Blueberry Muffin

It opens with blueberry: juicy, with just enough tartness to get your mouth watering. The crumb follows close behind: golden dough, warm butter, a vanilla that smooths every edge. On the finish, the flower takes its turf back: earth, light pepper, dried herbs and a touch of chamomile, courtesy of bisabolol. Myrcene, caryophyllene and limonene split the rest of the recipe. In a vaporizer, the blueberry pushes right to the front. The team's self-appointed pastry chef says it needs icing sugar. We've moved him to another department.

Barely crack the bag open and the room smells like a muffin tin just out of the oven: blueberries bursting in the batter, golden crust, warm vanilla. Then the plant steps forward: forest floor, fresh soil, cut hay, a pinch of spice. The scent settles in within seconds and clings to your fingers long after. The delivery guy asked when the next batch comes out. We didn't have the heart to answer.

Lying on its side, the bud tapers to a point on the left and rises into a dome on the right: we were expecting a muffin; it's more of a madeleine, hump included. Olive green marbled with deep green, it almost disappears under rust-orange pistils curled like threads of caramel. The trichomes lay a fine frost over it, from tip to base. In macro, a different scene: amber pistils, milky-white resin heads, small cream-coloured leaves and almost black-green hollows. Hand-trimmed, firm under the finger. It's very photogenic. The team, much less so.