Leave The Shards To Stained Glass Makers
My expectations were high, only to be dashed after several hours of asking myself, “Am I high yet? Wait, am I high now?"
I come from a long line of type 2 diabetics. Folks in my family have a deep love of sugar, and though diabetes is certainly a threat for me, it still lies in the future, which means as of press time I am free to eat as many bags of sugar as I please.
That said, it was the sugar monster dwelling in my subconscious that got a full-strength stoner boner at my first whiff of Lunchbox Alchemy’s Grape Shrapnel Hard Candy. At first glance, these glassy, amethyst candies sent lush memories of Bubblicious gum bursting to the forefront of my mind. The fragrant hallmark of corner store candy—fruity, synthetic bubblegum—got my attention, but it was the bottom note of fresh cannabis flower that sold me on the product. At first, anyway.
“These candies made a promise to my mouth that their contents could not deliver.”
I was initially stoked on this candy because it had (as mentioned above) the distinct flavors of childhood frivolity combined with the benefits of weed-laden adulthood. My first impression was so great I was compelled to ask myself if this was maybe the best tasting cannabis hard candy I’d ever eaten. My expectations were high, only to be dashed after several hours of asking myself, “Am I high yet? Wait, am I high now? Hold on... am I... wait, no. No I am definitely not high. Wait, am I high yet?” That shit is obnoxious and exhausting.
Lunchbox Alchemy’s Grape Shrapnel Candy promised “Love at First Bite.” First of all, this candy is hard as hell. What metal mouth maniac just bites into a chunk of hard candy? I am a delicate lady who prefers to let hard candy melt at its leisure. Second of all, “love” is a strong word. These candies may have given me a stoner boner, but baby, that right there is just lust, superficial and ephemeral lust. These candies made a promise to my mouth that their contents could not deliver.
Dosing proved to be as asinine as the slogan. FYI, shrapnel candies are just hammered shards and bits from sheets of melted and cooled hard candy. This leaves you with a product that has no uniformity. One piece may be the size of your thumbnail and another the size of the head of a pin. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the dosing. In fact, the entire concept feels at best like a bad gimmick and at worst, just plain lazy.
Lunchbox Alchemy explains shrapnel candy as “large sheets resembling stained glass, smashed, shattered and broken into bite-sized pieces and conveniently packaged into a resealable pouch.” As the company adds, “On the back of each pouch is our Shrap – O – Meter, a handy guide to help you measure out your desired serving and dose.” There is very little about this description that appeals to me. Sifting through shards of glass candy sounds tedious. Having to do math in order to calculate a perfect high sounds laborious. Measuring mismatched candy pieces with disparate amounts of THC? Well, that just sounds irritating as hell. I might be able to disregard this nonsense if the product made me feel anything close to a buzz. It did not.
“This product failed at its most essential duty: getting me high.”
When choosing an edible, I will always opt for a uniform product with clear, easy to understand dosages. I don’t want to assemble a stained glass portrait every time I want to get high on candy. And I certainly don’t want to try to assign values to these misshaped shards in order to achieve a mellow buzz. Honestly, if I’m eating grape-flavored candy to get high, do I seem like the type of person who does weed math for fun? Because—spoiler alert—I am not. You might be into weed maths, but I am very much not.
The bottom line is that even if you love the whole glass shard, weed math, corner store sugar rush experience promised by Lunchbox Alchemy’s Grape Shrapnel candy, this product failed at its most essential duty: getting me high. And for that reason, I cannot recommend it to anyone.