and craft beer, tinctures and skincare, and even cute outdoor kits. I was truly in heaven and did not want to leave.

But one of the biggest flexes of the property is that it’s a resort that doesn’t suck. Believe it or not that is a very rare thing. Don’t get me wrong — a vacation is a vacation — but many resorts are often run so heavily by corporate that they lose the fun and character that many people prefer to seek out in boutique hotels. Having the room for an experimental cannabis program was tremendous, but you can tell that’s a creative philosophy that drives most of the staff who are all hospitality veterans. These people love the industry they work in and the satisfaction of creating a good, memorable experience. It’s never an easy thing to do that, they just make it look that way. I can’t wait for an excuse to go back!

Have you visited any cannabis hotels I should know about? What kinds of cannabis programming would you like to see at hotels? Drop your two cents in the comments!

MORE DISPATCHES FROM PIPE DREAMS

One Weekend in Pure Michigan

Wines, Weeds, and Wheels in Washington State

Take A Stretch Limo to New York’s First Legal Weed Harvest Then Watch William H. Macy Play a Ukelele

Hey everyone,

I’m in Chicago right now dealing with my mom’s place. It’s been a lot.

I have 164 drafts and 3 books. I don’t know if any of them are viable, but I think it would probably be a good time to catch up on some stuff. Namely, the physical, emotional, and spiritual toils of grief, the immediate and timely nature of having to empty out a loved one’s final possessions by shoving them into trash bags quickly while trying to absorb, reframe, release childhood trauma, and also the nagging and relentless anxiety that I owe people things while knowing I will eventually get around to it.

Anyway, this newsletter serves mostly to give me permission to take a break because I am a workaholic and will not stop, even to my own detriment. Just like any other -holism, I believe in accountability and that is the accountability to my own brain, body, and heart.

Before I skip off, I’ve been thinking about the planet recently and sustainability as a lifestyle. I’ve noticed a lot of people are relegated to conveniences and sometimes need the nudge to remember there are small ways to make an impact and we should all be doing that at all times. These are not life changing tips, but they’re helpful and practical reminders and the type of advice we should be sharing.

That includes:

• Buy reusable bags and remember to bring them to the grocery store. We need to stop relying on so much plastic so companies are less inclined to buy them and we are therefore less inclined to waste them by polluting the environment. I know it seems counterintuitive to suggest nylon bags, but they really do hold up the best and some of the companies use 100% recycled ripstop nylon that is actually better for the environment by using existing materials. (I like to fold mine up so it goes back in the little carrying bag that I keep tossed into my purse at all times!).

• Bringing a reusable mug to the coffee shop. Not only will this save you money, but reduces the waste single use containers. It’s nice to think we’re being green and recycling by separating our waste and all, but realistically this is not the case. It’s sad to think about, but every time you are doubling what goes into a landfill.

• Use cloth napkins, towels, rags, and reduce the use of paper towels. I have been moving to cloth napkins that not only save me money on paper goods and prevent more disposable paper going into the waste bin, but it also feels better and is more durable.

• Do a clothing/book swap or join a community free-cycle. I hope I see a lot of these this summer!

• Support your local library. Even at least once!

• Petition your leaders to give a damn about the environment. We’ve removed EPA restrictions while our planet burns. It’s getting hotter every year as the climate moves through extremes and everyone needs to chill out. That can be on the local level, the state level, or federal level. Any of those are good because they all have environmental problems, so just pick a cause — any cause.

• Visiting a State or National Park. International tourism is expensive and bad for the planet. Try to stay local when you can, but consider visiting a National or State Park this summer to support their efforts.

I know a lot of really great people who are sustainability-minded, but some of us need the reminder or the idea if we’ve even tried. Part of sustainability is education, even if that sometimes feels repetitive. Hoping to see more flowers this summer <3

Carly

Hey everyone,

I started writing this while horizontal and immobile on the tail end of the most relaxing weed weekend getaway in Upstate New York. Sometimes I have to pinch myself for dreaming a career where not only do I get to have fun for a living, but often get to do it one of the most beautiful places on earth.

Unfortunately, TSA decided to do that for me, ending an incredible weekend of care and relaxation with the most humiliating pat down that left me sobbing and shaking.

It took me a few days to collect myself because I was completely shell-shocked about the whole thing. Pat downs and screenings have become the norm at airports since 9/11, but it seems we’ve moved away from the days of removing our shoes and negotiating about what constitutes a travel-sized tube of toothpaste toward something more insidious in the name of “safety.”

Last weekend, I went on a wonderful press trip to the Finger Lakes (one that deserves its own positive recap soon) that ended on a sour note as I was aggressively searched at the Syracuse International Airport after AI detected explosives in some artisanal salt and hemp-derived CBD gummies that don’t even get you high.

Aside from the fact both products are entirely legal and not classified as contraband by TSA, I certainly didn’t expect them to justify a TSA agent knocking around my groin like a prison search. (Thanks for giving away my secret stash box, Ilana Glazer!)

For this, I was subjected to a full bag and body search conducted by no less than seven TSA officers, including 15 minutes dedicated to testing my two small bags like an investigator on C.S.I. even though they were mostly filled with dirty clothes, a dopp kit, a pair of sandals, some popcorn, my purse, and a laptop. They didn’t even confiscate anything, which makes sense because I did nothing wrong.

I generally dress minimally when I travel, wearing athletic wear and sweatpants to avoid unintentionally triggering anything with metals because I don’t want the hassle. I participate in TSA Pre-check and Touchless programs, formerly oversaw content for the US Tourism board, and have a book coming out next month advising people how to come visit New York State. I’ve traveled through airports all over the world for many years and have never had this happen in my life.

After at least four different agents tore through my bag for nothing, I was informed I needed to submit to a pat down. Mind you, they had already swabbed my shoes and were still conducting the longest search I have ever encountered over two products proudly produced by American small farmers and artisans.

Having been pat down at airports before, I assumed this would take two seconds, but was informed that I was going to go through this twice, including the use of the side of her hand around my breasts and groin — and also, did I want to do this in front of the entire airport and a line-up of male TSA agents? I realized quickly this was going to be way more invasive than a standard pat down and requested a private screening.

Wanting a private search apparently made everyone look visibly put out, as if having a dozen people rifle through a backpack in search of nothing wasn’t already excessive enough.

The whole process held me up for 30 minutes as my body was aggressively touched up and down, including over my genitals, while I sobbed uncontrollably. Afterward, I gathered my ransacked belongings in a daze and made my way to the gate, trying to document everything while still fresh in my mind so I could file a complaint with TSA, who predictably informed me that this is standard operating procedure.

I’m also fully aware that Black and brown travelers often experience this kind of scrutiny more frequently and more aggressively, which made the whole experience even more unsettling and part of why I warned another journalist arriving later to ditch her artisanal salt before boarding was because I genuinely worried she might receive even worse treatment than I did.

I posted about the experience on social media and was met with concern from people who knew me along with some immediate pushback from people insisting this was normal and that I was overreacting, disturbing me almost as much as the search itself.

Obviously, my body was already carrying the stress of fresh grief, so I was already feeling emotionally overextended and vulnerable before any of this happened. In fact, I had been in genuinely good spirits after a restorative weekend at the resort and spa, so being thrust into an institutional nightmare felt like insult to injury, as though the universe refused to let me fully relax for even a moment.

What happened at Syracuse Airport was wrong. I understand my bag being searched and being asked to submit to a pat down. That part is normal, and I was compliant until it became clear just how invasive the search was going to be. A couple officers were empathetic and kind, but the vast majority displayed a chilling indifference to basic human discomfort by treating all of this like routine inconvenience. Just because it’s happening doesn’t mean we need to simply accept and co-sign it.

What upset me most was realizing that this whole horse-and-pony show existed largely to satisfy AI-driven protocol despite no indication whatsoever that I posed an actual threat. I know AI is making us dumber, but in the words of Steve Wozniak’s recent college graduation speech, we already have AI: “actual intelligence.”

Air travel has generally become a tremendous pain in the ass post-pandemic, so I’ve been trying to stay local unless necessary. Many of those frustrations seem directly connected to the technology being sold in the name of efficiency — often at the expense of human oversight to meet quotas justifying a budget expense report.

Within the past four months alone:

• Delta delayed me eight hours, lost my checked luggage on a one-way flight, then fought me on reimbursement despite trip protection.

• United has essentially started cosplaying as Spirit Airlines by monetizing basic carry-on space, as if travelers don’t need to bring things to a destination clearly far enough to fly. Yet somehow I’m still taking up too much space simply by existing.

• Delta Lounge lines are now somehow longer than TSA.

• TSA Touchless repeatedly fails to sync correctly with airline systems despite being a biometric tracking program literally designed for efficiency

Why am I opting into a program designed to track every move in exchange for the fantasy of getting 14 minutes of my life back if I’m still standing in the same line anyway? I just want a little of my time back in this capitalistic hellscape — is that too much to ask?

While it would be easy to chalk this up to being a stupid stoner, the reality is TSA largely doesn’t care that much about weed. In fact, there was an old vape in my makeup bag they definitely saw while rifling through everything and didn’t confiscate because the issue was never really about that. At a certain point, you start wondering what the fuck we’re even doing anymore.

It’s sad being a travel writer who increasingly hates traveling. Airlines chopped their in-flight magazines years ago, stripping away the gift of imagination and the option to dream of future vacations by replacing storytelling with AI-optimized marketing slop engineered for SEO. And now we’re apparently expected to accept aggressive bodily searches as another normal inconvenience of modern air travel. The whole thing is culturally regressive.

It’s easy to think, “Why bother?” until you encounter those rare human moments that remind you why you had a love for the game in the first place. The biggest hurdle is often just getting there.

Ideally as a travel writer, you’d like to help fellow travelers get the most of their time by offering ways to get there faster so they’re not stuck in a car for half the weekend. An hour flight with a complimentary airport shuttle makes flying seem like a no-brainer — except being treated like a mule for Pablo Escobar was not on my weekend bingo card.

I still believe in the transformative power of travel and hospitality to connect with ourselves and each other. But I’m increasingly disillusioned by modern travel, surveillance, and automation. I need a fucking vacation, and I’m pretty sure you do, too.

The whole weekend was otherwise 10/10 and much-needed. It’s already been hard enough writing about grief without slipping too far into “dear diary” territory, and that raw place has wreaked havoc on my mind and body in a very short amount of time. I’ve been enjoying those brief moments where I can wear a bathrobe stoned and unbothered, and appreciate how warmly I’ve been received during such a tender period.

Since the pandemic, I’ve become very passionate wellness programs and hospitality because I think people are starved for environments that allow them to feel cared for and inspire them to pay it forward. Millennials especially are burned out by jobs that never turn off and inboxes that never stop refreshing. The older I get, the more appealing disconnecting in a hot tub after a long CBD massage, taking in a beautiful landscape, having a good meal, going on an agricultural field trip, or finding a moment where nobody needs anything from you sounds.

If anything, this has been the selling point of my books: Siri truly doesn’t know it all. Most people need to go touch grass. The margins are higher, the participation and motivation to excel is lower, and the resentment feels unbearable. Letting every bad interaction or societal problem shape my efforts would make me a bigger cynic and I just don’t want to live like that. Holding onto our brains and hearts is all we’ve got.

As technology becomes increasingly invasive and dehumanizing, I hope we continue to find moments of human connectivity, empathy, care, and connection.

Welcoming your thoughts in the comments.

This past weekend, Revelry NYC returned to Manhattan’s Pier 36 with a two-day mix of B2B trade conference and consumer festival spotlighting New York’s finest cannabis culture. Hosted by On The Revel—the grassroots group that’s been uplifting legacy operators long before New York legalized recreational cannabis in 2021—the event underscored why community still matters in an industry racing to mainstream.

While On The Revel isn’t the first to push for justice-driven industry reorganization at the community-level, the festival underscored the value of putting their money where their mouth is. On the floor, BIPOC and queer-owned brands stood shoulder-to-shoulder with larger MSOs, proof that On The Revel’s mission to level the playing field isn’t just lip service. Out-of-state operators eyeing the New York market were also reminded that ego won’t get them far here.

Nearly five years into legalization—and after a shaky rollout—New York finally seems to be finding its footing. Revelry offered a rare snapshot of the state’s evolving ecosystem, with more than 200 local brands showing how innovation, craft, and culture are shaping the market. From farmers showcasing sun-grown flower to infused product sampling, the festival made one thing clear: quality is no longer negotiable. Attendees weren’t just chasing a high; they were tasting, comparing, and raising their expectations for what New York weed can—and should—be.

With consumption lounges visibly on the rise (backed by skyline views of the Manhattan Bridge, even!), it’s clear the city is inching closer to Amsterdam-style social spaces that could reshape cannabis tourism across the state. While some dispensaries like Mighty Lucky and Dagmar have taken liberties to create European-style outdoor seating areas in Manhattan, it would be nice to see these spaces level-up into dedicated lounges and the rest of New York State embrace the model set by NorCal’s emerging Emerald Green Trail for the future of cannatourism.

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Having attended similar events for Spannabis, Hall of Flowers, and LMCC, it was amazing to see Revelry open their B2B event to consumers as a festival with an impressive turnout that is likely to blow up even further. Entertainment also delivered—Fat Joe dropped a live set at the Jeeter booth, Rohan Marley repped Lion Order’s impressive herb collection, and the festival featured an all-day stage line-up complete with professional roller dancers. The vibe was equal parts trade show and block party, proof there’s room for Revelry to keep growing.

More trendspotting below. ICYMI: make sure to check out my interview with On The Revel cofounder Lulu Tsui on mainstreaming psychedelic weed witchery.

DANK: Stuff Worth Passing Around

DEI That Sticks

On The Revel’s inclusive, justice-driven stance was visible everywhere. Legacy operators, formerly convicted entrepreneurs, and BIPOC and queer-owned brands like Flamer, Native Nations, Reform Botanicals, Canopi, Frostbitten, and The Green Lady got real face time with buyers and consumers. It wasn’t tokenism; it was baked into the show’s DNA—an example that every state, event, distributor, and dispensary can learn from.

Quality Over Everything

Brands that leaned too heavily on “aesthetics-driven drops” felt hollow next to those with strong missions and standout products. As many large labels across state lines continue to push low quality ingredients in gummies, beverages, and other edibles, it was nice to witness consumers become budding cannasseurs in real-time who will come to expect and demand more from their brands. Craft cannabis showed up in flower, edibles, and even packaging—reusable, compostable, or designed to last. Sampling on-site let the weed speak for itself, with Gron, Florist Farms, Papa & Barkley, and Softer Power Sweets making especially strong showings.

Multi-Generational Chocolatiers Join The Game

One surprise: artisanal chocolate makers entering edibles. Dark Star Cannabis (a fourth-generation confectioner from Buffalo) had attendees roasting s’mores with their Calamity Jane chocolates, while All That Chocolate brought cognition-boosting lion’s mane into their premium bars. And Softer Power Sweets, from Lagusta’s Luscious in New Paltz/East Village is still among the best on the market.

DIY Pre-Rolls Get Smarter

As a paper collector, I’ve always appreciated innovation in this space and found two that really stuck out to me: DaySavers debuted a perfect mini size joint that doesn’t require relighting—a win for freshness. Their rolling device has a learning curve but produces dispensary-grade packing. UFO Rolls Grind & Roll also impressed with its all-in-one design (papers, tips, tray, grinder).

Genetics and Craft Matter Again

Enough with “orange” or “blackberry” flavored strains; consumers want transparency, consistency, and landrace respect. Brands like Leal Organics leaned on Humboldt genetics, while Florette and Gypsy Weed showcased classics like Sour Diesel, Chemdog D, Gorilla Glue #4, Amnesia, Runtz, and Gelato 41. Sorry, but it wasn’t rocket science when most of us bought from the guy who would give us a bag to sniff and told us whatever we were smoking was Chronic—I don’t think we need to dumb down weed any further when Leafly exists with a detailed catalog of nearly 9,000 strains that can be accessed from a mobile phone.

Consumption Spaces Are The Next Frontier

The number one question I get: “Where can I smoke this?” While Manhattan is relatively lax, consumers want Amsterdam-style lounges—a joint, coffee, and a show under one roof. New York is particularly proud of its Farm Bill law that helped kickstart the Taste NY artisanal wave of craft beer, wine, spirits, and other specialty beverages that spiked tourism statewide, so consumption lounges seem like the natural next step. Tribal-owned dispensaries like Little Beach Harvest in Shinnecock Territory in Long Island already set the bar, and Revelry’s on-site consumption spaces hint at what New York’s cannabis tourism could become.

SCHWAG: Stuff Worth Ashing

What Everyone’s Talking About (But Also Not): Testing Fraud Issues and Safety

Behind the scenes, everyone’s talking about testing fraud. New Jersey, Massachusetts, and now New York have seen labs failing to flag mold, fungi, pesticides, and other pathogens that made it onto dispensary shelves. One New York lab was recently hit with a three-year ban and a $2M fine for clearing contaminated product. The stakes are high: fines, hospitalizations, and consumer trust. (Do you really want to smoke moldly weed?!).

Packaging and Lack of Recycling Still A Problem

Despite progress, cannabis remains plastic-heavy. Conscious brands like Stone Road, Florist Farms, Nanticoke, Hudson Cannabis, Hepworth Farms, and Drew Martin are all ahead of the curve on moving toward sustainable packaging, but there are still way too many single-use pre-roll pop-tops in circulation.

West vs. East Coast Ego Death

After years of rivalry, the coasts are learning to listen. Disillusioned West Coast and Colorado veterans scarred by the Green Rush collapse are bringing expertise to New York, while New York’s scene is beginning to embrace that knowledge without defensiveness. The result: higher standards and a more unified industry vested in the long game.

FINAL TOKE

Revelry NYC wasn’t flawless—Smorgasburg food felt underwhelming, and industry panels could have gone deeper (testing fraud deserved a public airing). But overall, the event showed how far New York cannabis has come since legalization and where it’s headed next—and the future is definitely lit.

Which cannabis trends excite you the most right now? Sound off in the comments!

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Hey everyone,

I write to you from couch, cotton mouthed with a parched, hoarse throat, now on Day 3 of The Case of the Mystery Fever Turned Into Laryngitis and Ear Infection. *cough*

This has been most of my July: physically ill. Makes me feel a little like Susan Miller, America’s most venerable internet psychic, who has been perpetually affected with varying degrees of physical illness since I started following her in 2019. I was relieved to hear she seems to be in good health beyond whatever technological issues she’s dealing with on her website for Mercury Retrograde.

For me, it started with a mystery fever a couple weeks ago. I had heard a whisper about it the week before from a fellow Pilates teacher who had the shit kicked from a super high fever that came and went. She lost about four pounds in two days from sweat, which I corroborated from my own experience about a week later.

My friends, it was a fever worth writing home about. I somehow ran even hotter than when I had the first COVID vaccine at the end of 2020 or norovirus last December—enough to make me paranoid even stone cold sober. The timing was particularly unideal, hitting the exact weekend I planned to see El Camino at the Williamstown Festival—something I had been looking forward to since April.

Speaking of, quick travel tip: ALWAYS BUY REFUNDABLE NOW. DO NOT FUCK AROUND WITH NON-REFUNDABLE SHIT. This is the world we live in now: nothing is predictable, and no one is accountable. Just trust me here: it’s worth the extra $12 or whatever. Get a refundable ticket.

I don’t get sick very often but when I do, I become my own wellness witch mother. If there is an herbal and pharmaceutical remedy, I have probably taken it. I will sleep for 10 hours, drink a gallon of water, and waterboard myself with a Neti pot. I never understood the people who felt like it was more important to lie to themselves and risk getting everyone else sick—and resented employers who wouldn’t make proper accommodations for employees to do this. It still surprises me that so many people are hostile about face masks given it’s fairly common in Asia to wear these when you’re sick, and there, it’s not a big thing. Consider me Team Considerate and the MVP of Staying Home When I’m Sick.

While I’m fortunate to run most of my business out of my home, there are still only so many sick days you want to take. After all, being sick is still being sick—it’s just a little nice to have the privilege to self-quarantine.

The mystery fever burned so hot that I worried I had meningitis. I kept a cold bath for 24 hours, which I’d routinely dip a washcloth in to stick on my forehead, behind my neck, on my chest, then shove into the freezer, each time instantly melting and turning the washcloth warm. I sweat through my sheets twice and watched so many movies I became bored. Then, nothing.

Even though I have insurance, it’s a shitty plan, so I still WebMD my own symptoms, just like when I was in college and didn’t know how insurance worked. After I graduated college, I still didn’t have insurance or know how it worked then either. Surely, a lot of other elder millennials in the same boat.

I think I still suffer from some kind of dyslexia about the concept of deductibles because it all just looks like pages of squiggly lines of legalese that says “TL;DR it’s going to cost a million dollars no matter what.” That’s the only thing I know about insurance: it fucks people, even when you’re paying into it.

This is the first year I have a primary care doctor that I like, but unfortunately, she operates on standard Monday through Friday business hours, and I couldn’t schedule a preferred time to be sick. If I could, I would have put it off a week to hit me after the Williamstown Festival, maybe that Monday or Tuesday so I could make it into the doctor’s office during regular hours. Then I wouldn’t have had to go to the worst place ever: urgent care.

Because it was Sunday and I’d gotten it in my head that if it was meningitis, I probably shouldn’t wait too long—you know, so I don’t die. So, I made an appointment to go to the CityMD, New York’s premier shitty urgent care facility.

I’m never there for a good reason and always like to leave feeling confident I won’t have to go back. As some of you may recall, the last time I was there was because an unhoused guy walked up to me at 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning on an empty street in Tribeca as I was minding my own fucking business waiting to cross the street to spit directly into my eyeball while calling me a bitch.

Even then, the doctor at that urgent care said the one on West 4th Street was nasty as she apologized for having no real medical intervention beyond offering a saline rinse, mostly as a consolation for anxiety about having saliva from a complete stranger’s unwashed mouth inside my eyeball—a very specific type of traumatic assault. The important part is that I now have clear language distinguishing that he is “unhoused” and not “homeless,” which I’m sure he cares very deeply about that distinction.

So, as I found myself once again being charged a $75 copay in hopes of obtaining some answer about what the fuck was wrong with me from a professional who had to complete medical school, I was given a COVID flu rapid test that I could have picked up at the CVS around the corner, made to wait an hour for the aforementioned rapid test, only to have the doctor walk in and say, “Well, both tests came back negative” with no real understanding, concern, or advice about what I should do to take care of myself as a sick and vulnerable person in her office.

“Do you think it’s meningitis?”

“Oh, well you’d have to go to the ER for that. We don’t do that here.”

“Should I…?”

“Well, you’re getting better aren’t you?”

“I guess. Do you know what might likely be?”

“It could be a number of things.”

[Dead silence]

“…such as….”

I left none the wiser, but with a signed doctor’s note should I need it, like a child needing to hand a slip of paper to a teacher as a valid excuse from absence. A few days later, I was better but still confused. There had been no other symptoms aside from the fever, which was a little unusual. No stomach pain or digestion, no sinus issues or cough. Just one crazy hot fever and a few days of being my own nurse.

By the time I was on the mend, I found myself returning to the summer. Undeterred from an untimely weekend, I made it down to Point Pleasant Beach and Sandy Hook in New Jersey—less crowded than New York City, less sceney than Long Island, and just cost less overall. But then it happened again. This time: my throat.

At first, I thought it was the AQI, which had reached levels of 125 from the Canadian wildfires. But then it just progressed into a low-grade fever and laryngitis—the saddest of all colds—followed by a sinus infection, which is always a residual slow killer, that actually turned out to be an ear infection. It left a lot of time to get in touch with my body and think about my life choices.

Getting sick twice in the same month makes you extra weak. Losing out on four weeks of exercise and healthy habits can really knock someone out, giving me even more empathy towards those who suffer from chronic illness. What’s bad for the body is bad for the mind, and I already know what it’s like to lose it, so I decided to start preparing myself for wellness.

You should never smoke weed when you’re sick, but I don’t see a problem with edibles. My doctor doesn’t really advise me to be on weed, but also doesn’t judge me for it or take much concern. After all, I’m a 40-year-old single woman. I know my drugs, and my rent and bills are paid.

When you’re immobile, weak and sore, weed is a kindness to numb some of the physical pain and improve your mood a little bit. I recommend a hybrid with a high CBD ratio or an indica, since you’ll probably want to sleep through it anyway. Just be careful of the cotton mouth, which is not great when you already have a phlegm-filled throat.

Because it’s off season, I didn’t have chicken soup ready in the freezer and was grateful that I’m in the LuAnne’s Wild Ginger delivery zone. I had four different soups delivered and a freshly squeezed ginger lemonade. I have never had a bad meal from them and I think they are one of the most underrated restaurants in New York City.

Grab my recipe for Grandma CAT’s Jewish Penicillin x Carly’s Potza Balls

What’s nice about being physically ill is that it’s the perfect moment to be selfish. To really listen to your own body and think about what it needs. For me, that was the aforementioned soup, a box of Simple Mills nut butter-stuffed sandwich cookies, a pitcher of iced tea, a box of Mucinex, Ricola, ginger shots, Kibo lentil chips, buying a ticket to Waiting for Godot, uninstalling dating apps, realizing I’m surrounded by a mess of my own making, tidying up the apartment, opening a window, and preparing myself for a beautiful future ahead of wellness and normalcy. I am manifesting my wellness, thanks to the power of Mucinex, weed, and self-determination.

Eventually, I ended up back at urgent care—this time at MedRite, which was an infinitely nicer office with a shorter wait time and concrete answers. Turns out, I had been afflicted with an unrelated ear infection that took over my sinuses and throat, and was immediately issued a Z-pack. I felt a lot less bad about that $75 copay. Fuck you, CityMD.

All of this is to say that I am finally on the mend, grateful for modern medicine, and pushing forward with a new clean bill of health and fresh outlook on life as I approach the tail end of summer—once again feeling like half of it was stolen from me and wondering when I’m finally going to get fucked in the back of a Camaro.

Anyway, have one more thing coming then hoping to spend the rest of this August going analog and hopefully at peak physical condition/environmental and political stability/mental soundness for the last few weeks of fun in the sun before a quick and unforgiving descent the latter half of the year. But if you miss me in the meantime, make sure to check out my latest story in Wine Enthusiast on South Michigan’s up-and-coming wine country scene.

Hey everyone,

After weeks spent wrapping a piece on South Michigan’s wine scene for Wine Enthusiast, bouncing through Long Island, and updating New York recs for the next Fodor’s Travel Bucket List USA, I realized I’d been away from the city I pay triple taxes to live in for far too long. Time for an unplanned staycation.

New York City’s pizza rat race makes it easy to take it for granted (and a lot of other places too), which is why it’s important to play tourist in your own city sometimes—not only to fall back in love with your life, but also to find a little creative inspiration along the way. Taking a cue from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, I realized I was overdue for an artist date.

THE ARTIST DATE:

The Artist Date is the tool of attention. It has two differing emphases: “artist” and “date.” Put simply, an Artist Date is a once-weekly solo expedition to do something that enchants or interests you. It is half artist and half date. You are “wooing” your artist. Planned ahead of time—hence “date”—this weekly adventure is something to look forward to. As with a romantic date, anticipation is half the fun.

The best part: you always do what you want on a solo date with zero drama (unless you’re the one bringing it), making it a guaranteed good time

Here’s a look at my unplanned Friday night artist date, whether you’re craving your own solo night in NYC, need a nudge to get lost on purpose, or just want to add a few bucket-list recs. Enjoy.

How To Have a Solo Date in the Lower East Side of NYC

• 5:20 p.m. - Took a few hits of the Megan Foxxx joint I picked up at Smacked Village a few weeks ago because we’re both hot, and it’s Friday night. (Also, 5:20, because it’s always 4:20 somewhere.)

  • The West Village jockstrap angel who only appears on the weekend has upgraded his lewk to some kind of Marvel-themed Go-Go dancer boy? Keep on dancing and doing you!

  • Nearly killed twice crossing the street by delivery bikers who realized that I was not, in fact, just trying to play chicken with them and was simply completely spaced out—a reminder that everyone needs to share the road. (I mean, how else do you get from point A to point B in NYC completely unbothered? Let someone else be bothered or die trying).

  • Walk thought: Give someone older a pep talk! We’re always prioritizing the well-being of children while happy to let older people quietly die off alone. Remember: that will be you someday, so try to pay it forward with good karma.

• 5:45 p.m. - Ran into some old acquaintances, which almost never happens. Will probably not see or hear from them again until some occasion inevitably brings us together, but offered a “call me” anyway.

• 6 p.m. - Weaved through SoHo to Eel Bar, a sexy little Basque restaurant in LES. Apparently this place has been around for over a year, illustrating how easy it is to miss what’s happening one block over—let alone anywhere else in Lower Manhattan. Saddled up at the bar, read a book in between bites of summer squash with olive oil, vinegar, sherry and piri-piri (smart!). Bartender was delightful and poured me a nip of the Marseille amaro from Brooklyn’s Forthave for the road, which had a lovely profile almost like tea (and is apparently sold out, so hopefully they’re making more).

• 7 p.m. - Walked around in circles for the sake of people-watching and catching a vibe. Passed a gothcon sample sale on Orchard and girls hitting a pipe on the fire escape above the Passage du Bowery. Noticed for the first time that ConBody, the dispensary/prison-style boot camp, had opened across the street from the Tenement Museum. Found this deeply ironic for reasons I’m still unpacking.

• 7:30 p.m. - Finally wandered over to Swan Room at Nine Orchard, which has been on my list forever—but I always bypass for Kiki’s and Parcelle when I’m in Dimes. Ordered an umami cocktail garnished with dried enoki that cost $24 but was strong and beautiful. Just like me. (Also: Enoki mushrooms have this subtle, earthy, almost chocolatey note I’d never picked up on before—which makes sense, since they’re used in adaptogenic and psychedelic chocolate blends).

• 8 p.m. - Skipped a last-minute screening at Metrograph and went in search of a loose cigarette instead (because cigarettes are back). Found one courtesy of a Parcelle chef loitering outside. We made small talk until she ducked back inside. I was tempted to follow, but remembered Parcelle doesn’t have a bar—and they were full anyway. Graciously bowed out and promised to return.

• 8:15 p.m - Ended up at Clandestino, a dive bar where house wine is still $14 and the outdoor patio feels like a half-secret overheated box of sin. Noticed a guy smoking what looked like Capris, but were actually Vogue. “They’re European,” he told me. He picked up a month ago while in the south of Spain, because of course he did.

• 9 p.m. - Meandered through Chinatown, passed a late-night ping-pong match in Seward Park, snapped some colorful signage on Essex, then criss-crossed my way back toward Bowery.

• 9:30 p.m. - Less than a mile from home, I decided I was too lazy to finish the walk and didn’t feel like waiting 20 minutes for a crosstown bus. Hailed a cab. It cost exactly $18.45, which made me completely irate.

• 3 a.m. - Woke up in a pile of my own drool, fully clothed, still in makeup, a little stale from the cigarettes and booze. Washed everything off and felt sufficiently restored, inspired, and slightly hungover from my “Tourist in My Own City” night out.

The TLDR NYC LES Hit List

For your convenience, recs without the read

• Eel Bar – Pintxos & Amaro

• Swan Room – Umami cocktails & fancy mushrooms

• Clandestino – $14 house wine & Euro cigarettes

Honorable mentions:

• Parcelle – No bar, but wino- and chef-approved vibes. Better for a weeknight.

• Metrograph - (Almost, maybe next time)

• Seward Park – Late-night ping pong and mistakes you’re likely to forget.

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Hey everyone,

Can you believe it? I finally made it to the Hamptons, a place best known for high hedged gated communities and exorbitant wealth—two concepts that are both completely foreign to me as a human being, yet still in my wheelhouse as a service industry veteran journalist who’s stayed at a lot of really swanky luxury hotels? Life is weird! Does this make me “new money”?

Of all days to miss an anti-capitalist protest, I somehow picked No Kings Day to arrive—uninvited—at Ground Zero for the 1%. How gauche! I swear it wasn’t intentional! I just wanted a beach and some wine, maybe a little mini writer’s retreat and a break from this trash fire of a news cycle.

Should I be giving you the “Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous” version of this luxury-road-trip-on-a-budget tale or the “Everything you should do in the Hamptons that they don’t tell you about”? How about a little bit of both?

While I am the first to admit I am no Long Island expert (Teddy Minford wrote the sister companion to my Hudson Valley/Catskills guidebook on the Hamptons, Long Island, and Jersey Shore), I didn’t think it was fair to continue writing about our great state without giving it a little more attention and exploration—particularly to the finer parts often obscured from travel guides, including the weird, wild women and art freaks like Lee Krasner, Big Edie and Little Edie of Grey Gardens, and Julian Schnabel who added character to an otherwise unremarkable place—and the newcomers keeping things unexpectedly interesting.

For your skimming pleasure, this is segmented into three (!) parts:

1. The travelogue

2. The travel guide

3. Long Island beach reads

Enjoy!

PART I: The Travelogue

Love ‘em or hate ‘em, the Hamptons are exactly everything you’ve already known about them—and some of the things you might overlooked or forgotten about.

It’s true: this is a place where a $1.5 million property is considered quaint compared to its neighboring $39 million beachfront properties a few streets down—all of them quite boring from the outside and chronically under surveillance. Traffic is often impossible, but among the few where you’ll see people running errands in Bugattis and Maybachs. And it’s a place where money seems so irrelevant that people think they can get away with charging $14 for a latte. (Maybe trying to recover from that very public $200 million food hall flop?) Obviously, I had to see it for myself.

(Speaking of, if that $14 latte is where Zohran got the $30/hr minimum wage number, it certainly illustrates the disconnect).

But let’s be real: oligarch spotting was not why I was in the Hamptons. The trip was entirely self-motivated: I wanted to go on a writer’s retreat (without having to pay for one). Somewhere coastal but not international, regional without getting on a plane; a quiet backdrop perfect for a Mary Higgins Clark writing fantasy. While I was there, maybe I’d take in some art and the ocean, have some good eats, check out some of Long Island’s wine offerings, see if I wanted to make a whole summer of it, y’know.

Coastal writing retreats are a pretty standard benchmark of imagined writerly success if you grew up watching episodes of “Murder, She Wrote”—ending up in weird places like a curious outsider unafraid to chase a good story. I wanted to try it on for size.

As someone who is not originally from New York but written about it a time or thrice, I’ve always considered myself Long Island agnostic and openly ignorant. Everyone seems to have an opinion about this place, but I was there for the wining and dining with very little interest in ruining a meal by learning how the sausage was made. Between the current chaotic evil political climate and environmental one, I didn’t expect an easy weekend getaway, but decided to try anyway. Could my polite Midwesternisms carry me to a completely stress-free Hamptons weekend?

The Hamptons have the psychic vibe of Stepford Wives meets The Truman Show meets a bafflingly normative American suburban town, but with bajillionaires and weird empty real estate being used for influencer parties or being demolished in favor of new construction. It’s a little soulless, even though it has so much history—even if that history has always been historically inaccessible. I don’t know how much of that is changing, but then again, technically everywhere is changing.

@audreytrullingerMTV Welcome to My Crib - Bloom Hamptons House Edition @Bloom Nutrition #housetour #hamptons #montauk #brandtrip #teambloom #beachhouse

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There’s a bizarre sense of deja vu here and the subtle reminders of being an outsider. If you have no business in the Hamptons, you’ll be the first to know without anyone even needing to say anything. For everyone else, it’s just, like, their normal town. I can see how people who live there might not even recognize any of this as abnormal because this is just day-to-day being surrounded by people who look and act like them—and explains why I felt so thrown off seeing a Home Goods store wedged between plastic surgeons and luxury patio furniture retailers.

It all just felt so unassuming amid this backdrop of multi-million-dollar countryside mansions and remarkable in how completely unremarkable it is. Aside from the absurd real estate prices, there’s nothing that differentiates this place from Anywhere, U.S.A. except the appeal of coastal proximity and its elite cultural legacy.

To the rest of the world, the Hamptons are where rich and glamorous New Yorkers go to feel unbothered—along with the people who admire them and want feel unbothered and glamorous, too. But it’s also filled with the sea and tribal people who were already there, plus all the curated aspects of community and culture afforded to those who can afford it. Plus, all those ghosts (the other reason I was there).

Because this part of Long Island is so impossibly expensive and intentionally challenging to navigate by design, most of my previous experiences have been limited to day trips—a day in Montauk here; a day in Fire Island there; an afternoon in Long Beach, eating sandwiches over a sunset in Port Washington; zipping around to the quirky goth coffee shop and record stores near West Hempstead.

Over the past few years, I’ve developed an affinity for day trips in the North Fork, particularly to Greenport for scenic tastings at the Kontakosta Winery followed by a rocky dip at 67 Steps Beach, strolls along the boutiques on Main Road, grabbing a lobster roll and trying to catch Matchbook Distilling during the handful of hours they are actually open, then watching the sunset over an ice cream cone before heading home. It’s a great afternoon that doesn’t require a $400/night hotel room—but does require some real dedication to organization. If you can pull it off, it’s very charming.

Like many New York towns that fell into disrepair or were known affectionally as a “shithole,” recent years have seen redevelopment efforts in the North Fork and elsewhere that resulted in much nicer cities with the price tag that reflects it. In some ways, that makes for interesting conversation with multi-generational locals who have witnessed these changes and now sit somewhere between the other side of the tracks and where the grass is greener, with no place to go and no reason to move. For everyone else, it’s a scenic little getaway.

Each time I’d take the train or Jitney, bypassing the wine region that is nearly impossible to visit without a pre-arranged driver and itinerary (Ubers are getting better, but still spotty depending on where you’re at). Without friends with mansions and at an age where even a coffee date requires three calendar polls, the South Fork mainly remained a mystery. Every time I got close, logistics pulled me back.

Now that we’re in a legal New York, that cannabis scene is slowly making its mark in the Hamptons thanks to forward-thinking brands like House of Puff and Little Beach Harvest, a local tribal-owned dispensary with its own outdoor consumption lounge and sprawling event space setting the pace for the rest of the state to follow (not to mention killer products and an overall incredibly impressive design—truly wish I had more time to have kicked it there because that in itself is a destination).

I was surprised and delighted to find reasonable accommodations in Southampton at AirBnB and just enough points on my credit card to cover the cost of a rental car. The caveat, of course, was getting exactly what I paid for: an uncomfortable room in a weird, extremely dated suburban home, and unseasonably cold for June. Somehow, no matter where you stay, all of the options feel like you’re getting a little ripped off.

The weather was not cooperating and the idea of co-habiting with a mail order bride and her family did not sound particularly enticing for a vacation, so I found the creative inspiration to find other shit to do. This is how I ended up on an unintentional pastry crawl, a quick stop exploring Sag Harbor, a last-minute addition to the Pollack-Krasner House tour, and a drive-by at Grey Gardens, the unofficial historical landmark for wealthy eccentrics cemented in the iconic eponymous documentary, movie, play, and countless inspirations.

Throughout the weekend, I found myself sneaking off to hit joints along the remote stretches of beach where there wasn’t another person in sight. There’s something kind of romantic and dramatic about the unobstructed experience of having the ocean roar at you while the wind whips you around a little bit (something I chalk up to being a Pisces from South Florida).

On one hand, this was incredibly liberating—I go to the beach to be alone, but also to be in love. (In fact, it’s the inscription of my book: “For those who want to fall in love between where the sky meets the earth.” Pretty simple stuff—just let people have their sunsets and fall in love, y’know? Even if it’s with themselves). On the other hand, I’ve watched a lot of Lifetime biopics and I wasn’t particularly interested in becoming another tragic ripped from the headlines.

I’m pretty sure I was trespassing on most of the beaches I ended up on, but no one was there anyway. You’ll never see a car parked on a street outside miles of gated properties—but you will see plenty of cameras and the occasional cop hiding on a side street.

Ultimately, I learned that the Hamptons are not for me (or least as long as I’m not paying). Even as an outsider, I wanted to believe there was still a place at the edge of all this wealth to write, wander, and fall in love quietly. And there is—just maybe not here. But here are my recs for an easy wine and weed fueled weekend in the North Fork and South Fork of Long Island anyway.

PART II: The Travel Guide

FRIDAY

12 p.m. - Get out of dodge. Even if you leave New York City by noon, you’ll still end up in the most hateful Friday afternoon traffic. Arrive in Southhampton by 4.

4 p.m. - Visit Wolffer Estate for a tasting. There are only three wineries along the South Fork, but Wolffer stands out among the most recognizable in Long Island wine. Best known for its rose and cider, the Sagaponack tasting room offers sweeping views of the 55-acre vineyard, making it a popular spot for girls weekends and special occasions. Around the corner, Wolffer has an outdoor Wine Stand that hosts seasonal sunset music series and morning yoga sessions (no reservations required). Fun fact: Rihanna and A$AP Rocky both have signed barrels here! And they have a pretty solid non-alcoholic wine for the NA folks!

6 p.m. - Have dinner at Shippy’s. Before I left, I was informed that the Hamptons style du jour is a Brandy Melville-inspired crochet sweater with American flag across the chest. This was exactly the first thing I saw as I walked into this restaurant—an elevated classic New American tavern and Southampton mainstay for over 50 years. So, that’s the vibe. I ordered a shrimp cocktail and Coopers Beach fried fish sandwich as I mentally checked out for awhile.

8 p.m. - Walk in circles for two blocks. The main strip of Southampton is populated with familiar outposts of New York City restaurants, luxury real estate offices, and designer boutiques that look like Charleston and Chapel Hill. If you’re lucky, no one will be hanging around Agawam Park, which offers a serene waterfront view stretching towards Gin Beach, illuminated only by the light of the moon and stately columns backing the World War I Memorial, before heading back like a teenager trying not to get caught.

SATURDAY

9 a.m. - Grab breakfast at Armin and Judy. This was among the best meals I’ve had in a while. If I had to choose one restaurant worth going out of my way from this entire weekend, I would say it’s this one. I spent maybe $35 on pastries at their bakery, but would have spent more. The Aneri espresso offered a rare perfect cup of black coffee paired with the most buttery, flakiest croissant and gravlax latke waffles backed by jazz renditions of pop songs and rain beating against the window. Can’t say enough good things about this place.

11 a.m. - Pop in for a tasting at Duck Walk Vineyards. This is a pretty accessible winery for people with limited knowledge of wine and few questions beyond “Can I get a top off?” But as a wine geek, I thought their Pinot Meunier was a real sleeper hit, using 100% Pinot Meunier as a light red—particularly since most people’s familiarity is being among the three main varietals used in Champagne production.

12:30 p.m. - Go on an adventure. Originally, I planned to hit up the Lobster Roll in Southampton followed by a tasting at Channing Daughters in Bridgehampton. But the tasting room was outside and the weather was freezing and raining, so I decided to pass. While the Parrish Museum is right next to Duck Walk (with a pretty incredible collection), I ended up taking a detour to Sag Harbor where I continued my unintentional pastry crawl at Carissa’s (the pistachio croissant had too much stuff, but otherwise exceptional), browsing the titles at Sag Harbor Books (mint condition used books with an interesting metaphysical and poetry collection), popped into Provisions food store (that looks like most of the fancy bodegas in Brooklyn), and Schiavoni’s, a historic grocer (where they sell $12 green juices in the same plastic bottles as the Nutcrackers sold in the Rockaways).

2 p.m. - Visit the Pollock-Krasner House. If you want to do this, you need to make a reservation. Only 12 visitors at a time are allowed on the tour at the former home of iconic artists Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner now endowed to SUNY. Not only is the tour fascinating and intimate, but the house features a rotating gallery exhibition where the works of Rosalyn Drexler are now on display and the gift shop is worth dropping a few bucks. I also think it’s a nice touch that you can purchase a clipping from Lee’s spider plant, which has been living well-beyond her death in 1984.

3:30 p.m. - Check out Amagansett. Or rather, Amagansett Square, a tiny strip of shops and restaurants where you’ll likely do more window shopping than credit card swiping (unless you have a very high credit line). For the sake of it being there, I did stop into The Row, where even without looking at the price tag there was nothing I wanted to buy, and spritzed myself with a little D.S. & Durga at Love Adorned. That said, I wanted to buy the whole store at Cavaniola’s Gourmet, a well-known cheese and chocolate shop filled with local and international delicacies, and Doubles, a sunny Caribbean-influenced casual spot for roti, doubles, ice cold beers, and Van Leeuwen Ice Cream. Vinyl hoarders should definitely check out Innersleeve Records, where they have a pretty good stockpile of Record Store Day leftovers and rare pressings.

4:30 p.m. - Make a pilgrimage to Grey Gardens. I have a bit of a kindred connection with this place because Big Edie and Little Edie remind me a lot of my grandmother and mother (without all the familial financial padding and squalor). To everyone else, they are fascinating eccentrics and subtle countercultural icons against their buttoned-up neighbors. Today, the mansion is obviously in much better shape and now under the ownership of fashion designer Liz Lange of Figue and Liz Langue Maternity for Target, but that didn’t stop me from rolling up to take a quick car selfie outside, followed by driving around the empty tree-lined streets of East Hampton.

5:45 p.m. - Slip into Dia Bridgehampton before they close. Unless you’re planning on some deep meditation, you probably won’t need more than 30 minutes max to see the Dan Flavin permanent installation at Dia Bridgehampton—where the admission is always free and the selfies are always on point.

7 p.m. - Treat yourself to a lobster roll and slice of key lime pie at LUNCH Lobster Roll. Housed in a former diner, there’s something charmingly Americana about this lobster roll joint where the food is exactly what you’d want and expect from a Hamptons institution.

SUNDAY

8 a.m. - Visit Tate’s Bake Shop. Drop more money on baked goods, only to realize that there is nothing particularly life-changing about the bakery (but still very good).

9 a.m. - Get high at the beach and write in your car for an hour and half. I’m pretty sure I was trespassing, but did it anyway. Oceanside writer’s retreat officially ticked off the bucket list.

11 a.m. - Visit Little Beach Harvest Dispensary. It’s about a 40-minute drive to this tribal dispensary owned and operated by the Shinnecock Nation—among the few Native Peoples still living on portions of its ancestral lands. Because of their autonomy, it’s also one of the only legal consumption lounges in New York State, with next-level design that I think others in the industry could really take a lesson from. More so, you can buy tribal weed here, which is locally grown and fantastic, while supporting small indigenous businesses and community.

12 p.m. - Swing by any one of the million farm stands to pick up fresh strawberries. I actually can’t remember which one I stopped by but it doesn’t matter because there are so many and they’re all super fresh and better than what you can get in the city.

12:30 p.m. - Do a tasting at Chronicle Wines. There were a lot of North Fork wineries to choose from, but I was particularly jazzed about this up-and-coming woman-owned winery from Robin Epperson-McCarthy and Alie Shaper who are really bringing some unique personality to their wine-making styles and redefining the North Fork flavor. Each winemaker has their own labels under the Chronicle umbrella that reflect their individual approaches and the tasting room is cozy and intimate in a way that feels like being in someone’s home. This is another place I would go out of my way for—and if you’re really into wine, you might find yourself wanting to stay there all afternoon talking shop.

1:30 p.m. - Have lunch at 8 Hands Farm. This is not a cheap lunch, but it’s also one that you won’t feel like pinching pennies over because the quality here is next-level. I ended up buying a container of pickled eggs after having their salad made with fresh greens, asparagus, radishes, pickled eggs and a yogurt-based green goddess dressing that made me wonder why no one can still get salads right ever.

2:30 pm - Send yourself off with a tasting at Sparkling Pointe. If you like your wine as bubbly as your personality, make time for a stop-off at this 40-acre estate known for producing sustainably harvested sparkling wines exclusively in the traditional Méthode Champenoise.

PART III: Long Island Beach Reads

Inspire your own uninvited mini writer’s retreat with these beach reads:

• Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner

• Ninth Street Women by Mary Gabriel

• The Guest by Emma Cline

• Sag Harbor by Colson Whitehead

• The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

• The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York by Robert Caro

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Westchester is the kind of place where everything feels close—until you actually try to get anywhere. Just north of New York City, it stretches across 450 square miles and nearly a million people spread thin across 45 towns, cities, and villages. You could live here your whole life and still miss half of what’s around you (but maybe that’s part of the charm).

I ended up there last Sunday—partly on purpose, mostly by accident. One missed stop led to serendipitous pick-up from a sweet young conductor offering me a ride to Pleasantville (where I’ll be teaching Sunday classes starting June 8. Come see me—it’s so pleasant!).

He pointed to his hat tucked under his arm and said, "You can trust me. I'm a train conductor." So, I did. (But still texted the studio anyway and kept my location on, just in case my intuition had misread a true crime podcast in the making). I was only a four-minute drive away, but a 50-minute walk, so I took my chances.

I treated the ride like a cosmic gift—or potential police report. I told him about the Pilates studio and my book—something he said he’d buy, even though he was born and raised in Westchester. I added that its local seal of approval comes from not giving away everyone’s favorite dive bars, but pointing people toward something weird 20 minutes from home they never knew existed.

He’d been on shift since 1 a.m., running trains from Grand Central to Ronkonkoma and Montauk. He was young, maybe early 20s, with a baby face (so did Ted Bundy), and a self-proclaimed “train buff.” He lived in Queens and was visiting his mom in Sleepy Hollow. He always wanted to work on a train but never as an engineer. “They're always working.” He admitted he’d probably fall asleep at the wheel. We agreed that was probably for the best. He had opinions about which trains were best. I was grateful for the kindness.

He dropped me off across the street from the Pilates studio. I thanked him and told him to come visit soon.

Pleasantville is a small village about 50 minutes from New York City. It was two stops from Mount Pleasant, which I prematurely exited at and how I found the nice conductor. (Don’t make my same mistake—but you can’t blame me for making it, either).

The studio is beautiful, modern, and peak Instagram. It's also the only studio in a town filled with upper-class stay-at-home moms and retirees who all love athleisure and brunch. I doubt any of them read this newsletter, so I don’t feel weird promoting it. (Even though it really is that nice).

It’s nestled on a charming street near a coffee shop, a fancy cheese shop, a brewery, and the Jacob Burns Film Center. The coffee shop doesn’t care if you use a laptop on Sundays. The streets aren’t mobbed with tourists. It’s the kind of place where you try on a life to see how it fits. A little reverse-commute fantasy.

Pleasantville didn’t make it into my book. Neither did most of inland Westchester beyond Yonkers, Sleepy Hollow, Peekskill, and Katonah. It arrived too premature for the pandemic-boom areas like Mount Kisco and Bedford Hills. But the joy of the book is using it to get lost, and maybe talking to someone along the journey.

I just miss the next train and catch a ride to White Plains, the commuter hub where trains should run every 15 minutes. But it’s Sunday, so it’s just two trains, once an hour. With 46 minutes to kill, I light a joint and wander.

I’d never been to White Plains. What I knew: it had the last mall for miles—a vaguely interesting thing for New Yorkers, though nothing to write home about. Also: Etain, one of New York’s first legal weed dispensaries, which had since sold to Canadian operator RIV Capital for $247 million before later merging with Florida’s Cansortium. I’d meant to check it out, but I already had weed and no other reason to go.

With nothing pressing on my calendar, I decided to intentionally miss the next train and give myself an afternoon artist date on the town in White Plains.

Below, my field notes:

· Step 1: Channel your inner mall rat. Pass a dead mall, followed by one just barely hanging on life support. The west side of the Galleria at White Plains feels like the right place to smoke, but also the sketchiest since closing in 2023. I resent looking like a teen hitting a crack pipe. It’s legal now, isn’t it?

· Step 2: Seek nourishment, encounter authority. Take longer than expected to pass the saddest ShopRite in search of snacks before spotting a Burlington Coat Factory guarded by a woman dressed in near full body SWAT gear pulling aside the red rope so that I can shop discounted designer handbags strapped in high-level security tags that I have no interest in buying. It’s bleak. I leave. The new mall supposedly has a Lululemon and Uniqlo.

· Step 3: Follow your bliss. Stumble into Etain. It smells amazing. Everyone is stoned and friendly. The shop is sleek, modern, and would be better with chairs and a “just chill” policy. Now owned by a Florida company, the store hawks Florida-centric gear that no one in the entire greater New York City metro area would ever be caught dead wearing. I mention how nice a consumption lounge would be. Everyone agrees.

· Step 4: Assess local housing: New developments are now leasing—a brand-new building with soon-to-be-dated design and a deck (but probably no pool). Next to it, a 1960s complex with better closets and balconies. It overlooks a busy thoroughfare, but perched upon a manicured park replete with greenery and benches. Teens pass by and I realize I’m already standing in front of the mall.

· Step 5: Head to Sur La Table. Malls sell everything under the sun, except a tampon which I desperately need. I am bleeding out while browsing plateware. I try not to think of him, or how I once pictured us picking it out together.

After years of IUDs, my period’s back—reminding me of my mortality and womanhood. Why am I always happening to be wearing white underwear the day I start my period?

I ask a Sur La Table barista for a tampon. “I gotchu.” She only has Super-size but I’m grateful. “I was you three days ago,” she says, vanishing to make espresso.

· Step 6: Pick your mall aesthetic. Are you: A. Aritzia, Reformation, Eileen Fisher; B. Burberry, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Rolex; C. Lululemon, Tiffany & Co.; D. Victoria’s Secret, Foot Locker, Express.

I stop by Ann Taylor Loft. Buy nothing. Appreciate the women encouraging one another in the dressing room.

· Step 7: Lose yourself for a minute. Try a free sample of pineapple coconut ice cream, his favorite. It’s creamy and a little too sweet. A taste of what could have been our future. I pass a Jamie and Jack and imagine the life we never lived: kids in sundresses, potato salad at Memorial Day barbecues, toys from Innogoods. A version of domestic bliss neither of us had, but for a moment, felt possible. I almost wanted it.

· Step 8: Find yourself again where you don’t belong. Wander into a Free People. None of the sunglasses look good on me, the shorts look too challenging, and all of the candles smell like dorms. I leave.

· Step 9: Get lost again. Goat-themed apparel. Kendra Scott. Therabody.

Interlude: The Apple Store. You have no business here, move along.

· Step 10: Find the food court. It feels like a half-dead airport terminal trapped in a banal dreamscape: a handful of disaffected people sitting on massage chairs while watching the NASCAR race is projected floor-to-ceiling. Shake Shack, The Little Beet, Wok360, Bang, Melt Shop, Juice Eternity. Nothing for you here.

· Step 11: Revisit teenage heartbreak. This is the alley of past crushes I’ve melted over but never would have been good for me. At Auntie Anne’s, I am transported to the Golf Mill mall, where my teenage punk crush worked. I’d take two buses just to loiter nearby like a loser, never actually buying pretzels. I wonder what happened to him.

· Step 12: Exit strategy to nowhere. Going down: Lucky Brand, Sephora, David Yurman, Club Monaco. Interestingly, none of these stores have SWAT-geared security policing their entrances like the Burlington Coat Factory. Google top-rated restaurants near me to find three well-rated Peruvian chicken restaurants a quarter-mile away.

· Step 13: Be realistic. I’m hungry and it takes me three tries to exit the mall. I spot a Southern restaurant called freebird. I wander in through the wrong door but no one cares. I sit alone at the bar with an iced tea, a grilled chicken sandwich, and Yankees game. It’s perfect.

· Step 14: Retrace your steps. A girl sparks a joint near an old woman on a bench. They don’t seem to know each other but I can sense the younger one feels cosmically nourished and existentially bonded to the moment. I re-up near the dead mall. Westchester is building something new. More glass.

· Step 15: Reflect. Head home. Plenty of snacks at the train station. Too processed, too risky. I open my phone, immediately regret it, and go home.

Discover your next adventure by picking up a copy of my book, “Easy Weekend Getaways in the Hudson Valley & Catskills.”

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Hi everyone,

Because I absolutely cannot stand air travel anymore, it takes a certain amount of personal motivation for me to go anywhere beyond a 3-hour trip—even for the sake of journalism. That said, for the people I love, I will go to the ends of the earth, and this is how I was invited to discover a little slice of Midwestern paradise in New Buffalo, Michigan.

Just an hour outside Chicago nestled among the bluffs of sand dunes and long stretches of country farmland along Michigan’s South Shore is a charming little lakeside town witnessing a full-on a transformation. Like many commuter cities across the country that experienced a pandemic-driven population boom in the wake of urban exodus, New Buffalo is among the new generation of ancillary destinations rapidly rebuilding with an influx of concept boutiques, art galleries, upscale restaurants, craft cocktail bars, community farmers markets, and even—gasp!—a Starbucks, luring the expansion of city restauranteurs and catching the eye of discerning weekenders.

Hopping onto an Amtrak with run-of-the-mill young urban professionals, roughly 20 Mennonite families, and a few faces of meth at Chicago’s Union Station, it was only a short scenic ride along the Rust Belt coastline to the heart of the downtown strip of New Buffalo. Michigan’s southwest coast has long been a second home summer escapes, best known for its lake perch, blueberry U-pick farms, and fudge shops, landmarked by well-worn destinations like South Haven and Kalamazoo that have gained a more recent following for their cult craft breweries, distilleries, and coffee roasters.

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Obviously, this growing popularity has also captured the attention of luxury boutique hoteliers and niche AirBnB investors, as well as all the usual invested players in economic urban development and tourism that make these great destinations to visit and travel writers to wax poetically about. What’s interesting about New Buffalo, however, is that Michigan’s newly minted legal landscape is turning the town an under-the-radar destination for cannabis—enough to earn the moniker, “New Puffalo.”

Yes, Michigan loves its weed, but so do those from bordering states taking advantage of its competitive dirt cheap pricing and no Chicago sales tax. Presently, Michigan adult-use cannabis sales are up 21% from $880 million in sales in 2023, totaling nearly $1.1 billion within the first four months of 2024.

Of course, just because something is permissible does not mean it is unconditionally entirely embraced and celebrated. Dispensary owners and local officials have taken a strategic approach to location selection like many other cities, preferring to grant development space within economically depressed areas. In New Buffalo, that translates to a 10-minute drive from downtown towards the outskirts of the expressway near the Michigan-Indiana border where a number of brand new cannabis dispensaries sit huddled together, all welcoming out-of-state tourists to come enjoy the bounty of Michigan’s legal market. Each dispensary has its own vibe, exclusive brands, and staffed by individuals discovering a unique career path they never envisioned.

“Isn’t it wild you can just walk into a weed store and get whatever you want?” I asked the budtender at Rolling Embers, a standalone tribal-owned dispensary and only smoking lounge in the area that sells medical-grade recreational cannabis, including a 500mg edible that would probably be fantastic for someone that is not me.

“Yeah, if you asked me a decade ago, I would have never thought this could be a job,” she said, before recommending an orange-pineapple infused preroll and a complimentary Biscotti preroll for being a first-time visitor. I took it outside onto their expansive terrace featuring a fire pit, music, and lounge for stoners—the authentic social and cultural experience frequently lacking from the overall legal dispensary landscape that will evolve and refine for years to come.

Rolling Embers is a short drive from four other dispensaries—The Bloomery, URB, Pharmhouse Wellness, King Bluntz, and Jars Cannabis, the latter of which has a second New Buffalo location on the way. Whereas Rolling Embers has a very grassroots and community-space focus that old school stoners might appreciate, the newly opened Pharmhouse has curated a more farm-to-table and education-centric approach, while spots like The Blommery, URB, King Bluntz, and Jars have chosen a more big box, brand-driven atmosphere for the cannasseur loyalist in search recognizable faces like 710 Labs, Camino, Jeeter, Doja, Stone Road, Stiizy, Wyld, etc. Michigan shoppers also benefit from generous promotions for new customers and daily deals.

As someone who has personally cut back on my overall consumption intake of alcohol and vices at-large, I appreciated the opportunity to explore the local cannatourism scene and use it to enhance the long weekend activities such as kayaking through the marshlands along the Galien River, hiking through Grand Mere State Beach, antique shopping in nearby Three Oaks and popping in for happy hour at SideYard in Sawyer, picking up fresh peaches, heirloom tomatoes, and Rainer cherries from Mick Klug and friends at the New Buffalo Farmers Market, or enjoying sunset sips at False Front speakeasy and along the marina at Bentwood Tavern. Reservations tend to go a long way, particularly since the town manages to pull in quite a few messy bachelorette parties during peak season that you can catch doing unhinged live band karaoke covers at Casey’s New Buffalo.

Since I was blessed to visit friends that have a lovely little cottage, I spent most of my mornings enjoying whatever preroll du jour felt right for my coffee and spacing out in the silence under the canopy of the trees shading their back porch, blissfully disconnected from the neverending chaos of the internet and whatever bullshit I knew would await me when I’d return home in a few days. Afternoons were for napping and hors d’oeuvres like fresh grilled peaches and burrata, radishes slathered with creamy cultured butter and sprinkles of salt, and splashes of wine. I picked up two bottles of rose and a skin contact pinot gris from nearby winery, Stranger Wine Co., at black barn gourmet grocer and bakery, Farmette—both lovely with housemade pasta and salad if you give them a minute to breathe.

Of course, if you don’t have friends who decided to pick up and plant roots as newly minted locals, there are plenty of fantastic new places to stay. Garden Grove Inn, a woman-owned boutique bed and breakfast in Union Pier is situated in a 1920s farmhouse and carriage house with incredible hospitality (including ridiculously good fresh-baked cookies), while luxury cosmopolitan weekenders seeking a sumptuous touch might shack up at the Marina Grand Resort or Harbor Grand Hotel.

By the time I got back on the train to the city, I felt more rested and relaxed than I had in ages. The weather was fabulous, the food was fantastic, the weed was impressive, the nascent wine scene showed promise, the beaches were clean and clear, and I couldn’t have asked for better company. Aside from the fact United’s carry-on baggage policy can suck my ass and I ended up stranded at O’Hare during a tornado, the travel couldn’t have been easier. Easy, breezy, Pure Michigan.

Do you have an under-the-radar cannabis destination I should check out? Share your slice of heaven in the comments.

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Welcome to the The Weed Witch coven. If you liked this post, click the heart button below and consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Fall down the wrong rabbit hole? Click here to unsubscribe.

Hi everyone,

When was the last time you truly connected with your body? I’m not talking about staring in the mirror with guilt or pushing its limits through exercise. I mean making a real mind-body connection.

“But Carly, isn’t this supposed to be a weekend guide? I don’t want to work out on vacation. Just tell me where to find the fun stuff.”

I hear you. We’re getting there. Stick with me for a moment.

Here’s the thing about travel and leisure: if you’re stressed out before you even start, it’s hard to relax and enjoy. You can’t control the weather or every detail of your trip, but you can control your mindset. Regaining control over your mind and body helps you truly enjoy your vacations. No one wants to be that person having a meltdown at the airport or stressing over work at a winery. Sometimes we need a little encouragement to disconnect and refocus within. That’s why I’m here!

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Breathing and listening are fundamental, yet many struggle with these basics whether doing Pilates or in daily life. Strengthening your mind-body connection through any practice requires daily commitment. It’s about reclaiming your brain and body to maximize your time.

As much as I love touting the benefits of cannabis, it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution for health and wellness. Cannabis is just one part of a holistic approach to health, and even then, it doesn’t necessarily “take the edge off” for every person. There are plenty of unchill stoners, including many in the cannabis industry, who could benefit from reassessing their breathing and listening skills beyond the puff-puff-pass routine. When you’re not chill, you contribute to a tense environment. This negativity is particularly infectious when taken out on hospitality workers, who then pass it along to guests, contributing to an endless cycle of haterade in the travel and leisure industries that have a global impact.

Improving your breathing and listening skills is about being mindful and staying present. Be part of the change you want to see in the world, starting with yourself. Show up with the best version of yourself and with the intention to leave even better than you started.

Easier said than done, I know. Sitting hunched over a phone or computer all day is the modern norm, making concentration difficult and the idea mind-body engagement uncomfortable and laborious. It’s true, distractions are everywhere. Half of my sessions involve reminding people to sit up straight and relax their shoulders because this is the default disposition of “tech neck”—a completely unnatural phenomenon of physical discomfort from holding devices all day long. It might take a few sessions to start changing this mindset, and it’s encouraging that many of my clients are middle-aged men. It’s never too late to learn new tricks!

It doesn’t matter if you use apparatus or not, work in classical or contemporary styles, breathing and listening are fundamental in Pilates and why I love it so much. Learning to breathe and listen changed my life, probably even more than CBT—and I still practice that, too. Teaching Pilates and helping others rediscover their own focus and concentration is incredibly rewarding for that reason. How will you pass along your new outlook?

Pilates is more than getting a six-pack; it’s a challenging exercise in self-awareness and control. It’s about embracing humility and the willingness to try, rather than seeking perfection. Not everyone is capable of doing this very simple baseline exercise, which is so much harder than simply having a solid core or doing a modified version of the Hundred. Adopting this practice strengthens your resolve and patience, and improves your mood so you can tackle the day or that vacation you’ve been looking forward to.

The good news is Pilates never gets easier—it’s a lifelong learning exercise. Committing 45 minutes to an hour of Pilates can free your mind to focus on other things, like reading or writing that book, sending thank you notes, or creating art. Disconnecting from the internet and electronics allows you to reengage with yourself and the world positively. Many people leave a Pilates session feeling taller, less stressed, energized, confident, and proud, addressing mental health issues like ADHD, anxiety, and depression.

It’s no wonder Pilates is becoming common in wellness retreats alongside yoga and meditation, especially in places blessed with limited WiFi like Hudson Valley and the Catskills. These retreats are designed to help you disconnect, reflect, and restore. I often feel as refreshed after a Pilates session as I do after a weekend getaway.

While many travel writers seek far-off adventures, I’ve been enjoying the adventure of sticking close to home. Travel can be stressful on the brain and body, so I appreciate the easy weekenders throughout New York State. Even as an expert on the Hudson Valley and Catskills, there are still many places I haven’t explored. That’s the beauty of New York: you can live here your whole life and still not see everything. Every place has a story. There’s enough here to fill a book, which still holds up as both regions have thrived post-COVID and continue to expand.

Get your copy of “Easy Weekend Getaways in the Hudson Valley & Catskills”

As soon as you leave New York City, there is an immediate vibe shift. Time slows down and the landscape unfolds in a variety that belies the state’s size on the map. In the past month, I’ve had quick escapes to Sullivan County in the Catskills, a 24-hour jaunt to the Shawangunk Mountains, and a trip to the edge of the North Fork in Greenport, Long Island without breaking the bank. I’m also gearing up for another visit to the Catskills over Juneteenth. Each trip took under three hours each way, which could easily be done in a day, and left me feeling refreshed and inspired. (If you’re heading to the Finger Lakes or Adirondacks, you’ll need at least another day or two for travel—practically as long as it takes to get to Europe).

That said, even short trips upstate require alertness. A wrong turn on a country road could lead to an unexpected flat tire, and midweek travel without proper research might mean missing out on culinary hotspots only open part of the week. Disconnecting from the internet might force you to ask a stranger for directions, and driving at night can be nerve-wracking if you’re not careful—this is where those breathing and concentration exercises come in handy. Venturing out of our comfort zones to places that reward us with fresh air and boundless inspiration challenges us to regain focus, strength, and intuition to “figure it out,” especially in an era where we are constantly force-fed information and convenience is always at our fingertips.

This is your reminder to check in with yourself. When was the last time you made the mind-body connection? When was the last time you were intentional with your breath? Where is the closest place you can go that will feel far away? How can you replicate that feeling by activating your sense of imagination? Where will it take you next?

Explore the beauty and offerings of your local area. Embrace the opportunity to disconnect, rediscover, and enjoy the simple pleasures right around the corner.

Get started by pinning few choice destinations below as you plan your next adventure:

What To Eat, Drink, and Do in the Catskills

Last month I attended the second annual Catskills Cuisine weekend at Bethel Woods Center for Arts, featuring Food Network stars like Scott Conant, Michael Symon, Andrew Zimmern, Marcus Samuelsson, Anne Burrell, Melba Wilson, and Geoffrey Zakarian. While it was a star-studded event, I was a bit disappointed not to see more local talent that’s putting Sullivan County on the map. How great would it be to see places like Seminary Hill Orchard & Cidery, The Kaatskeller, Northern Farmhouse Pasta, Catskills Provisions, Upward Brewing, and The Laundrette all in one spot? I’d definitely travel for that. In the meantime, Bethel Woods has also recently introduced glamping, which I’d love to know if anyone attending the Megadeth concert later this summer plans to try it out.

During my trip, I discovered Weissman Farms, a charming off-road farmstand perfect for grabbing meat and dairy on the go. Bring cash, as it operates on an honor system (there is a camera for security). I wish I had brought more money because the prices were fair and the products exceptional.

Don’t miss a visit to the Catskills Provisions Tasting Room in Callicoon, where you can sample spirits and locally made honey (including irresistible honey bourbon truffles) from the wonderful proprietor and distiller, Claire Marin. Across the street is Black Walnut, a stunning cocktail bar and retail shop with a bespoke Regency farmhouse-inspired parlor vibe, offering a menu of New York-based spirits, wines, ciders, and beers.

If the weather cooperates, book a guided outdoor excursion with naturalist Laura Chavez Silverman of The Outside Institute. She offers regular nature and foraging walks, as well as workshops on botanical fermentation, natural dyes, and other nature activities. The Catskills are also prime for fly fishing, with many operators and educational stops to get you started. And don’t forget to visit the alpaca farm!

Should you happen to forget your guidebook, swing by Drooz + Company in Livingston Manor, a delightful general store with lots of quirky gifts and souvenirs including signed copies! It’s right around the corner from Main Street Farm, where you can pick up local groceries, sandwiches and snacks; Homestedt, a Catskills curated concept shop; and Upstream Wine & Spirits.

Mark your calendars:

June 25: Pride isn’t over yet, and the Catskills plan to make every minute count. High Voltage Creek Bar in Mountaindale has been hosting an under-the-radar monthly Catskills Queer Party with music, food, and community in a magical woodland disco—the perfect way to cap Pride month in the mountains.

July 27-28: The Borscht Belt Festival returns to Ellenville for its second year, featuring stand-up comedy, art, live music, film, educational programming, and food, with proceeds going towards the funding of the future permanent home of the Borscht Belt Museum, opening next year. The museum will celebrate the vibrant history and culture of the Catskills famous Borscht Belt Resort era—a vacation reprieve and community for many post-war Jews who faced exclusion from other hotels due to rampant antisemitism, immortalized in pop culture on series like The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.

What To Eat, Drink, and Do in the Hudson Valley

Not even a day after returning from the Catskills, I was on another bus headed to Benmarl Winery—the oldest vineyard in America—for a tasting showcase of entirely Hudson Valley Cabernet Franc wine producers. Watching the shifting viticulture landscape of the Finger Lakes on the heels of the cultural rise of farmhouse production spurred by the craft beer movement and supported by the New York Farm Bill Law, I was eager to see how this would influence the new generation of winemakers. Verdict’s in: I’m impressed!

New York claims some of the oldest vines, but its reputation as a wine producer has only recently improved as ambitious winemakers explore mineral-rich soils and favorable climates at more affordable costs. Historically, distribution limitations pushed many winemakers to meet local market demands, producing those sweet, viscous fruit wines that any modern wine drinker would probably consider undrinkable minus the rare creative bartender interested in a Chopped-style challenge. However, as consumers become savvier and the market more saturated, winemakers are now experimenting with varietals and upgrading production and tasting facilities. (Wait until New York’s cannabis industry matures—hospitality is about to get wild!)

Benmarl has a pretty excellent tasting room with sweeping views of the ‘Gunks and Hudson River. Fjord Vineyards is another must-visit; their tasting room wasn't around when I wrote my guide, but their wines were worth mentioning anyway. Whitecliff Vineyard, with its inland views and excellent wines, is also nearby. Quartz Rock Vineyard formerly Glorie Farm Winery, is now run by WOC co-owner Jacqui Ferrari Heavens and her husband, Dan Heavens, featuring outdoor seating, live music, tarot readings, and Caribbean food pop-ups. On the north end of the trail, Robibero’s tasting room serves wood-fired pizzas on Saturdays and an experimental white Cab Franc—almost like a cross between an unoaked Chardonnay and Sauvignon Blanc that will appeal as an entry-level gateway wine for staunch sweet wine drinkers to try something a little more sophisticated.

Across the river is Millbrook Vineyards, just below one of my favorite B&Bs, Wing’s Castle. Millbrook offers a great Tocai and incredible sunset views from the tasting room’s second floor. New on the scene is Milea Estate Vineyard, which boasts a luxury tasting room and impressive releases from winemaker River Allan, plus enviable views of the Hudson.

While you’re in town: While you’re in town, consider booking a stay at Buttermilk Falls Inn, a secluded 75-acre estate in Milton with a luxury day spa, animal sanctuary, and Henry’s, an upscale farm-to-table restaurant. Even if you don’t stay, it’s worth visiting for brunch or dinner. The food is fabulous, and the wine list is surprising! It’s not every day you’ll find a Robert Sinskey, M. Chapoutier, and Domaine Chanzy alongside a sparkling from Oregon, a Cab from Arizona, and Hudson Valley Chardonnay. The scallops were perfectly seared and the lamb couldn’t have been fresher.

What’s the Deal with Cannabis?

All those trees might make you wonder where the nearest dispensary is? Good news: they’re finally starting to pop up and stocked with some of the Valley’s finest greens. Check out seven of the latest ones to visit on your next trip upstate.

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Hi everyone,

Sorry for the delay. Spain has a relaxed cultural attitude towards work, so I decided to fit in “like a local” by taking advantage of siesta and returning email responses if/when I felt like it. Case in point: La Sagrada Familia is still under construction and it might be finished in 2026 (allegedly).

This year marked the 20th anniversary of Spain’s cannabis conference, Spannabis, which is wild that this has managed to exist so long considering the country’s remarkably confusing cultivation and consumption policies. In Spain, cannabis just *magically* appears: it can’t be commercially grown, but it’s also not governmentally regulated or penalized. The epitome of “smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em.”

Catalonia, in particular, has a more liberal history of cannabis acceptance compared to the rest of the country, with the first private cannabis clubs opening back in 2001 along with a decriminalized policy for possession and home grow. Budtenders hawk unlabeled flower by the ounce—kind of charming if you appreciate an old school approach to buying weed, but without any of the transparency or product control that buyers have come to expect with regulation. The quality is somewhat negligible because of that and comes with a higher price tag than it really deserves.

For those reasons, cannabis was somehow everywhere and nowhere at Spain’s largest cannabis conference. Event goers walked joint-in-hand through the hazy, cloud-filled halls, yet none of it was for sale—except seeds, topicals, edibles, and accessories. If you’re an industry insider, chances are that you showed up with cannabis magically appearing inside your luggage or had a contact that brought you some. Either way, while some of the booths did have product for testing, it’s better to arrive a day earlier to swing by a cannabis club to purchase product if you don’t want to show up empty-handed.

Therein lies another issue: the clubs are private. There’s paperwork, including paying an annual fee (around 20€) and having a co-signer that’s an existing member—challenging if you have no stoner friends in Barcelona. It’s a pretty big commitment that requires careful planning, particularly if you’re only in town for a short stay. So, I hesitate to say, “You can go club hopping here, here, and here” because it’s not like the coffeeshops in Amsterdam in that respect or the dispensaries in legal states in the U.S. Reaching out in advance via email or Instagram direct message to make arrangements in advance may help, but even then it’s not guaranteed. In short: if you want weed in Barcelona, you still have to work for it a little bit.

All that said, the actual conference was impressively large and had an entrance fee of only 25€ for a one-day; 50€ for a three-day pass (though every Catalonian local I spoke with seemed skeptical about paying that). Compared to the Emerald Cup that goes for $65 to $120 before service and facility fees, I thought it was entirely reasonable for an industry event open to the general public, unlike the majority of trade shows that require hefty application processes and fees for buyers and vendors alike. Besides, I’m not exaggerating when I reiterate that the show was massive.

Divided among four buildings, the conference featured 500 exhibitors and was attended by a crowd of over 25,000 at the Fira Cornellà exhibition hall. It had infinitely more personality than any other cannabis industry event that I’ve been to, and the consumer-facing aspect was a smart strategy that would probably benefit legal states—particularly the generous on-site consumption policy.

Because it was a cannabis conference, people watching was obviously the biggest draw, with the deep discounts on premium accessories at wholesale prices being the second. The parties were another draw, of course, but seeing as I was a little more invested in doing other cultural activities, I didn’t invest much effort here, opting to skip the parties at Terpy’s, The Green Boutique, and Doja Club to do other stuff (expect a different guide for that). I did make it to NPK Barcelona—the only club blessed with an outdoor terrace—allowing me to maximize my time enjoying the nice weather and doing other things beyond sitting in an upscale trap house for three days in Barcelona. Bonus: you can buy wine and beer, something you can’t do at the coffee shops in Amsterdam.

Spannabis tended to skew male, which meant product innovation and branding left much to be desired (sorry, boys. Just a fact). Cheesy graphics are still very much alive and well, and small things like asking for the mouthpiece to be cleaned before I used it made me feel like a diva, even though that’s just proper sanitation. It’s the one place that you’ll find corporate guys in polos, heavy hitters decked out in their finest streetwear, and the occasional guy wearing tie-dye and mushrooms with a cavalier philosophy about walking around a convention hall barefoot with a joint in his mouth like the Big Lebowski. Only a handful of woman-owned brands were present, so I picked up lighters and stickers from Girl Seeds. If there were any rainbows, I didn’t see them. So, that should give you an idea of the vibe.

Speaking of: Did you know that in 2022, only 2% of VC investment went to women-founded companies, and just 15% of VC ‘check-writers’ are women. Join Work'N'Roll and The CannaDiva on March 21st from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. for Girls Just Wanna Have FUND$, a day of education, support and empowerment, as we pave the way towards fundraising success, together. The event will cover:

    •    Financial Terms 101
    •    Pitch Deck Essentials
    •    Investor Insights
    •    Entrepreneurial Resilience
    •    Makeup touch-ups and headshots

Overall, it was a very cool event that mostly served as a colorful excuse to go to Barcelona. The large show out also felt incredibly symbolic during a time when places like Thailand are overturning their recreational weed laws while slow-moving bureaucratic policies are stunting the growth of consumption facilities stateside. Allowing struggling vendors to get their product in front of the people who lack access and exposure amid social media bans opens opportunities for would-be future professionals and enthusiasts to network and try before they buy. And honestly, couldn’t beat the weather—it was a great day to hang in the sunshine among the flowers.

Best of Spannabis 2024

Because it combined a trade show with a consumer festival, a good chunk of the booths were useless to the average person—unless they are flirting with the idea of getting into home growing or the commercial space—so that one day was more than enough. Still, there were plenty of good finds if you knew where to look. Here are a few of the top picks:

• SABER electronic dab tool by Focus V

  Say goodbye to gunky dab tools! This electronic dab tool is a complete game changer for dab heads: a sleek, handheld pen charged using USB-C that heats concentrate quickly with 3 power levels so that your material is ready to go as soon as it hits the rig and slides off so there’s no messy residue.

• Mascotte papers

  Most of the expected paper players were in attendance such as OB and RAW (where were you, Rizla+?!), but this Dutch brand was new to me—as well as many locals I spoke with—even though they’ve been around for 75 years. Small, super thin, slow burning, and made of 100% organic hemp, these papers roll like a dream and come with tear-away tips rolled up into a handy magnetic-closing package.

• Woodland pipes by Empire Glassworks

  Prefer a classic bowl but want to upgrade to something with a little more personality for your coffee table or glass menagerie (why does this feel unintentionally fitting for Tennessee Williams joke?), these stunning woodland-inspired pipes from Empire Glassworks should be on your radar. Embellished with carefully crafted details like mushrooms, flowers, and forest creatures, these pipes are so pretty you might not even want to smoke out of them (but totally can).

• Venty by Storz and Bickel

  Storz and Bickel products are the Cadillac of weed paraphernalia: expensive, but well-worth the investment if you value your lungs, delivering the smoothest of dry herb hits (some of you may remember I bedazzled a hand-me-down Volcano with a tramp stamp that I sadly lost during a bad break-up). Still, the Volcano is cumbersome, making handheld versions Mighty and Crafty better gateway option for the stoner-on-the-go. The Venty takes these two models up a notch, heating up faster with precision control in a much slimmer design, delivering the same quality you’ve come to expect and love.

• Modul Dok by Studenglass

  This is a Studenglass accessory that I would liken to buying a pasta attachment for a Kitchenaid: you need the base product (the Modul) for it to matter, so I recommend just buying the bundle. The precision control and size make this a better investment than their award winning gravity bong for those who are low on space, and it comes with a carrying case for the traveler who feels comfortable doing that!

• Marilyn Monroe papers from G-Rollz
  Getting your hands on this limited edition rolling paper combi-pack from G-Rollz requires jumping through a few hoops to find it on some back channel European head shop—so I probably wouldn’t go through the trouble because I’m not that big of a Marilyn fan, but they’re certainly cute! And pink! And made using organic Spanish hemp if you happen to spot them while in Spain.

• Scratch n sniff rolling papers by Monkey King

  So, you’ve snuck out to a back alley to clandestinely hit a joint only to realize your hands reek of weed. Give your hands a rub on these scratch ‘n’ sniff rolling papers from Spain-based brand Monkey King and it can smell like artificial peach or Coca-Cola! I don’t know if that’s a step up, but it’s cool that it exists!

• Cannactiva

  Cannactiva is the closest thing to a recognizable Spanish cannabis brand—though all of it is CBD and hemp-derived—and ships everywhere. This wellness brand gets props for commissioning local artists to dream up limited edition collaborations and making the most use of the plant for hemp fiber clothing on par with forward-thinking U.S. cannabusinesses.

  ---

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On the Road to Spannabis: Part One

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Welcome to the The Weed Witch coven. If you liked this post, click the heart button below and consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Fall down the wrong rabbit hole? Click here to unsubscribe.

Buenos dias! Reporting live from the Barcelona airport at the ass crack of dawn on the road to Spannabis, Spain’s premier cannabis conference.

Quick note: I still haven’t edited the podcast with Mary Jane Gibson (sorry, Mary Jane), but the good/bad news is that abortion rights are still a pressing issue that not enough people are talking about ever, which unfortunately means it will probably still need to be fought next week and still be an “evergreen” topic (ugh). In the meantime, please follow her on Instagram and TikTok to stay afloat to whatever the latest legal assault on reproductive rights is while she makes a sandwich and fights off internet trolls.

Anyway, given that it was somehow a major hassle to get press credentials for a conference filled with white guys in 20 shades of dreadlocks and accredited travel journalists are no longer welcome or respected at the Delta Sky Lounge (which apparently now has lengthy lines of corporate card holders waiting to get in like it’s Berghain), I decided to really lean into this journey as a multi-part dispatch series.

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Pre-Spannabis Packing Adventure

My pre-travel ritual consists of a pragmatic combination of packing while taking a trip down memory lane trying to find the giant bag of universal chargers I hid from myself like a needle in a haystack in a studio the size of a generous parking space. Inevitably I find myself cleaning the shit out of my apartment so that I return completely unbothered and this is why I have a five-star guest rating on AirBnB.

Also, the first track off Kim Gordon’s new trap noise album basically is a travel packing list, so give a listen while you read the rest of this.

Here’s how my evening went:

• Had the saddest dinner for one at the gay bar in Chelsea, just in case I happened to die on my flight: meatloaf and a glass of cabernet while wedged between two couples giving me side eye as I stuffed my face (oddly reminiscent of my first restaurant/dating review column “All By Myself” in college called “A Burrito Big Enough For Two, Conquered By One”).

• Used that sad energy to conjure my inner cunt: the young, stylish and sexy New York writer on her way to a drug party in Europe and galavanting around wine caves in Penedes.

• Tried on six pairs of sunglasses to determine what that vibe will be (cunty).

• Smoked something-or-another as part of my rapid purge into Great Spring Cleaning Season of 4/20: smoking out my stash, purifying my space, clearing the skeletons out of my closet, and dusting off my various stash boxes like little time capsules to find random items like an inhaler of Super Lemon Haze from 2019 from a company that most likely doesn’t exist anymore.

• Wondered why I never get blazed eyes anymore, but also not mad about it (also-also: will I get red eye?)

• Didn’t find my global charger, but did unearth a box of meticulously organized accordion files of tax statements from 10 years ago, plus a DVD player that will someday be as valuable as the limited edition Teeny Beanie Babies from the McDonald’s drive-thru.

• Selected 6 different colored pens and a notebook that I will undoubtedly mark up with insightful notes while I am high at Spannabis that I can’t wait to read several years later, such as: “The only thing people love more than god is pizza.”

• Threw in novelty papers from Field Trip because it’s important to flex.

• Started wearing the sunglasses while plotting out my perfect six days ahead:

  • Begin and end in sweatpants (the Adam Selman joggers I got a couple years back have proven to be timeless investments of comfort and style).

  • Continue working my way through “Subculture Vulture” by Moshe Kasher. I actually enjoy taking my time reading a book and this one is really good so far.

  • Efficiently maximize my minimalist baggage. Once again opting for the Tortuga 45L Travel Backpack I’ve had since 2019 (!). While half of my recommendations are missing because GQ constantly updates the exact same page while scrubbing writers who worked on previous stories, this one has held up—important if you’re thinking about investing $300 into a backpack. Sorry if you missed out on the T-Mobile Un-carrier On collab with Samsara. That was a great suitcase at a very good price and you should have gotten it when I said so. It came with an airtag and built-in wireless charger, plus a bunch of packing accessories in a cool T-Mo magenta color for $50 less than the regular Samsara price. Anyway, I use that suitcase all the time now and love it.

  • Oops, I may have slipped some slips into my bag!

  • Passport! Toothpaste! Sunscreen! The benign things that really matter more than you think they will! (This should actually be your first step, but it’s good to check again at the end).

  • Sexy-sensible footwear: the expertise of New Yorkers who pound the pavement.

  • Wine sleeves and a packable cooler (for the wine and cheeses).

  • A very well-loved Trtl neck pillow that is way overdue to be retired and replaced.

Day of, I packed whatever was left in my grinder into my Lune Noire hitter and popped a Camino. Some of you might wonder why I would do both of these things unless I am just a big ol’ Weedy McWeedster pothead. Well, I am that, but there is also purpose: to reduce anxiety and stave off boredom for the trip to the airport that is almost always a hassle, while also timing it to come-down on the plane so that I will be tired enough (hopefully) to fall asleep at 8 p.m. since my flight would be arriving at 1 a.m. EST/6 a.m. local time. It mostly worked, except the part when they wake you three times for dinner/beverage service/breakfast, knocking into the unnatural REM cycle I just unsuccessfully set up for myself.

Will I crash and burn? Will I get smoke weed? Will I remember the Spanish I studied for three years but only periodically use now and gave up half-way last month on DuoLingo because I know my left from my right and how to ask where the bathroom is? Stay tuned!

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Welcome to the The Weed Witch coven. If you liked this post, click the heart button below and consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Fall down the wrong rabbit hole? Click here to unsubscribe.

Hi readers,

Sorry you haven’t heard from me for a bit. I’ve just returned from fucking off in France, which was both the first international trip I’ve taken since the pandemic and a place I haven’t returned to since my heart was ripped out in 2019.

This trip was inspired by an impulsive purchase of tickets to see Brian Eno’s tour with the Baltic Sea Philharmonic, which only had a few dates scattered around Europe. Eno isn’t only death’s door or anything but he is 75, so it seemed like now was as good a time as ever to plan a whole trip around it. Nine out of every 10 people had no idea who he was, so I just summarized him as “an experimental musician who created the Windows 95 start-up music.”

Because it was my eighth time in Paris, I decided to venture out to Lyon and Annecy, and spent about two hours in Geneva, Switzerland before deciding it was a place that I absolutely hated and have no interest in going back to (though the chocolates are great). Paid subscribers get all of my secrets after the jump because I’m fine with gatekeeping.

Paris is a great place to have your heart broken. You can’t buy that AirBnB experience. It’s still absolutely awful, but if you’re a writer or artist with a sentimental side, you can always try to reframe a present moment of pain as a future content opportunity. “Look at me, I am so heartbroken in France! Life is suffering! Suffering is art! What is love? What is existence? I am going to lose my mind now, bye!” The biggest L I took was not writing about it in the moment because I was too consumed with malaise, but I also knew I would go back. I just didn’t anticipate it would coincide with WWIII.

That period living out of my suitcase has become my personal “Eat Pray Love”—but a little less problematic because I was in Europe and haven’t successfully capitalized on it like Elizabeth Gilbert. I’ve actually never seen that movie or read her book, but from my understanding, it was problematic because a white woman “found herself” by going to Italy and India. I didn’t need Europeans to change me or give me a new perspective as a white Jewish woman; I just needed the headspace and six-hour grace period to find it for myself amongst the people I know, love and hate. How else could I forgive myself and everyone else for the repercussions of my own choices?

I hate that, by the way—having to self-identify with this one-note description as a person as though we are all these fixed entities and representatives of monolithic communities. Being a run-of-the-mill divorcee with an existential crisis like Gilbert is much more relatable, and that is why her book is very successful. Labeling myself as a shorthand “white Jewish woman” or worse, “bisexual queer white neuroatypical neurotic Jewish woman with chronic anxiety and depression disinterested in touching anyone right now” feels so limiting and reductive. It makes me feel like a character in a dystopian hellscape version of the Small, Small World ride at Disneyland.

Maybe it’s because I was indoctrinated to know about the Holocaust or recognize that a diaspora encompasses many, but censuses and fixed personas really freak me out, even though I rely on data for everything and understand they can be helpful metrics tools to better serve people in a positive way and fit needs. That said, data can also be used to make a person feel trapped and hunted. Every once in awhile, I’ll have to update a government form, which reminds me that I can never tell whether being on the grid or off it freaks me out more. I’ve seen both because I’ve always lived on the fringe with one foot in and one out at all times. I know how to blend in, yet at the same time I can’t: I am visible. Other people will label you even if you don’t label yourself. It’s hard not to care about what other people think when they might actually want to kill you.

I thought about this as countries are experiencing record numbers of anti-Semitic and Islamophobic attacks. London police said they had recorded a 1,353% increase in antisemitic offenses this month compared to the same period last year, while Islamophobic offenses were up 140% in the wake of the attack by Hamas on Israel. A woman was stabbed twice at her home in Lyon then had her home marked with a swastika—I place I was in just a week ago while reading about Detroit synagogue president and rabbi Rebecca Woll being murdered on her front doorstep. Palestinean-American Wadea Al Fayoume was stabbed 26 times by his family’s landlord in Chicagoland. Threats of hate crimes have spiked on college campuses where universities are turning a blind eye as students leverage rhetoric straight from the Nazi playbook. There was no one to assure me everything would be OK, so we said nothing.

As a writer whose job is supposed to make people feel comfortable and confident about safe, reliable places to travel and interactions with the world, it has put me in a bit of a bind when I don’t feel that way myself. It’s a lot easier and relatable to talk about revisiting a place with a renewed optimism after experiencing something universal like heartbreak than to alleviate concerns about global warfare. It took a certain amount of self-brainwashing to leave the house, forcing myself to put on rouge and smile for photos just like I did like when I was heartbroken and did not want to. Even then, people were more interested on my opinions about Gaza. I returned no text messages.

If there is anything I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s that there is no “good time” to travel. It could be COVID or the masses descending onto picturesque towns with their COVID revenge travel or dangerous smoke from wildfires or sidestepping around the unhoused populations suffering from addiction or random acts of violence. When would it be better to reschedule? Is there a date when these things end?

I traveled to Maui during the height of the Brett Kavanaugh trials, where after hearing the detailed account of Christine Blasey Ford’s sexual assault to try to prevent a noted rapist from gaining a permanent seat on the Supreme Court governing bodies. While there, I had to attend an all-white dinner with hundreds of cattlemen from the U.S. and Asia that kicked off with a Christian prayer service before a surf and turf dinner on the beach, realizing absolutely no one gave a shit then—and even as reproductive rights are being stripped as we speak, most people still don’t now.

Completely horrified, I texted my cousin and she texted back, “At least you’re in Maui.” Can I really enjoy paradise when I’m living in hell? It’s the question I’ve been going back and forth on about when exactly is a “good” time to go on a trip. How much emotional baggage are you bringing? Because that costs extra now.

So, I decided to go. I like going to France because it’s six hours ahead, but always a little behind. It gives me the time to process the things that move too fast by forcing me to disconnect. To find peace and safety by tending to my raw emotions. Living in the present with fears of the future while conjuring memories of the past requires a conscientious effort to live beautifully with uncertainty. I don’t take much comfort in the Bible—Old or New Testament—but I do take comfort in spirituality. When I don’t have the answers or anyone to tell me it will be OK, it helps to have the reminder that there are others who feel this way, too.

As war broke out and I found myself once again turning to Pema Chodron’s “Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change,” and thought a lot about John Horgan’s “Rational Mysticism” that had become cathartic reads during the initial stages of lockdown when I was alone and hadn’t been invited group social pods. When your mind is consumed with existential fear and grief amid so many years of sadness, terror, and uncontrollable forces, you need to remember purpose, function, and that you planned a trip to France a few months ago. You need to go have a good time, for you and everyone else.

All I wanted to do before I went to Paris was write, and as soon as I got there, I just couldn’t do it. Truthfully, the past month has been fucking awful for my overall mental health, and as we all know, writing is a very mental exercise. No one ever accused writers of being particularly stable people, and yet we are expected to always be online and responsive, with our “fingers on the pulse” to stay relevant in everyone’s overly connected minds, even if we’re barely holding on ourselves.

I truly envy the people who have managed to produce anything prolific or even functional right now because I’ve felt physically fucking ill every day for awhile now and I am tired of it. Some writers are partaking in structured writing months—something I actually admire but keep being unable to do myself.

It’s easy to become hardened, jaded, and eroded under the weight of the forces that feel beyond our control. But I’m prone to escapism, which is why I am a food, drug, and travel lifestyle writer. I don’t know if that makes me a good or bad influence, but I certainly try to do my best to have a good time and tell you how to do it, too. Part of that means loving life, and when it all seems like death and despair and utter hopeless, you have to remember to remind yourself of the things you love to not let it consume you entirely. Otherwise, you’ll actually lose your mind.

My good friend David Kelsey who runs a monthly Shabbat at RAKit Club in Ridgewood called Korbanot had a very good anecdote about Big Jews and Little Jews. He ended with: “It takes two hands to tie a knot: a left and a right.” For those of us Little Jews who feel caught in the middle of these two big hands, you’re not alone, even if it feels suffocating. My heart goes out to everyone caught in the crossfire of senseless violence and remain hopeful for peace.

Below is a list and itinerary for being despondent, privileged, and faded in France.

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Just flew in from Walla Walla and boy are my arms tired! 🥁

September really just snuck in then peaced out, didn’t it? Now here we are, on the verge of another Weed Witching season. I feel so unprepared, which I guess is fair considering we had an orange apocalypse over the summer and New York was just drowning. Next up: two solid weeks of fall foliage before the next Ice Age. Oy.

Anyway, I’m sorry failed you all this September and will try to overcompensate before I peace out to Faaahhhrrrrraaannnceeeee (France) end of month. Which is why this issue is all about travel! It’s time to get on your broomsticks and hop off somewhere cool. Perhaps the great state of Washington?

Before we get into it, a quick plug: Check out the latest issue of Different Leaf, where I contributed to the cover feature on cannatourism in the Bay Area, and keep an eye out for the next issue of Red Bulletin Magazine where I help you plan an intentionally weird trip to Las Vegas.

For an easy autumn getaway, make sure to pick up my book, “Easy Weekend Getaways in the Hudson Valley & Catskills.” I made it so easy for you! Just between friends: my book is so underground that it wasn’t even ripped off by AI. I was a little offended at first, to be perfectly honest. Like, the tech industry doesn’t think my book matters enough to steal it and profit off of my work? How embarrassing. But then I realized that it inadvertently makes the book an essential read now because you can’t even rip it off. All the secrets are in there, which means you kind of have to buy it. Or just figure it out yourself—just don’t come complaining to me about it! I already saved you a few hours of getting lost and confused in the very first chapter. Either way, this travel book is certifiably too cool for its own good and only cool people need apply. Onwards!

Anyway, on that note: I began writing this during a quick pit stop at Seattle’s Volunteer Park, where I decided to carve out 20 minutes to hang out with some trees in the forest—breathing them in, smoking them out, reading them, writing on them, taking photos with them. It seems simple enough but traveling for business comes with the caveat of understanding that the majority of that time is not yours; it’s recon time. It’s hard, believe me. And I do this professionally.

While looking for Brandon and Bruce Lee’s graves, I found the perfect little nook just begging me to sit, draw a few doodles, and jot down some thoughts. Every once and awhile, I’d hear a loud thud echo throughout the canopy as a squirrel dropped its tree snack, shooting me a look that said, “Whaddya gonna do about it?” It inched closer and closer, trying to see how much it get away with, before I shot it a look that said “Try me.” Truly testing me. But this is why we travel: to decompress, reset, and feel re-inspired. And when you’re in Washington, the main attraction is nature.

Volunteer Park is a stunning greenspace nestled in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. Created by famed landscape architect John Charles Olmstead—the same guy who designed about 100 iconic greenspaces across the country, including Central Park in New York City, Prospect Park in Brooklyn, Jackson Park in Chicago—the jewels of the sprawling 48-acre park are the Volunteer Conservatory historic Victorian-style botanical greenhouse and Seattle Asian Art Museum housed in a gorgeous 1933 Art Deco building with a duck pond across the street.

Because I hadn’t been to Seattle since 2018, it was interesting to experience the city through a fresh set of eyes. Those eyes were stretched to exhaustion for a whole week, unfortunately, as I left my glasses while rushing out at 5 a.m. to catch a scheduled ride that never showed up, adding to the strain of arguing with the automated robots at Lyft and fielding the 300 emails assaulting me every 15 minutes across 8 different inboxes. I bought a pair of overpriced ugly readers at the airport that I despise and were completely useless, so that’s how I was literally experiencing everything: through squinted, tired eyes. But I made the best of it!

I found myself out West by invitation from car company Kia, who included me among a small group of media to drive their new fleet of electric vehicles through the new Napa of Washington (a term of comparison that I usually hate, but in this case actually makes sense) courtesy of a friend-of-a-friend introduction to wine educator and consultant Maryam Ahmed of Maryam and Company via Cara Patricia at DECANTsf. Because it takes longer to get to Walla Walla than Europe, I decided to tack on a couple more days in Seattle on the leg home thanks to the support of Visit Seattle that generously put together a solid itinerary I’m excited to share here.

Miraculously, I had a smooth flight on both legs of the trip to Walla Walla with Air Alaska—though somehow managed to get the one wine region flight without complimentary wine service because it was too short (still). I also discovered that Air Alaska has a Wine Flies Free program that allows you to check a case of wine on flights servicing wine regions without incurring a baggage check fee, which is nice because I barely check my luggage anymore unless I have to thanks to compression travel accessories. If this is something you do regularly or you plan to take part in beverage tourism, I always recommend slipping a few wine sleeves in your bag just in case.

Even though I had only been to the city one time, the Seattle-Tacoma airport made an impression. Why can’t every airport have a Sub-Pop record store with a DJ spinning Foo Fighters and metal in the middle of the terminal and a solid wine bar with a fantastic salmon rilettes salad? Then again, the Walla Walla airport is so small that it is essentially one gate, but they do have a “take a book, leave a book” nook that I found charming and if you have a layover for some reason, you’re not too terribly far from the Airport Wine Incubator to kill time.

Wine is one of those areas that I am both completely ignorant about but always surprised to learn that I know more than I think I do (surely from years of being negged). Working in the restaurant trade for nearly two decades provided the privilege of attending years and years of professional seminars, trainings, tastings, demos, university lectures, national symposiums, on-site tours, and interviews with experts. And yet, somehow I knew very little about Washington wines, even though I was heading there specifically for it.

The ignorance is forgivable as much like the Hudson Valley, Catskills, Finger Lakes and Long Island in New York, most of the good stuff doesn’t leave the region. While California gets all the fanfare for putting North American wines on the map, the Pacific Northwest is what made me rethink the potential of geological influences on soil composition and the future possibilities of wine production in other states (should you want to read a fascinating whitepaper on the geological influences of terroir of the Columbia basin, I’ve got you).

These regions aren’t bound to tradition like French AOCs, but they do have a history—one dating back to 1825 that proliferated in the 1850s when homesteaders on the Oregon Trail brought grape cuttings that they planted throughout the region. Stretching from southeastern Washington into northeastern Oregon, Walla Walla is among the smallest of the 20 AVAs (American Viticultural Areas), but has the highest concentration of wineries in the state and some of the oldest. Producing mostly Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah, and the much-maligned Merlot (a varietal I am convinced is entering its villain era with Zinfandel), the region is anchored by the incredibly small town of Walla Walla with a population of only 30,000 but boasting over 120 world-class wineries. Also, the band Chastity Belt is from there!

What was great about the Kia trip was the opportunity to get a first look at the up-and-coming varietals and blends being lead from a new guard of diverse female winemakers defining the future of wine in the region. Winemaker Devyani Isabel Gupta brings Roussane to Spanish-owned winery Valdemar Estates; Fiona S. Mak is putting rose on the map at SMAK Wines, an all-rose production winery; Kelsey Albro Itämeri of Ita Winery has an incredible Semillion in her portfolio, proving that Washington can do whites within a world of reds; Brooke Robertson of SJR Vineyard is challenging the elements to produce phenomenal Viogner and Grenache; and Amy Alvarez-Wampfler and Dan Wampfler at Abeja have a mostly sold-out selection worth getting your hands on whatever is left. And guess what? You can visit all of these wineries in a sustainable electric vehicle!

Admittedly, I have pretty conflicting personal opinions about electric vehicles. They are undeniably better for the environment, more cost efficient, and as they proliferate, that impact has yet to be seen. On the other hand, I also have a major distrust of the tech industry and the longevity of their products, particularly as I see my entire generation being thrown into a pit marked “Millennials and old iPhones.” Still, having recently taken a Tesla out on an upstate trip through the peaks and falls of Kerhonsken to Kingston a couple months ago, I had my first taste of the future of electric vehicles and liked it (particularly the unbeatable price of $19 for an electric charge covering two days of travel). And the Kia vehicles have an even better price point. I would also assume that the digitization may decrease the amount of car thefts, and in a perfect world, would increase rapid emergency response time, but realistically I doubt it—especially in rural areas.

That said, for a road trip excursion through an area whose delicate agriculture relies on the environment around it, I appreciated the option to be as a low-intervention as possible to reduce the carbon footprint. I’ve been purposefully and consciously trying to reduce that in all areas, especially travel, and will be interested in seeing how electric vehicles will make an impact. And the Kia cars were great. The EV6 has this green button that takes you from 0-60mph in 3.5 seconds (apparently faster than a Porsche, Ferrari, and Lamborghini), which was super fun on long stretches of country roads. There’s no shortage of bells and whistles, including a generous amount of charging stations, on-demand navigation, and who doesn’t love a moon roof? Also, Kia is the top ranked brand in J.D. Power’s Vehicle Dependability Study, so I guess if I’m going to put faith in a new piece of technology, it should hold up longer than an Apple product (10-year, 100,000 miles warranty, baby!).

If you do plan on doing an electric vehicle roadtrip, you’ll need to allow for up to 30 minutes of recharging. While charging stations are growing, they’re not exactly on every corner quite yet. Download the Better Route Planner app to map out your EV journey, which even allows you to choose your vehicle and remaining battery power to calculate how much juice you need to get there. Otherwise, the suspension was remarkably good, particularly to test drive it in such a mountainous area that requires pick up.

We stayed at the fabulous Eritage Resort, where each room had an fabulous view of the vineyards and Blue Mountains of Walla Walla, a working fireplace, deep basin tub (which I absolutely drank a glass of wine in), and L’Occitane products. The room was large enough to roll out my Mikkoa foldable carry-on travel yoga mat and do some virtual Pilates (I’m going to be starting them soon! Sign up here!).

Though, I didn’t get much time in downtown Walla Walla within everything packed into two days, I did take note that the weekdays are quite sleepy, the bar and shopping options along the main strip are robust (and charming!), and there was even a pretty cool record store. Because I consider GoodWill shops to be a local cultural attraction, I also managed to pick up an incredibly good leather jacket for only $10.

After that, it was on-the-go for the next 48-hours. Seattle took such good care of me, that I turned into a fussy bitch. I felt like Lady Gaga reciting her legendary “No sleep-bus-club-another club” running on empty. Even she just wants to take baths (and did a whole documentary about her own self-care), so I made sure to request one. Coming home from that, I was grateful to deprive myself of everything for Yom Kippur. My penance was doing nothing and apologizing to my own body.

Traveling on press trips is often very exhausting, even though it looks so exciting from the outside. After all, what you experience upon arrival may not be what you were sold, requiring pound the pavement, mingling with strangers, and taking risks. Even when accommodated in the best situation possible, it is still a very vulnerable thing entrusting your care to others, particularly in a post-COVID world (get your fall/winter vaccine). It’s a balance to submerse yourself in the magic realism of your own words while also taking note of what might rub someone the wrong way—including yourself. Even as a professional, I still find myself working through my emotional mindset and doing my best to maintain the kinds of practices and rituals that keep me functional. It sounds so unromantic, but travel does require an excessive amount of consumption and self-sacrifice in the pursuits of a good time. Still, for a motivated individual, it was a good challenge to see how much I could maximize in a short period of time and I fit in quite a bit!

I never made it to Bruce and Brandon’s graves, though I did find a small look out on a side street with the picture perfect botanical-framed view of Lake Union tucked away at Streissguth Gardens, and a great espresso soda at Espresso Vivace made by the eighth barista with long brown hair, bangs, and a nose ring, just like the ghost of my own punk rock past. I felt like a kid in a candy store at Elliott’s Oyster House, which had so many varieties of fresh oysters and the most gorgeous backdrop of the ferries rolling in and out of Elliott Bay. I suspect that Seattle may be lying to us about their notoriously depressing weather because I’ve only had the sunniest and nicest days on my visits here. Everyone is very nice here, and though I was a little surprised to see Dungeness crab as a year-round staple at Vendemmia, it was still stupidly good.

Later that evening, I rushed over to the Space Needle before it closed, which is probably the best time to visit. For whatever reason, I never realized the bottom is completely translucent, which is absolutely terrifying even though it is also very cool. If that’s not your speed, go to the Chihuly Gardens and Glass Bar that is safely close to the ground and also very cool. A little off the beaten trail is SODO Urbanworks, a multi-tenant property in South Seattle that’s home to nearly a dozen wine tasting rooms (including Sleight of Hand Cellars and Latta Wines), a seltzer tap room, and pizzeria. And if you’ve got an extra day, you can always throw in a trip to Woodinville Wine Country.

Seattle is a weed and craft beer city—albeit extremely quiet about the former. There aren’t any consumption lounges even though there are plenty of dispensaries. This is the official stance and rules about cannabis in Seattle and it should be the tourism board was not involved in this part of my independent research. Do with that what you will. Between past visits, I can co-sign Have a Heart, Lux Pot Shop, The Reef, and Dockside though I’d love to give a more dedicated spin next time around and think this deserves more attention. As for craft beer, there’s a lot of it. Everywhere, in fact. More than 70% of the nation’s hops grow in Yakima Valley. Stoup Brewing, Metier Brewing, and Reuben’s Brews are all stops worth adding to your list. The PNW does carbs very well, including beer, biscuits, and doughnuts.

Either way, it’s hard to have a bad time if you plan it right! I, for one, can’t wait to go back. Here are some of my choice picks below:

The Hit List

Walla Walla

Wineries to try: SJR/Delmas Vineyard, Valdemar Estates, SMAK Wines, Ita Winery, Brook & Bull, Time & Direction, Grosgrain Vineyards, SJR Delmas Wine, Abeja Winery, Gramercy Cellars, Devona, Balboa Winery, Sonder Wines, Valdemar Estates, and Massican from Maryam + Company Collab

Around town: Hot Poop Records, The Thief Fine Wine + Beer, FVC Gallery + Cafe, The Market by Andy’s, Walla Walla General Store

Seattle

Where to hang: Pike Place Market, Volunteer Park, Seattle Art Museum, Seattle Pinball Museum, Wing Luke Museum, Space Needle, Chihuly Glass + Garden, Museum of Pop Culture, Ballard Locks, Fremont Troll

Caffeine fix: Cherry Street, Pike Street Coffee, Victrola Coffee Roasters, Monorail Espresso, Seattle Coffee Works, Anchorhead, Caffe Ladro, Caffe Umbria, Espresso Vivace, Ghost Note, Fulcrum Coffee Roasters

To eat and drink: The Walrus and Carpenter, Elliott’s Oyster House, Ivar’s, Vendemmia, Autumn, Bar Sur Mer, FlintCreek Cattle Co., The Whale Wins, General Porpoise, Lady Yum’s, Fran’s Chocolates, Intrigue Chocolate Company, Sleight of Hand Cellars, Smith Tower Observatory Bar

MORE DISPATCHES

• Dispatch From Cold Spring, Pumpkin Spice Neutrality & Dune-Inspired Psychedelic Spice Coffee

• Take a stretch limo to New York's first legal weed harvest then watch William H. Macy play a ukelele

• The 14-hour journey of a Mission-style burrito from SF to NYC

• Cherry Pie, Cheese Curds, Saag Paneer and Delta-8 in Door County, Followed By 36 Hours in Chicago

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A couple weeks ago on the way to the Luxury Meets Cannabis Conference (LMCC)—the premier cannabis B2B industry event affectionately dubbed “The Fashion Week of Cannabis”—I received a text from a friend en route from Chicago inviting me out for coffee and a joint, not-so-casually hinting that he wanted to know where to find the good stuff.

“Our corporate weed here sucks!” he said. “Hopefully NYC is off to a better start :).”

Since legalizing recreational cannabis in 2019, Illinois added its adult-use cannabis social equity program—the Cannabis Regulation & Tax Act (CRTA) under the Department of Commerce and Economic Opportunity (DCEO)—one full year after the legislation went through rather than part of the initial process. Three years later, the state’s first and only social equity cannabis manufacturer, Baked Buds of the Near West Side, is only a month old, demonstrating just how ineffective this program has been.

As Illinois continues to rake in $1.5 billion annual cannabis sales, Black and Latino-majority owned dispensaries only make up just 1% of dispensaries, while 88% are majority white-owned by large multi-state operators. This is obvious any time you step foot into a dispensary and realize all of the options are limited to a handful of the same brands all under the same corporate umbrella, usually indoor grown.

And while many states that embraced the corporate weed revolution are facing similar issues, New York was supposed to be different. In addition to prioritizing reparative justice efforts for those impacted by the War on Drugs, the industry was also supposed to be a gateway for uplifting small, craft farmers who all seemed to be on board with pushing for sun grown cannabis and regenerative agriculture as part of their efforts to lead environmental stewardship.

Not only was this a feel-good initiative among the incredibly rare instances of aligned city-state collaboration, but also a market opportunity for differentiation: weed worth traveling for. Lo and behold, I was confronted with a traveler who wanted to drop money on New York weed.

Which made me wonder: New York City off to a good start? It’s a valid question given the confusing proliferation of gray market retail stores throughout the city as farmers and would-be state-mandated dispensary owners remain in the dark about when they’ll finally receive the green light to open after a lengthy two-year roll out.

As it stands, the extremely limited state-mandated facilities, such as Housing Works or Smacked LLC, currently exist as pop-ups, explaining why they often look like someone haphazardly threw up a cheap backdrop in an abandoned Gap store with just slightly more character than the sterile government-sanctioned dispensaries you’ll see across Canada—because they are.

Meanwhile, gray market shops have opened en masse—an estimated 1,400 shops, to be exact—with flashy, Instagram-worthy experiential designs, neon signs, cool wallpapers, and decent sound systems that typically allow customers to consume their untested and unlicensed California branded products on-premise right out in front, judgment-free. This has also created some tension from locals and tourists who feel inundated with incessant cannabis smoke at every turn.

So, as I headed into the conference just days after the last Pipe Dreams podcast where On The Revel co-founder and Cannabis Media Council president Lulu Tsui discussed the current state of affairs, wondering what I should tell my friend, none other than Florist Farms founder Karli Miller-Hornick jumped on social media with this bombshell:

“Shit went down last week. Basically, the government promised that they’d open 20 stores every month starting in January. So, there should be 100 licensed cannabis dispensaries open by now, however I think our total count right now is at nine and that’s causing a major crisis across the industry. Last week, the CAURD equity dispensaries coalition, which is a coalition of licensed equity owners, sent a letter to the Office of Cannabis Management, Cannabis Control Board, and DASNY (Dormitory Authority of the State of New York) saying that they are extremely frustrated with the way that the program is being rolled out.

“On the other side, the Cannabis Association also wrote a letter from the farmers and processors saying that farmers are going bankrupt, that their crops are going bad, and that we need an emergency act to get their products to market because they were promised 100 shelves and there are only nine. There are farmers who risked everything this year thinking that they were going to be able to sell their products in stores around the state, but unfortunately the OCM and DASNY have failed at bringing to market what they promised.

“The state was supposed to raise a $100 million fund and then they were supposed to secure the leases for the dispensaries for the equity partners, and then they were supposed to pay $1 million for the payout of those dispensaries. So far, none of those funds have been raised and the equity stores that have opened are not actually permanently open. They were rush opened as a pop-up and they’ll need to close back down in order to be built out. That causes a million issues. I mean, imagine having to start a business then having to hire and fire all your staff.

“The other thing is that DASNY hasn’t actually signed 100 leases. As far as we know, they’ve only signed like less than ten. They had a full year to sign these leases and get these stores ready, so they are just really behind. I don’t know what they’re doing over there, but they’re not doing their job. So we have no funds raised, we have no store leases signed, and we have no equity stores actually open, and it’s all on DASNY and OCM because they are holding the line there. They aren’t getting job done that they promised and now everybody throughout the entire industry in New York is getting hurt.

Coincidentally, the timing couldn’t be better because LMCC’s keynote speaker was Tremaine Wright, chairwoman of the New York State Cannabis Control Board and a former New York State Assembly member from the 56th district.

Obviously, those who are familiar with my work know that I’ve been a longtime champion of New York tourism. Not only do I have a book on it, but it was pretty clear that the potential for terroir-driven cannabis to become as much of a tourism attraction as Finger Lakes or Long Island wines and the endless list of artisan food and beverage brands that benefitted under New York’s Farm Bill law and carried the torch for Taste NY was going to be a huge economic driver. Why else would there be such an investment and pressure to get it right?

In fact, it was that very bill that inspired much of the ethos for participating cannabis farms—providing tax incentives to reduce the carbon footprint and do business in-state. With cannabis, in particular, it was also among the rare instances where both the city and state seemed equally invested in collaboration.

Given that MSOs have a not-so-good track record of wasting tremendous amounts of energy and water running massive indoor facilities, the support of craft farmers opting for sun grown and regenerative agricultural practices was a win for both sustainability and tourism. After all, the gimmick of seeing endless rows of cannabis plants in a warehouse is not the same experience as touching some grass in the sunshine after a tour from a dedicated farmer—especially when you start to take note of how much power it takes to run the whole operation.

Naturally, I wanted answers not only as a journalist, but as a consumer who feels invested in the success of craft cannabis. Sitting down with Bloomberg’s Tiffany Kary at LMCC, this is what Wright had to say:

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If you caught last week’s interview with House of Puff’s founder and CEO Kristina Lopez Adduci, you might have picked up on a little tidbit: New York just got its first weed museum, THC NYC a.k.a. The House of Cannabis.

Following in the footsteps of the Museum of Ice Cream, Artechhouse, and Museum of Illusions, The House of Cannabis is an experiential museum designed for sensory immersion centered around the plant we all know and love. Last Friday, I decided to check out the grand opening. Let’s go inside!

Popping an edible, I took a leisurely stroll to the five-story museum in SoHo where I was greeted with an enormous bong cementing the sprawling retail space that will eventually feature live glassblowing and host large-scale events, according to Tiffany Kary’s report on Bloomberg. The $15 million 10-year lease on the 30,000-square-foot building also marks one of the largest real estate deals of the year, so you can expect many hands contributing.

The retail at House of Cannabis is definitely among its best features, where you can stock up on cool papers from Field Trip, Blazy Susan, and House of Puff, as well as legendary standbys Abadie and OCB. There were also nice pieces from makers like Yew Yew, Edie Parker, Summerland and Studenglass, branded apparel and lifestyle accessories featured in their online store, plus a decent selection of niche snacks (though, the check out process between these two areas was messy, much to the consternation of both myself and the employees).

In fact, I was excited to see that most of the retail items featured at past Luxury Meets Cannabis Conferences finally in one place. I’d definitely rate this among the best museum gift shops in New York City next to the Museum of Sex, MoMa Design Store, and the Tenement Museum. Still, even though I had taken an edible, I can tell you right away that the weirdest thing about the museum wasn’t the cannabis.

So, what do you get? A lot of Instagram opportunities!

Each guided tour begins with ambitiously ushering guests up four flights of stairs (an underrated truly authentic New York experience), ascending towards a purple neon sign that says “Go Higher.” It actually kind of reminds me of this daily walk I used to have to take when I was studying at Charles University in Prague where I had to trek uphill for about 15 minutes while chain smoking Gauloises right after downing my requisite “between class beer” before hauling up another three of flights of stairs towards a giant cross at the base of the neo-Gothic basilica within the fortified castle of Vyšehrad—except maybe a little less oppressive. Maybe that point of reference doesn’t work for you, but trust me: it’s about as high to heaven as Dolly Parton’s hair.

Watching everyone huff and puff their way to the top, I couldn’t help but wonder if the property is ADA accessible (it is). And to the credit of the staff, they also checked in with all guests beforehand about light sensitivities and disabilities to help accommodate. That said, it’s recommended that you wear comfortable shoes because it’s a real shlep and a half.

After going through a hall of mirrors, we enter the Disorientation Room: an intimate all-white theater inspired by the artist James Turrell saturated in neon green light. As the program started, the room began to flash different colors before projecting a film blasting a collage of various pop culture media from Jimi Hendrix playing at Woodstock to Snoop Dogg, Martha, and the War on Drugs to illustrate the contemporary cultural impact of cannabis through what felt like a very, very expensive sound system. As a stoned person, this was undeniably enjoyable.

Next up: the tour group is whisked into The Euphorium, a dimly lit room anchored by an enormous turntable. Each guest is given a pair of high quality headphones and invited to lay on the turntable that spins around with a dazzling coordinated light show created by concert and fashion lighting designer, Nitemind’s Michael Potvin (Public Records, Paragon SavagexFenty, Saint Laurent, LaQuan Smith) while listening to a mash-up of weed hits from The Doors and Afroman to DRAM’s “Broccoli.”

Again, as a stoned person, this was great. Someone else on the tour told me they don’t use weed* but still thought it was very cool, so this attraction seems like a win for users and non-users alike. Actually, now that I think about it, I was surprised that I was the only stoned person on the tour, unless everyone was as good at hiding it as I am.

*I was surprised this person wasn’t a user considering they were shoving snacks into their face even before we entered the exhibit—a telltale sign of someone with uncontrollable munchies—but who am I to judge someone the need to feed? I also took a very good photo of them because that’s what this museum is for.

Still, for an experience that is all about substances, it was strangely lacking in that area. Instead, it’s all about style, which makes sense since the founders are Robert and Marcelle Frey—a Las Vegas nightlife impresario and retail designer. Robert tells Bloomberg, “We’re educational, we focus on music, art, film, science — you don’t see that in a nightclub” but the actual experience says differently. Given the complexity of science, politics, history and culture of this divisive plant, I was surprised to walk away learning very little about…anything, really. Then again, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never gone to Vegas in search of intellectual development.

While it claims to touch on 6,000 years of history, that seems to be generous for what you actually get. I didn’t quite understand why The House of Cannabis decided to chop the history of the plant in half from its 12,000-year global history rooted in Central Asia and expansion into Africa, Europe and the Americas; skipping over the presence in religious texts and Greco-Roman mythology; the foundation of hemp within colonialist America and seed sales among the Shakers; its cultural impact as part of pre-Prohibition; what cannabis culture means in different parts of the world; and most obviously: the absence of women, queer people, and medical users.

That last one was probably the worst omission that I hope they address and integrate within the permanent exhibition instead of some token rotating exhibit for Women’s History Month or Pride Month. The cannabis exhibit last year at the Yivo Institute also completely erased women, but at least whatever you got was undeniably well-researched and interesting.

You won’t learn about how the "Sticky Brownies" empire helped San Francisco's first LGBTQ+ medical patients during the AIDS crisis or why Charlotte Figi is so essential to the CBD movement. There’s nothing on Jack Herer or most of the players from his generation, nor is there anything on the tremendous hurdles Rick Simpson had to deal with in order to help others access plant medicine to heal themselves from cancer. In fact, you don’t really learn about anyone aside from the audio-visual cameos alluding to pop culture figures. But who cares when the playlist is so sick?

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Arguably, these could be future exhibits, but even from a pop culture perspective, there’s limited information about how these disparate elements of music, art, film, science and fashion are intertwined with cannabis. Nearly everything exists as a visual or audio cultural point of reference given that this is experiential in nature, somehow assuming the consumer knows everything and nothing at the same time. It dumbs down everything to make it approachable, yet somehow doesn’t even explain the most basic terminology and differences between marijuana, hemp, THC, or CBD.

The Grow Room, for example, provides a rare opportunity to wander though a cannabis cultivation lab and see actual plants throughout the growth process (including a glimpse of how much energy is wasted on indoor farming if you’re savvy enough to catch that), but doesn’t list the strains, science, or history behind some of the most important cultivars around the world. I asked the guy standing in the room for however many hours per day what was growing and he had no idea. Nor did the person leading the tour. That wasn’t a hardball question, and frankly it should have been listed. The Microverse showcases stunning microscopic photography from Kandid Kush—among the most incredible Instagram-worthy rooms that looks like a galactic princess fantasy film. But want to know what a trichrome actually is? You won’t find that information in the museum.

Even The Joint—a rotating gallery space “honoring artists and makers at the nexus of cannabis culture from the worlds of fashion, music and art”—features an exhibit on The Art of Sneakers. While this is surely a draw to the sneakerheads and everything looks cool, it just doesn’t really create a visible tie to cannabis. Instead, it just reinforces the capitalistic emptiness of brands and superficial status symbols. But I guess this is the culture we live in now.

The most information-heavy room in the museum is the Social Justice room. Partnering with the Drug Policy Alliance, visitors can learn about the impact of the War on Drugs that persists today with issues on family regulation, education, immigration, employment*, and housing, and touches on New York State’s Marijuana Regulation and Taxation Act (MRTA).

It also features powerful interviews with formerly incarcerated people across five large screens, directed by Christian Padron and produced by Scheme Engine, a prominent BIPOC owned agency, which I thought was actually a very thoughtful and meaningful way of presenting lived stories. Interestingly, the five interviews included three black women, one white man, and one black man who was the only one shielded for anonymity. Not sure why they did it that way, but it was noticeably among the few places highlighting women that were not used as visual props or selling me something.  

*Note: the museum worked with A Second U Foundation to source 20 percent of its workforce, who were formerly incarcerated.

After having more photos of myself taken throughout The Grow and Microverse, I entered the Olfactory: a space dedicated to demystifying terpenes. I liked this space a lot, as it offered an opportunity to identify different aromas and connect them to the sensory experience (e.g. the impact of pinene and myrcene on creativity). At the same time, you only kind of understand it. I did thoroughly enjoy the essential oil aromatherapy though.

To cap off the exhibit, rapper Curren$y contributed an interactive poem called Seed To Soul. I guess the idea is that your body is supposed to illuminate certain portions of the text, but the interaction prevents you from reading any of it. As a writer, I found this to be super frustrating and incoherent. Here’s what mine said:

/prod
wrist/
cold/sp
s reserve
ords. From the
/produces a mov
my wrist /to a role
i’m cold/spirits hig
is reserved/Fro
otes/produces
my wrist/to a
i’m cold/spiri
/this is reserved/
words. From the
produces a m
wrist/to a
i’m cold/s
is reserve

I was directed to back up really far with my arms extended so it would illuminate the whole thing, but that honestly didn’t offer any more clarity which is unfortunate because I had no idea what it was trying to say.

As I headed down alone, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to enter the second floor. The museum seemed a little understaffed and the door was closed, so I missed out on The Spot and Hypnodrome, an audio-visual experience developed by visual artist Benjamin Gordon that is supposed to make you feel the effects of cannabis without consuming it. But at that point, I could have taken or left it. I stocked up some papers and a prebiotic soda then bounced.

And that’s what you get. Was it fun? Sure. Was it fun enough for $45 after fees? Not really. Then again, plenty of people pay this much for other AI-related entertainment experiences that I would never waste my money on. And as New York’s legal landscape continues to grow, this is essentially the future: large-scale investments with a careless erasure of cultural history if it doesn’t fit within a marketable aesthetic. Honestly, I really wanted to love it and hoping they use this feedback to improve their programming. To that point, I would 100% go back to shop at the retail store but the bottom line is that if you’re looking for genuine education on cannabis, you’re not really going to find it here.

Coming soon to the Pipe Dreams newsletter and podcast:

• Consumption Lounge 420 Extravaganza!

• Chatting with Lex Corwin of Stone Road Farms

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Hey there,

Writing to you from bed in the West Village, where it is a balmy 55-degree day in February and Yo La Tengo has a new album. I am smoking a “Woods” sativa joint from a variety pack I picked up in San Francisco from craft producer A Golden State as the morning sun streams through my window. Below, you’ll find a few suggestions on things to do and consume.

The 55-degree day makes me uncomfortable. It’s a sunny day, but a false spring where you get the weather without the benefit of regenerative life. I kind of hate it, even though it’s nice. I love this new album, though. Give it a listen.

It’s been a frenetic month of time traveling. Most recently: San Francisco, where I took a carne asada Mission-style Super Burrito from Taqueria Cancun on an epic 14-hour journey across space and time, traveling thousands of miles and greeting two oceans before being reheated in an Instant Pot in New York City (I don’t have a microwave).

“Is that the good one?” I asked, after ordering the burrito. Pausing for a moment, he laughed and answered: “Yes.”

I had planned a perfect 48-hours in San Francisco, something I had mastered from years of reading New York Times travel pieces on 36-hours in various cities and even writing a few myself (during a time when you could still find a rare hot dog cart in Chicago, I guess). Among the essentials: considering what I’d want to eat somewhere between San Francisco and my home, a place with a fridge that would have been emptied out before I left.

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When most people think about traveling, they often forget about the nominal costs along the road or consider these inevitable expenditures, such as bevvies and snacks from road stops, airports, or corporate chains. While seeking out regional rarities and cool artisanal brands is part of the fun, snacks are not substantial option for sustaining a transcontinental flight. Also, it’s taking a huge leap of faith assuming any decent options will be there at all without considering the possibility of a layover or canceled flight. Since the pandemic, these options are typically less robust and more expensive.

So, I factored in the burrito: an authentic souvenir and solid hand-held behemoth that would be consumed somewhere between here and there. New York doesn’t have a great reputation for excellent Mexico food, be it authentic or some regional variation in cities with a rich history of multi-generational Mexican-Americans along the West Coast, Southwest and Chicago. It’s not that New York doesn’t have nice Mexican restaurants or even Mexican celebrity chefs—a more recent phenomenon—it just lacks the authenticity, flavor, and crave-ability of these other cities. Especially when it comes to more affordable taquerias.

There’s are several reasons for this, mostly due to migration patterns of specific Mexican communities and distribution of ingredients indigenous to these regional cuisines, with a fascinating history you can read about in food historian Jeffrey Pilcher’s book Planet Taco: A Global History of Mexican Food. But the struggle to find quality tortillas was immediately obvious when I moved from Chicago to New York, enough to make me start smuggling tortillas in my carry-on whenever I’d travel.

While it would be nice if Southern California mini-chain Summer Salt captured the essence of having a burrito in San Diego or L.A., it doesn’t. I’m not sure if it’s the sunshine or overall vibe of being in New York City, but it’s objectively inferior. Paying $2.50 for a side at Rosie’s or venturing way out into Queens takes almost the same amount of effort. Even the local Chipotle is usually dried out and bad. Getting a full Super Burrito made just right? That’s a treat. Nay, an honor. One that I would carry for 14 hours, because that is a Mission I believe in.

Considering I haven’t been to San Francisco since, maybe 2017 or 2018, I didn’t have a specific burrito place in mind. So, I decided to check in with the local experts. Bon Appetit recommends 8, while Eater has about 17. Serious Eats has a handful. Thrillist has another 10.

I started reading the list to my cousin, who is a chef in the Bay Area, as we drove back from Mendocino County on a scenic two-hour ride. Some of them had lines, some of them were far away, and mostly I didn’t want to shlep a burrito for 30-minutes directly uphill from the Castro to Twin Peaks. Mostly, I got the impression that a burrito would happen. Someone would help me find it, somewhere. At worst, I could always have one delivered. This is San Francisco, after all.

I decided to meet up with an old friend I hadn’t seen since high school who had been following my adventures around his city on Instagram. I relinquished bar-picking duties with the caveat that I needed to get a burrito on the way home. He suggested Trick Dog, an award-winning and casual-swanky cocktail bar in the Mission.

The current theme is a museum-inspired retrospective of the bar’s 10-year run, showcasing select cocktails alongside its impressive list of awards from World’s 50 Best Bars and “America’s Best Bar Team” from Tales of the Cocktail to the repeat finalist nominations from the James Beard Foundation. I settled on the Zodiac, a moody, black-tinged blend of Fords gin, Cynar, black sesame, pineapple, palo santo, and lemon, though I was tempted by the non-alcoholic Joy of Cocktails with fermented Bronx grapes, konbu (kelp) tea, young pinecones (!), and Martini Floreale.

I truly must applaud the hospitality industry for simultaneously addressing industry-wide substance abuse problems and its ongoing neglect of diverse non-drinking customers by getting creative with zero-octane options that rival their ABV-laced counterparts. These N/A options are lasting beyond gimmicky months like Dry January and finding a more permanent home on bar and restaurant menus, and inspiring books like Good Drinks from former Bon Appetit editor and James Beard Award nominated writer Julia Bainbridge.

After, we took a short walk to Taqueria Cancun, where I ordered the aforementioned burrito. I wondered what it felt like to be here during COVID and the slow sense of recovery as I experienced what felt like a painfully normal takeout moment. I could smell the beef grilling on the flattop, reminding me of so many years ago, stumbling into Mission taquerias I could no longer remember. It was the last memory I would have for a while, and I was grateful to have the foresight to clumsily tote it as a last meal back home.

Burritos are an underrated airplane snack. That said, I would probably never advise it outside of this newsletter because I no longer trust travelers thanks to TikTok. Is it the pandemic, or was everyone always this awful? Videos of people clipping their toenails, screaming babies during 29-hour flights prompting studies on whether child-free flights should exist, pulling shoes off, and flight attendants notifying everyone that everything you touch is disgusting.

Having a burrito on a flight is something you can only manage if you are a responsible human being with a reasonable emotional compass. Otherwise, stick to airplane pretzels and cans of seltzer. Also, get a seat far away from me, preferably not even on my flight.

Food writer Alicia Kennedy is currently teaching a class for Boston University on culinary tourism and publishing her lectures on her newsletter. Her focus seems to be more about the impact of colonialism from an economic and cultural lens, but I can’t help but think about what constitutes a modern traveler in a post-pandemic landscape and the ethical etiquette of advising tourism and travel habits. You would think basic manners are common sense, but this is simply not the case no matter where anyone travels.

Beyond that, there are functional considerations that almost never make it into print, including trivial ones, such as:

• “Will eating this burrito on a flight disturb the person next to me or leave a mess for the cleaning crew?”

• “How good is the 30-second rule if I drop some of it on the airplane floor?”

• “Is TSA going to deem this beautiful dulce de leche—that I was gifted from an avó in the mountains of the Amazonian rainforest where I engaged in supporting sustainable eco-tourism—is a liquid and confiscate it?”

• “Which of these Google answers re: the shelf-life of an unrefrigerated carne asada burrito can I safely trust?”

• “What if I didn’t go to the essential burrito shop on these 12 lists? Will people think I’m a hack who couldn’t find a good burrito if a map was tattooed on my forehead?”

By the time I got home, the burrito was mostly in-tact. The Instant Pot isn’t the best way to reheat a burrito—I’d probably do an air fryer or oven—but it wasn’t bad. Just a lingering reminder of what I left behind and why I keep going back again and again.

For my San Francisco recs, I’ll a guide coming soon in Different Leaf, as well as a few Consumption Lounge items below.

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From the consumption lounge

Here’s a rundown of my latest, greatest and most favorite things to consume:

DO

Valentine’s Day for FEMME Fatales and the people who love them

Hit up the Georgia Room inside the Freehand Hotel in Manhattan this Valentine’s Day to catch FEMME FATALE, A Bleeding Hearts Cabaret tribute to femme expression.

Hosted by emcee and New York City dating impresario Tiff Baira, this spectacular evening of the "vamp, camp, tramp" persuasion showcases a sensational line-up of wildly talented femmes that would make Caligula blush. Featuring performances by Chartruice, Junior Mintt, Anna Monoxide and Aila Oldenburg, doors open at 7 p.m. with an 8 p.m. show. Post-show, the party continues with DJ sets from Vibeiana and Getty Rene.

EAT

Frog Hollow Farm regenerative dried fruit Autumn Flame peaches

Among the best snacks I picked up in San Francisco? Dried fruit. Specifically, these peaches from Frog Hollow Farm. I’ve been a bit on a dried mango kick lately, but dried peaches definitely aren’t your everyday dried fruit option unless you’re blessed with a food dehydrator (something I have no room for, sadly). Aside from their intoxicatingly fragrant taste and soft, chewy texture, this brand helps upcycle food product that would otherwise go to waste—mostly making you wonder why that is so commonly the case. 

Frühling Nocciola

In the 1994 film, “It Could Happen To You,” there’s a scene where Yvonne, a waitress played by Bridget Fonda’s, is seen indulges in a large jar of macadamia nuts after receiving a $2 million tip from a City cop named Charlie (played by Nicolas Cage) who just won the lottery and promised to split the winnings with her. I remember this moment specifically because I loved how it was this earnestly decadent impulsive splurge, a small luxury from someone who never imaged coming into that kind of money. That’s how I felt when I first tasted this new gourmet trail mix from Brooklyn’s Frühling. At $36 for a four-pack of the 57-gram pouches, it’s certainly a pricey snack, but a luxurious one with dried strawberries, organic Persian figs, toasted coconut sugar cacao beans, and toasted Piemonte hazelnuts that certainly seem to justify the cost.

Schlacher & Sohne Styrian pumpkin seeds

The nutty, earthy and buttery cousin of pepitas, I first tried these a few months ago while on a wine hike through the Blue Mountain Reservation in Hudson Valley with the Austrian Wine board (if you haven’t done a wine hike, they’re great; just make sure to respect nature and take the bottle when you leave). The $14.99 price tag for an 8-ounce bag might seem hefty, but you only need a handful here and there, so a little goes a long way. Bonus: it pairs nicely with a light, acidic Grüner Veltliner.

CHILL

Valentine’s bon-bons from SASS Brooklyn

Good news: you don’t have to live in New York to get your hands on these delicious heart-shaped dark chocolates infused with wine and weed from Brooklyn-based edibles confectioner, SASS Brooklyn. The mixed two-pack features two flavors—blood orange prosecco and Bordeaux rose—in two different dosages (1:1 25mg and 50mg) that ship nationwide. But act fast: these are only around as a limited edition.

Properly Smacked in Manhattan

On the heels of Housing Works’ ribbon cutting New York’s newly minted legal landscape comes news of another dispensary in Greenwich Village called Smacked Village, conveniently within steps of Washington Square Park, the Comedy Cellar, and a handful of excellent snack shops. Among the first 150 CAURD retail licenses for individuals with marijuana-related criminal convictions, the opening menu includes a debut from Harney Brothers Cannabis, the offshoot sungrown cannabis brand from Harney & Sons fine teas (tip: the Paris blend is legendary), along with Fat Nell, Florist Farms, Ayrloom, Flower House, and Lobo. Leafly has a good deep-dive on this here.

READ

Good Drinks by Julia Bainbridge

Once upon a time, the best non-alcoholic option you could get a bar beyond the usual sodas and stale-tasting alcohol-free beers was bitters and soda. Today, we are blessed to live in a world with infinitely more creative options that are so tasty you don’t need a reason to eschew the liquor (not that you did before—societally, we need to cut off that kind of peer-pressure). Dry January (or Dry Mouth January, if you’re me) may be over, but there are plenty of reasons why you might not drink alcohol. Former Bon Appetit editor and James Beard Award nominee Julia Bainbridge released a new collection of bartender-approved alcohol-free cocktails to help you get started on your DIY alcohol-free bar.

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Hey everyone,

Have you ever done one of those baby foot peels? It’s this chemical peel for your feet that transforms them from mangled transportation limbs into stunning first-rate OnlyFans content—but only after undergoing a somewhat disgusting 5- to 14-day molting process. I’m on the other side of that now, and I think it was worth the journey to shed some dead skin towards a fresh 2023. Just a little self-care tip from yours truly.

By now, some of you may have heard the news that we’re deep in Mercury Retrograde. Also, New York City’s first legal dispensary opened on December 29—conveniently on an arbitrary and unmemorable date right before New Years, not so dissimilar to the state’s decision to greenlight cannabis legalization the day before April Fool’s. You know, because having a sense of humor does not come naturally to bureaucrats.

Anyway, you can go buy joints at a store in New York City now like many other cities and states that have been doing this for awhile now. Better late than never!

Cannabis market research company, BDSA, anticipates that New York will be the largest new market for legal cannabis in 2023 and the second largest contributor to sales growth through 2026, following Florida. Daily lines snaking down Broadway from 8th Street to Astor Place outside the newly minted Housing Works Cannabis Co. dispensary support this theory, which continues to generate foot traffic from persnickety, time-constrained New Yorkers despite being situated equidistant between the thriving open legacy markets in Washington Square Park and St. Marks, just steps from NYU and Cooper Union campuses.

Think about that for a second: New Yorkers are willing to wait in line for legal weed. Not me, I mean, but many other New Yorkers.

But we’re friends. So, I’m going to tell you how to skip that line. First, let’s talk about the dispensary and what to expect.

Area woman stakes out local New York dispensary

Naturally, some of you might be wondering what opening day was like. Oh wait, are you looking at me? Sorry, I have no idea. Let it be known that I did not go. Aside from the fact I don’t do lines (mostly out of respect for my ancestors), I was pretty stocked and not in a rush to compete with crowds or fight trad journalists for coverage like Zach Sokol of CashOnly420 (thanks for taking one for the team).

Recognizing that the opening was thrown together very last minute, I decided to go for the wait-and-see approach. The evening before opening, Housing Works’ Instagram Stories page showed the empty Gap storefront actively being transformed into a makeshift operation overnight that suggested this was not a soft opening, but asking for a miracle that truly took a village. If this initial rush was going to be anything like the debuts in Michigan or Illinois, there would predictably be high demand with long waits and questionable supply. Hence, I did not go.

So, I waited a few days. Took some strolls across the Village and jotted down notes. What time of day are people waiting in lines? Who is buying this newly legal weed? What does it really look like? How busy is the Donut Pub a block down?

Coincidentally, within days after the opening, I noticed a 200% increase* in weed smoke in my apartment building’s hallway (not from me, obviously, because I’m not an amateur). On one hand, it’s nice to see New Yorkers participating in this new system. Still, no plug? Tsk tsk.

*Stats collected from two floors that previously smelled like urine, trash, and Balsam candles

What was interesting to me—beyond the highly anticipated initial figures—is the demographics: they’re diverse. Old people, young people, middle-age people, all genders and races. There wasn’t one kind of “weed smoker” demographic because there isn’t. It appeals to a pretty broad audience, despite the chronic portrayal of what constitutes a subculture within pop culture.

Still, for those who were invested (and punished) for partaking in this newly government-approved consumer product good market, it’s understandable that the legacy market will continue to operate with loyal clientele until more social equity licenses become available and allow these individuals to run compliant businesses on the same level as the initial players. I would also expect that the wait time will reduce as more dispensaries open. (For the record, I just had an excellent bootleg Stewart’s root beer gummy labeled after the now-fallen gourmet grocer, Dean & Deluca—a memorably strong and tasty flavor that I have yet to see any legal operator add to their edibles repertoire).

Another side effect: Housing Works’ Google listing page was immediately slammed with bad user-generated reviews—mostly about opening day issues and fake complaints devaluing the quality of product that were most likely penned by people with competing interests. Not sure what everyone was expecting. It’s like rolling up to any major department store on Black Friday, shocked that all the door busters are gone and it’s taking longer than average for their understaffed store to check out, then turning to the internet to make yourself feel better. And yet, people do that, too.

Anyway, how did I skip out on this hassle and what is it like inside?

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Seems just like yesterday I was riding the Amtrak, blissed out on fall foliage and en route to New York State’s first legal cannabis harvest at Beak & Skiff just outside Syracuse. Turns out that was actually in October and we are now just weeks away from a new year, as I was helpfully reminded by Wendy Gillette, a television reporter for CBS News and Bloomberg, who I ran into at the launch party of actor William H. Macy’s alcohol brand, Woody Creek Distillers at Ploume—the ritzy subterranean lounge within the buzzy new NoMad spot, The Ivory Peacock. Sorry for the delay—I was living!

Macy, the actor you probably know from his performances in the Oscar-nominated Fargo and Emmy-nominated Shameless, is now in the liquor game as the company’s Chief Storytelling Officer (a great job title!). Playing us a ditty on his ukulele, this marked my second bizarre run-in with Wendy. The first being the aforementioned jaunt to Beak & Skiff, a bustling apple orchard, bakery and general store, distillery, cidery, concert venue, bed & breakfast, and now ambitious pioneer of New York’s newly minted legal cannabis space where we ended the evening doing an impromptu whiskey tasting in a stretch limo. And now this: William H. Macy on a ukulele, promoting whiskey (among other spirits).

Is it the weed and alcohol being weird, or just me? Wendy turned around her piece a lot faster than I did, which you can watch here:

So, how did I get from here to there?

Many moons ago, I was just minding my own business living in Chicago, unsuccessfully home brewing massive batches of craft beer and DIY hard cider I could never finish or seem to get rid of, when I started noticing it: heirloom ciders. Unlike the ubiquitous gross, overly saccharine, commercial-produced hard ciders, these were interesting and not to mention really good.

Until that point, most bars only carried Woodchuck or Magner’s, so the idea of distinguishing foreign heirloom apple varietals from Yakima Valley and Michigan leaning into sophisticated production methods like dry hopping or barrel-aging was kind of beyond my comprehension. Then, like magic, the cider industry blew up.

Fast forward a few years later to when I was living in Brooklyn, and it seemed like every other week there was some coveted new cider on tap. Riffing off classic European methods with a splash of American innovation, heritage cider opened the door to ice wines, pommeau, and non-apple and co-fermented fruit cider variations like pear, cherry, pineapple, and rose.

Today, they’re on the menus at celebrated restaurants, merit their own bars, statewide festivals, celebration weeks, and conferences, and now have designated professional certification programs churning out “pommeliers.” There are about 130 cideries presently in New York alone, up from maybe five or six at best a decade ago.

Even though cider makes up 2% of the overall beverage production in the U.S., there’s a unique undercurrent driving this new wave of production and its respective legislative challenges as a categorical wine that more frequently aligns with the craft beer industry than viticulture. That makes it kind of an outlier, in a sense—something that’s been back of my mind while envisioning the future legal cannabis landscape.

So, when a historic apple orchard and cider house space snags the honor of New York state’s first legal cannabis harvest and invites you to come check it out, you go.

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Once upon a time, an onion and dairy farmer met at the local farmer’s market and decided it was a good time to get into the apple business. Establishing Beak & Skiff Orchards in 1911, the two families began selling apples to small grocers, which continued until the 1970s when they opened a country store and market to the public.

Five generations later, they unveiled their line of 1911 Established hard ciders, followed by a distillery in 2010. And as the first 15 state-approved marijuana processor licenses, guests will soon be able to buy THC products alongside their line of CBD-related seltzers, balms, and supplements.

Today, visitors can pick apples on their sprawling campus, take part in cider and spirit tastings, stock up on apple doughnuts and other baked goods, watch a concert, or book an overnight stay on the property. Along with their growing line-up of craft beverages, their massive production facility serves other New York brands that use their bottle processing. Next up: they’re presently building the country’s largest 15,000-square-foot edibles production facility at Beak & Skiff Hemp House. Heirloom apple pipes, anyone?

Should you decide to embark on the journey, it’s about a 25-minute ride from the Syracuse train station to the orchards in Lafayette using Uber or Lyft. This tidbit will absolutely be front of mind when you want to leave and realize that between the spotty reception and sizable distance, there are significantly less drivers available to pick you up on a whim. Honestly, just book a car back as soon as you get there because when the sun goes down, it gets pretty chilly!

Despite its generous acreage, the property was completely mobbed with groups of friends and families decked out in red flannel, all taking advantage of the unusually warm October day to pick apples, taste ciders, and picnic. We drove to the edge of one of the countless rows of apple trees, picking Snapdragons and taking iPhone photos of the sweeping Finger Lakes views that would never do it justice.

At the distillery, I spotted shelves packed with honeymelon vodka and canned honeycrisp cocktails before making our way to the Hemp Research Facility where they now process CBD and THC cannabis products. As a sustainability-demanding millennial, I was delighted to learn that this first harvest was sungrown (get with the program, New Jersey), and I could still catch a glimpse of a few sticky plants lingering behind. The first strains include Slurricane, Mimosa, Biscotti, Jet Fuel Gelato, and Wedding Cake.

At the cider house, I met with head cider maker, Yann Fay. Growing up between Brittany, France and the U.S., he has the unique privilege of early exposure to cider in his household, but wouldn’t start working professionally until many years later.

Though cider is often lumped in with beer, its production method is much more aligned to wine—a clear connect for anyone who loves natural and pet nat wines. And in New York, there’s obviously a special relationship that’s rightfully earned its Big Apple moniker. Along with Cornell University’s historic apple breeding program that has engineered more than 250 apple, grape, berry and vegetable varieties, including three apple varieties in 2020, the state has its own definitive apple guide. Printed in 1905, Spencer Ambrose Beach’s The Apples of New York includes pages of painstakingly meticulous descriptions and gorgeous lithographs documenting and categorizing various apples cultivars in New York state that has remained a historical and cultural stalwart.

Not only is The Apples of New York an essential read for anyone who geeks out over heirloom apples, cider, food history, agriculture, or just your run-of-the-mill antiquarian, but it’s a reminder of the importance to document New York’s nascent cannabis landscape for future generations. (Something I would imagine someone at Cornell Hemp School of Integrative Plant Science must doing right now—or definitely should).

For now, Fay is doing both hard ciders and CBD seltzers—with more products in the works now that they have the legal license and forthcoming production facility. And Beak & Skiff proudly has the only Snapdragon hard cider under their wing.

After wandering through the orchards to pick apples (a clandestine spot to smoke out of them), I hit up the country store and left with three very large bags of goods. Unsuccessfully spending an hour trying to get an Uber or Lyft back to town, the team at Beak & Skiff linked me up with Wendy and a stretch limo, which carried us back to downtown Syracuse, all while taking bourbon swigs in the backseat. Having ridden in a stretch limo maybe twice in my life, this was a pretty exciting moment for me.

Realizing I knew nothing about Syracause, I made last minute call to hit up Saint Urban—a French- and Italian-inspired wine restaurant that has picked up Wine Spectator’s Best of Award of Excellence for three years in a row. Blown away by everything I ate, I found myself pleasantly surprised wishing I was staying a little longer before hopping the train the next morning back to New York City.

Here is a photo of the scallops. I wish I was eating that right now.

A few weeks later, New York’s Office of Cannabis Management announced the approval of the first 36 Conditional Adult Use Retail Dispensary License (CAURD) dispensaries that includes 28 justice-involved individuals and 8 nonprofit organizations. Which means that hopefully the rest of us will be able to get our hands on some genuine New York state flower in the coming year. And when you do, you can smoke it while watching William H. Macy play the ukulele while singing about getting laid.

Beak and Skiff
2708 Lords Hill Road (Rt. 80)
Lafayette, NY 13084

Saint Urban Wine Bar
124 Dell Street
Syracuse, NY 13210

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Hi friends—

The full moon in Aries, the releases of DUNE and The French Dispatch, and realization that it’s been 70-something degrees consistently in October as a result of climate change signal the sashay into brooding Scorpio season—a time when the veil between the spiritual and physical world are thin. Also: festive coffee drinks!

If you ignore the fact we’ve been living in a pandemic, it’s almost like it never happened. Then you think about it, and want to throw up all over again. It’s amazing how trauma works. Speaking of, just learned that all the Halloween movies are actually about intergenerational trauma. Timely.

Halloween is just around the corner, which felt like a good opportunity time to rack up some miles with a trip to Cold Spring, New York. Here’s the scene: Victorian witch houses brimming with pumpkins, cinnamon broomsticks, and Blair Witch tributes. Tap handles flowing with pumpkin- and apple-spiced everything (Hudson North Cider’s “Base Camp” tastes like actual apple pie filling in your mouth). Slightly lighter foot traffic than the seasonal Halloween madness in Salem, Grassachussetts or the Jack O’Lantern Blaze in Croton-On-Hudson, but just right for the pumpkin spice neutral crowd looking for something quick, easy, charming and seasonally appropriate. Grab your flannel sweater, we’re headed upstate!

Putnam County is among the smallest of the 10 counties that make up the Hudson Valley and Catskills that includes Cold Spring, a village within the town of Philipstown that borders the charming village of Nelsonville (which you’ve probably never heard of) and the hamlet of Garrison, home to the Garrison Art Center, Philipstown Depot Theater, Boscobel House and Gardens, the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival, as well as Manitoga/The Russel Wright Design Center.

It’s also among the easiest day trip destinations in Hudson Valley without a vehicle. Over the past few years, downtown Cold Spring has exploded with small businesses packed with tourists who taking the Seastreak boat ride from Jersey and Manhattan for the fall foliage tour, as well as the Metro-North. The train is particularly appealing for any procrastinating explorers who lack premeditation.

The sights: I popped into Split Rocks Books to sign the last copy they had on hand (more coming soon!), shopped for snacks (mushroom jerky and everything bagel mixed nuts!) at boutique arcade The Shoppes at Historic Palen's Drug Store, had a couple local ciders at barber-meets-bar Barber and Brew, gawked at the local cheeses at Cold Spring Cheese Shop, looked for tchotchkes at Pink Olive and Cold Spring General Store, avoided dropping all my money at Cold Spring Apothecary, and still made it back to the city at a reasonable hour with a decent hike in (West Point Foundry Preserve is an easy mile scenic woodland walk).

What lured me to Cold Spring was an overdue visit to post-war Italian art museum Magazzino, tucked away a few miles into town complete with a donkey ranch (random, I know). FWIW, Magazzino has a free shuttle and the museum is by donation, making this an affordable activity for those on a budget.

Artist Cristian Chironi was taking scenic drives in a scrappy vintage Fiat as part of his “New York Drive" series in tandem with the latest installation featuring Nivola’s “Sandscapes.”

The origin of "New York Drive" was inspired by Costantino Nivola, with whom Chironi shares a birthplace (the town of Orani in Sardinia, Italy). 

In the early 1980s, close to the end of the artist’s life, Nivola fell ill. He had been living in Springs, NY – where he and his wife, Ruth Guggenheim, had moved together in 1948 – and began to worry that the things he had left in his home in Tuscany would never make it back to his birthplace. Nivola decided to enlist the help of his nephew Daniele, who recalls the artist telling him to take as much as possible, including Nivola’s Fiat 127 – the same make and model as the car Chironi will use for the New York Drive performances. Daniele did his best to fill the car as much as possible – Nivola had left behind his own sculptures and paintings as well as works by artists such as Maria Lai, Giovanni Pintori, and Salvatore Fancello – and to return as many belongings as he could to his uncle’s hometown.

Chironi’s "New York Drive" pays tribute to this important journey while additionally celebrating the friendship and artistic collaborations between Nivola and the renowned architect, Le Corbusier.

It took over a month for Chironi to import the vintage Fiat via boat in Sardinia as part of his journey that included stops in Spring, the East End of Long Island, Manhattan and Cold Spring.

Sadly, I did not hotbox the Fiat, but the Fiat hotboxed itself due to the overheated engine. The car was so old that it required cooling off in between rides through the countryside, which included a curated soundtrack that has been building with the car’s journey in other places around the world.

Instead, I walked down a quiet side street like a teenager because weed might be legal in New York, but not every place has as much apathy quite like New York City.

Update: New York is officially selling cannabis flower now as part of its medical program that is still woefully behind other legal states.

That said, back in town, I encountered a pretty large motorcycle crew that reminded me about the fact that just across the Hudson River in Newburgh is the Motorcyclepedia Museum: an expansive two-level museum boasting some of the most unique and oldest motorcycles in the world. In downtown Newburgh, there’s a sister museum, the Velocipede Museum with a smaller collection of the predecessors including historic tricycles, bicycles, and velocipedes. To give you context of how different the vibes are in these super small and shape-shifting bordering bucolic towns, there is also a Curaleaf in Newburgh.

Check out more recs in my book “Easy Weekend Getaways in the Hudson Valley & Catskills.”

Pumpkin Spice Neutrality & Dune-Inspired Psychedelic Spice Coffee

For whatever reason, some people just go insane for the pumpkin spice shit this time of year. Objectively, I would call myself “pumpkin spice neutral” because I don’t really see Starbucks, specifically, laying claim to warming spices like cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, mace, cloves, all of which are native to Southeast Asian islands and eventually found in the cultural melting pot of culinary traditions of the Caribbean. The origins of pumpkin spice are part of the historic global spice trade dating back to the Dutch East India Company, but PSL branding is hammered into our collective consciousness as the beginning of the end.

Though Starbucks famously coined the iconic beverage resulting in more than a decade’s worth of basic bitch memes and infinite iterations, I find the drink is far too sweet and viscous for my tastes. Honestly, I’d rather just crush some pie and cider doughnuts than load up on a cup with a free pumps of simple syrup.

A healthier alternative to all of the above is pumpkin spice kombucha, which I recently discovered is superior in every way to pumpkin beer after impulsively purchasing a can of Sunset Harvest Pumpkin from Coastal Craft Kombucha, a maker in Long Island. Lower calories, less bloating, probiotic benefits and a fermented tea flavor that pairs much better with the meatiness of the pumpkin, plus all the right natural flavors: ginger, orange peel, cinnamon, nutmeg and clove.

Still, if I was going to give myself a seasonal tricky treat, I felt the glittering psychedelic spice from the recent premiere of Dune seemed more appealing than traditional festivities (a Hollywood blockbuster best viewed on the silver screen over the small screen at home). Old meets new in this psychedelic sci-fi, so I decided to make a cinnamon- and cardamom-infused coffee laced with tinctures as a psychotropic wake ‘n bake, best paired with infused gummy worms and the Hans Zimmer soundtrack if you want to really “do it up.” Dune is the kind of movie you don’t need to be stoned to watch, but it makes it just a tiny bit better. Just like this coffee recipe I’m about to share.

Cardamom coffee is popular throughout the Middle East, which felt like a more appropriate seasonal drink than the Starbucks version. Additionally, there are health benefits as a cancer-fighting natural diuretic that lowers blood pressure. Play around with your favorite spices and ingredients, like orange peel, ginger, nutmeg, clove, and dried apple, if you want to be a real “Spice Girl” about it with your morning and/or afternoon pick-me-up. Enjoy!

Recipe: Dune Psychedelic Spice Coffee

• 1 1/2 teaspoons whole cardamom seeds (Do not use pods. Also, check out Kalustyan’s, Dual Specialty or La Boite next time you’re in New York)

• 1 teaspoon cinnamon

• 1 cup dark-roast whole coffee beans (check out CBD coffee from Willie’s Reserve and Strava, which have lower acidity and combat the jitters)

• Hot water

• Tinctures (optional)

• Sugar, to taste (optional)

Grind coffee with cardamom seeds. Grate or sprinkle fresh cinnamon over your grounds in a filter. Brew to the specifications of your favorite method (I prefer a ceramic pourover like Hario). Lace with your favorite tinctures and sugar.

FAQ: "How Do I Make Weed More Equitable?”

Interested in helping to right the wrongs of the past towards a more equitable future for BIPOC and LGBTQIA+ forerunners? Check out these organizations;

• The Last Prisoner Project: Let’s get people out of jail for minor cannabis crimes and help reform the War on Drugs.

• Cage Free Cannabis: Make sure your weed is doing some good to the environment, economy and repairing communities.

• Cannaclusive: Calling for racial justice in corporate cannabis.

• Women Grow: Creating safe, inclusive pathways for women in weed.

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Share Pipe Dreams By Carly Fisher