High Time for a Better Cannabis Culture
Hall of Flowers shows what the industry could be if it follows hospitality’s lead and doesn’t sell out the soul of the plant.
Last September, I had the pleasure and honor of attending the first-ever consumer-facing Hall of Flowers event—a landmark moment for the B2B cannabis trade show long known as the place to be for insiders. Historically hosted in Santa Rosa (NorCal) and Ventura (SoCal), Hall of Flowers took a major step by opening its doors to the public, signaling its shift from niche to near-mainstream.
Nearly a decade after California’s Prop 64 opened the doors to adult-use cannabis—and a few years since New York and Canada followed suit—the event has already expanded to Toronto and will debut in New York City this October.
The geographic expansion cements the normalization of a complex subculture as it transforms into a multi-billion-dollar mainstream industry. It’s a shift that’s pushing legislators to acknowledge broad consumer demand—not to mention the tax revenue it generates. But it also presents a rare opportunity to think beyond policy and profit, and reconsider how we educate the public about what cannabis consumption actually means—beyond just making bong hits a little smoother.
From experienced smokers to first-timers, today’s cannabis landscape demands that we think critically about product quality, quantity, sourcing, and experience. And yet, there’s little middle ground: cannabis trade publications speak to insiders, lifestyle publications avoid the topic altogether, and mainstream platforms often can’t (or won’t) touch it. That’s part of why I make a point to integrate my POV here whenever I can.
Until last year, Hall of Flowers was more of an aspirational fantasy—one of those stoner bucket list items I figured I’d eventually cross off, but felt weirdly cautious about. Mixing business with pleasure in the weed world doesn’t always go well (just ask anyone who’s made it to the chorizo fest at Spannabis). It’s one thing to have a smoke with your legacy dealer after a hand-off; it’s another to kill your buzz by prolonging a conversation with a boring suit where the only thing you have in common is weed and barely that.
That said, I’d had a banner year and was invited by Sonoma Hills Farm to join a panel on cannabis hospitality and tourism. Not only was it a chance to plug my Wine Enthusiast piece on Northern California’s cannatourism trail, but it was a long-overdue moment to meet the West Coast trailblazers shaping and elevating the future of the plant experience. Can’t really turn that down.
As someone who’s long worked at the intersection of lifestyle and cannabis, this felt natural—but also meaningful. California holds a place in my heart, not just for the family I have out West, but for the hospitality family I came to know, learn from, and love as a journalist. That family has grown to include cannabis farmers, makers, advocates, and experts. Sometimes, they even overlap all three.
My foodservice career gave me unforgettable experiences and countless educational opportunities: seminars at the Culinary Institute of America, backroad winery visits arranged with a handshake, meals at restaurants that strive to be known for how well they take care of people. That’s the kind of sparkle that draws many into hospitality—even if the work behind it is grueling to enjoy the fruits of their labor.
Some of that was business. But a lot of it was personal. These weren’t just business contacts—they were relationships built on mutual respect, shared values, and a love for creating something meaningful. Sure, some were toxic or problematic. But there was still a sense that what we were doing mattered. And a lot of these folks used cannabis, too.
One reason I took the gig as the edibles columnist for Snoop Dogg’s Merry Jane was to cover professionals who brought real craft to the space. No disrespect to the original pot brownie and Rice Krispie pioneers, but downing edibles wasn’t always a great experience. Between the grassy flavor and unpredictable dosage, it often felt like a setup for the worst night of your life.
Medical users may need a heavy dose, but for recreational users, edibles can be a liability. In fact, I swore off edibles for years until a friend turned me on to a local maker called the Green Fairy. Her glitter-covered mint dark chocolate truffles—basically a luxe take on Andes mints—were a revelation, earning deserved recognition in Vogue. In 2019, she let me profile her and I learned she was making her own compound butters in a witchy East Village kitchen. There was a lot of intention there—something I recognized from the chefs and artisans I’d worked with who spent years testing ingredients and refining their techniques.
California, of course, was already miles ahead. Makers like Kristi Palmer of Kiva, Stephanie Hua of Mellows, and Rachel King of Kaneh Co. were leading a Renaissance. Women were driving the evolution, elevating a male-dominated industry that had long been obsessed with the bottom line rather than the finer points, and inspiring television shows like Bong Appetit and hit trend pieces in Marie Claire about the rise of stiletto stoners. Finally, something that spoke to me.
As cannabis culture shifted, I started looking to people reimagining its future—especially those blending cannabis with hospitality. Bartenders know when to cut someone off, but could they handle the service flow of a dosed dinner? Meanwhile, most cannabis pros know their flower but couldn’t plate a cohesive meal if their lives depended on it. Both of these experiences are often siloed and consumers suffer because of it.
Shared education only strengthens cannabis, hospitality, and tourism—offering a safer, more welcoming way for people to learn their limits and preferences. Cannabis hospitality doesn’t need lower its expectations or efforts from any bar or restaurant experience. Trade schools and forward-thinking communities are starting to see this by embracing professional certification programs and slowly lifting the red tape for those with a solid business plan that adds local value. The alternative is what we already have: a soulless, laissez-faire cash grab.
That vision was coming into focus. And then, the pandemic hit.
I watched the restaurant industry collapse overnight from my trauma-laced perch in NYC. I wiped down takeout boxes with hand sanitizer, walked past refrigerated trucks storing bodies, and clapped from my apartment window at 7 p.m. as I watched death counts rise to 23,000 in three months. And I was gaslit by the rest of the country into thinking it wasn’t real. That’s just the world now. My first post-lockdown meal was take-out from Pies ‘n’ Thighs eaten in a car passenger seat, which I deemed “pretty good” as a possible last meal.
While others fled the city or flaunted cheap lockdown flights, I stayed. I didn’t have a backup plan. No job. No partner. No parental lifeline. I was $12K in debt with a ruined credit score after finishing a travel book that hit the market just as everything shut down. So I begged old editors for assignments. Anything.
I really wanted to check in on the mental health of these employees, but instead I was asked to pay attention to service touches like QR coded plastic menus and ways that restaurant owners were rising to the challenge and adapting to meet the customer experience. In Tucson or Iowa City, that was less of an issue, but we were dissociating en masse in New York City. After one last service story, I parted ways with the publication. That may have been my final restaurant article.
Divorcing myself from an industry I covered for nearly two decades nearly broke me. You don’t just lose all the knowledge embedded in your body from tastings, interviews, and years of reporting. But you do lose your footing. And while New York’s cannabis market had just gone legal, the publications I could’ve pitched were folding. I didn’t know where I fit anymore.
The pandemic shook everything, but it also made space for change. Some quietly admit they loved lockdown for the break from hustle culture it gave them. And from the ashes, new seeds are sprouting—even among a field of GMOs. That’s not unique to cannabis. Food and hospitality professionals have fought this uphill battle for years.
The people I respected most weren’t just technically skilled. They had purpose, passion, and a willingness to care. That’s what made them inspiring. These are the people who see the world differently and continue to try, even when all the odds seem stacked against them.
Even now, places like Sonoma Hills Farm—helmed by former French Laundry gardener Aaron Keefer who brings regenerative farming and terroir to craft cannabis—get pushback from dispensaries who say consumers don’t care and their products don’t sell. I hate that. That’s not a product problem, it’s an education and ethics problem. And it’s why small, conscious producers in emerging markets need more support—not less.
Hall of Flowers is a powerful reminder of what’s possible. Yes, there were major sponsors and mass-market players. But it was also a moment to celebrate legacy growers from the POET (Producers of the Emerald Triangle), thank Fog City Farms for turning me onto their Santa Cruz Dream, and spend a night at The Madrones in Anderson Valley where I could shop on-site at The Bohemian Chemist for rare heirloom strains.
Doing the right thing isn’t easy. That’s why storytelling matters. For me, it’s about pushing toward a more thoughtful, ethical, and hospitality-rooted future. And no one understands that better than Californians—a place so ahead on sustainability it became a punchline: granola.
As Hall of Flowers heads to New York, I’m excited to see how our young market grows. I’m rooting for the farmers, makers, dispensaries, and small businesses who are carving new paths—and pushing us all toward something better. Not just about the cannabis industry, but about how we can create more intentional, ethical, and inspiring experiences around it—ones that uplift the culture-shapers who believe in something deeper. This is the future I want to help tell stories about.
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He tastes.
I see.
He remembers.
I dissolve.
https://thehiddenclinic.substack.com/p/the-one-who-tastes-the-smoke