There are dozens of shows that flirt with weed. Thirteen are worth actually watching high, and four more deserve an honorable mention. The difference is whether cannabis is part of the texture, the plot, the worldview, or just a punchline somebody filmed once and walked away from. After a decade of rewatching the canon, my top three watch-first picks are Weeds for the long-haul binge, High Maintenance for the slow-burn vignette mood, and Atlanta for the show that takes the smoke seriously enough to make it part of an argument.
A quick note on selection. I’m not interested in shows where one character mentioned a dispensary in season four. The thirteen below either build cannabis into their premise or treat it as a recurring presence that shapes character behavior across multiple seasons. Some are comedies. One is a true-crime docuseries about a black-market grow region in California. Another is a cooking competition that aired on April 20. Range matters more than orthodoxy.
Streaming homes shift. Every “where to watch” was checked in May 2026 and linked to the current primary streamer for each title. If a show has moved platforms since, the streamer guide further down is the fastest place to recheck.
Weeds (2005-2012)
Weeds is the show that taught American TV cannabis could carry a half-hour. Mary-Louise Parker plays Nancy Botwin, a suburban widow in the fictional Agrestic, California, who starts dealing weed to keep her family afloat after her husband drops dead on a morning jog. Across eight seasons on Showtime, now streaming on Peacock, Nancy escalates from soccer-mom dime bags to running a cartel-adjacent grow operation, faking her own death, and starting over in Copenhagen. The premise sounds absurd on paper. Showrunner Jenji Kohan made it work for almost a decade.
What lands when you watch high is the early-season register: the cul-de-sac satire, the manicured lawns, the way Nancy’s iced coffee becomes a recurring character. Kohan layered class commentary into the cannabis plot from episode one, and you feel it more clearly with a little distance from sober irritation. The scenes where Nancy negotiates with her supplier Heylia James in the season-one Agrestic kitchen are still some of the most well-written cannabis-economy dialogue ever produced for television.
First-time viewers should start with episodes one through three of season one. Anyone who bounces off the suburb satire will bounce off the show. The drop-off comes around season five, when the family torches Agrestic and Weeds abandons its premise. Plenty of fans tap out there. Watching the first four seasons twice beats pushing through the back half once.
Weeds is still the genre’s load-bearing wall. Every show below owes it something, even when they’re trying to be its opposite.
High Maintenance (2016-2020)
Ben Sinclair’s character is named only “The Guy.” He rides a bicycle through Brooklyn delivering weed to a different set of strangers each episode, and the show is about the strangers, not about him. High Maintenance started as a Vimeo web series in 2012, got picked up by HBO in 2016, and ran for four seasons of half-hour vignettes now streaming on HBO Max. It is the closest thing American television has produced to a cannabis short-story collection.
Rhythm is what makes it the best high-watch on the list. Most episodes split into two or three character studies, each running ten or twelve minutes. You can tap out between vignettes without losing thread, which means it forgives the kind of attention you actually have when you’re stoned. The dialogue is patient. Framing is patient. Even the way characters pack and pass is unhurried in a way that no other show on TV gets right.
The cannabis is real in a craft-detail sense. Sinclair, who created the show with Katja Blichfeld, uses real bud as a prop, and grinder shots, joint-rolling close-ups, and the way characters first take a hit all read as observed, not staged. Compare it to the rolled-paper towel “joints” in most network comedies and the difference is obvious.
Three standout episodes carry the project on their own. “Grandpa” in season one, told entirely from a dog’s point of view, sounds like a stunt and isn’t. “Globo” in season two follows an out-of-towner attending a friend’s funeral. “Genghis” in season three sits with a closeted Hasidic man buying weed for the first time. Any of those as a one-off will tell you whether the show is for you.
High Maintenance is the only show here designed from the ground up to be watched while smoking. Anyone new to high-TV should start with it.
Broad City (2014-2019)
Broad City began life as a 2009 web series of two New York twenty-somethings doing dumb things together, then graduated to Comedy Central in 2014 with Amy Poehler producing. Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer play heightened versions of themselves: broke, devoted to each other, and recreationally cheerful about smoking weed in unlikely places. Five seasons aired, streaming on Paramount+ and Comedy Central’s site, before they wrapped in 2019.
Broad City qualifies as a stoner show in the deepest sense because weed isn’t a plot device. It’s a baseline mood. Cannabis is the texture inside which Abbi and Ilana decide to attend a dog wedding in Central Park, hide a handful of buds in unlikely body cavities at airport security, deliver office furniture across Manhattan, or wander into Whole Foods convinced everyone there is staring. As Leafly put it in their roundup of Broad City’s best cannabis moments, the show treats getting high as the ordinary background of being alive in your twenties in New York, which is not a frame TV had really committed to before.
The episode to start with is season one, episode two, “Pussy Weed,” in which Abbi tries to buy weed for herself “like a grown woman” while Ilana attempts taxes. It’s both shows in miniature: the friendship dynamic, the New York-specific anxieties, and a casualness about cannabis that still feels rare in 2026.
Some viewers tap out on the energy. Ilana’s volume is one note, and anyone hoping for melancholy or restraint should look elsewhere. Watched high, though, the volume reads as accuracy. Anyone who has been twenty-three and stoned with their best friend in a Whole Foods knows the noise level is the point.
Broad City is the buddy-comedy entry on the list, and the most rewatchable one.
Trailer Park Boys (2001-present)
If Weeds is the suburb show, Trailer Park Boys is its trailer-park inverse. Mike Clattenburg’s Canadian mockumentary follows Ricky, Julian, and Bubbles, three lifelong friends in fictional Sunnyvale Trailer Park outside Halifax, Nova Scotia, as they cycle in and out of jail for petty crimes and ambitious cannabis grow operations. The original Showcase run produced seven seasons before Netflix picked the show up in 2014 and produced four more, plus a slate of specials and animated spinoffs.
Ricky, played by Robb Wells, is the show’s cannabis savant. The Trailer Park Wiki summarizes him bluntly: “a near-savant at growing marijuana, as his dope is considered by most people in the trailer park to be the very best.” That isn’t fan exaggeration. By the back half of the original run, the cast partnered with a Canadian licensed producer, OrganiGram, to put real Trailer Park Boys cannabis on dispensary shelves once Canada legalized in 2018. The product line was so on-brand that it might as well have been part of the show’s plot continuity.
What lands when you’re high is the texture: handheld camera, vape-trick smoke breaks in Bubbles’s shed, Ricky’s malapropisms (“worst-case Ontario,” “get two birds stoned at once”) that appear in every script as if they were rehearsed. The series knows it is a low-budget mockumentary and never pretends otherwise, which is part of why the cannabis material reads as observed rather than performed.
Season three is the right entry point. Seasons one and two are scratchy and rough, and the show finds its register around the grow-op subplot in season three. The post-Netflix seasons lean heavily on cameos and reach for plot in ways the original run didn’t need to, which is where most viewers tap out.
Trailer Park Boys is the only show on this list whose actual product became a real consumer product. Bubbles would have been proud.
Atlanta (2016-2022)
Atlanta is the show I’d hand to anyone who thinks cannabis television has to be a comedy. Donald Glover’s FX series, streaming on Hulu, follows Earn, a Princeton dropout managing his cousin’s rap career in Atlanta, and across four seasons it becomes one of the strangest, sharpest things broadcast on cable in the last decade. Cannabis is in nearly every scene Glover’s character is in, which Glover acknowledged on the record. “I work better high,” he told interviewers, and admitted to sneaking real weed onto set.
The reason Atlanta belongs on a stoner list and not just a “good TV” list is that the show actually thinks about cannabis. In a 2016 New Yorker interview, Glover said the characters smoke because “they have PTSD, every Black person does.” That’s a thesis, not a vibe. Atlanta treats cannabis as a stress-management tool inside a specific lived context, which is closer to how a lot of regular smokers actually use it than the wake-and-bake gag treatment most TV defaults to.
The vignette episodes are where the show flips into surrealism: “Teddy Perkins” in season two, “FUBU” in the same run, “Three Slaps” in season three. Watched stoned, those episodes go from impressive to genuinely strange, in a productive way. Pacing is slow on purpose. Framing is deliberately disorienting. You’ll catch references that fly past you sober.
Start with the pilot, then “B.A.N.” (S1E7), then “Teddy Perkins” (S2E6) if you want to see how far the show is willing to go. Atlanta treats cannabis as adult life rather than as a punchline, and it rewards anyone who assumes the audience is paying attention.
That ’70s Show (1998-2006)
The Circle is the most influential cannabis gag in network TV history. Eric Forman’s basement, six teenagers, a coffee table, and a slow-rotating pan that catches each of them mid-laugh in a thick wash of strawberry-scented stage smoke. They never show the joint. Nobody had to. As Screen Rant documented in their retrospective on the Circle, the bit was specifically designed to dodge Fox’s censors by implying everything and depicting nothing, and it became the defining stoner moment of late-90s broadcast comedy.
That ’70s Show ran for eight seasons on Fox and is now streaming on Peacock. The cannabis content extends well beyond the Circle, although the Circle is the franchise: roach clip jokes, bong references, Eric’s mom’s casserole-induced paranoia. Suburban-Wisconsin nostalgia and the warmth of the friend group both read better stoned than sober.
The show is a 2026 watch-high pick for generational reasons. If you’re old enough to have first seen it on Fox, you’re now old enough to find Red Forman funnier than Eric. Anyone who grew up streaming it gets a different reward: the period costumes and basement-paneling color palette do the visual work that high-watching pays back. Either way, the laugh track is gentle, the plots are low-stakes, and the show doesn’t ask you to remember anything between episodes.
Skip the pilot and start with season two, when the cast finds its rhythm and the Circle becomes a recurring set piece. Season seven is when Topher Grace and Ashton Kutcher reduced their episode count, and the show never recovered.
That ’70s Show is the comfort-food choice on this list. Put it on when thinking is the enemy.
Disjointed (2017-2018)
Disjointed is the only sitcom I know of built entirely inside a legal cannabis dispensary. Kathy Bates plays Ruth Whitefeather Feldman, a lifelong activist who finally got to open a Los Angeles shop after legalization, and the supporting cast covers her son Travis, on-site grower Pete, and a rotating crew of budtenders. Twenty episodes ran on Netflix across two batches in 2017 and 2018 before Netflix declined to renew, Deadline reported in February 2018.
Critics were rough on it. Variety’s original review called the writing “a series of weed jokes in search of a sitcom.” Rotten Tomatoes ended at 19% positive. None of that has stopped the show from being interesting to watch high, which is mostly a function of the cast: Bates is committed in a way the script doesn’t always deserve, and the dispensary set was modeled on actual MedMen and Cookies retail layouts that anyone who has been into a California dispensary will recognize immediately.
The show gets the budtender-as-character archetype right, along with the customer-service awkwardness of someone discovering edibles for the first time and a recurring trippy animated interlude during the grower’s smoke breaks that genuinely lands when you’re high. Where it falls down is the laugh track. Chuck Lorre’s house style is wrong for a half-hour about cannabis culture, and Disjointed is at war with itself about whether it wants to be Mike & Molly with weed or something stranger.
Begin with episode one, then skip to episode seven if the studio-audience format isn’t working. Disjointed is a flawed, watchable curiosity. Worth your time once, but not a rewatch.
Workaholics (2011-2017)
Three best friends in a single house in Rancho Cucamonga, California, working the same telemarketing cubicle by day, smoking on the same roof by night. Workaholics aired on Comedy Central for seven seasons starring Blake Anderson, Adam DeVine, and Anders Holm, who created the show together and wrote much of it from their actual shared house, streaming on Paramount+ and Hulu.
Cannabis content is foundational, not decorative. The cast confirmed in a 2014 Merry Jane interview that they actually smoked on the rooftop set during shooting, which is unusual for a basic-cable comedy at that scale and explains why the energy of those scenes feels different from anything Comedy Central produced before or after. Anyone who has spent a real evening with high friends will recognize the loose, riffing quality of the cubicle and rooftop scenes, which read as actual high friends rather than actors performing high.
Start with season one, episode three, “Office Campout,” in which the three of them pitch a tent in their cubicle to avoid going home. Watched stoned, the whole half-hour is one extended bit about the kind of decision that only makes sense when you’re high. The episode “Weed the People” in season two leans even harder into the cannabis material if you want a more explicit entry point.
Despite the comparison, Workaholics differs from Trailer Park Boys in one key way: it is unapologetically dumb. Ricky and Bubbles are competent in their own corner of the world. Adam, Blake, and Ders are incompetent in every direction. That asymmetry produces a different type of humor and a different type of high-watch experience. Workaholics is what you put on when you want to feel smart by comparison.
The show is peak rooftop-couch energy. It’s the rare stoner-friend show where you actually believe the cast were friends first.
The Eric Andre Show (2012-present)
Eric Andre’s Adult Swim show is six and a half seasons of late-night talk-show parody, in which the host destroys his own set, ambushes celebrities, and runs the kind of man-on-the-street segments that get him arrested or hospitalized at predictable intervals. Streaming on Adult Swim’s site and HBO Max, the show won a Primetime Emmy in 2024 for Outstanding Performer in a Short Form Comedy Series.
Chaos is its native register, which is exactly what makes it the right show for high-watching. Episodes run eleven minutes. The cuts are violent. Framing changes every three seconds. Bits start, abandon themselves, and resume in the next segment as a different bit. You cannot follow the show analytically, and you don’t need to. As Variety’s 2024 feature on Andre’s Emmy run put it, the show is “a hilarious, obnoxious riff on talk shows” that thrives on confusion. Confusion is what your brain does well when you’re high.
The episode to put on for a first-time stoner watch is any season-three or season-four episode at random. They’re genuinely interchangeable in quality. If you want a recurring bit to anchor on, Hannibal Buress’s deadpan reactions to Andre’s destruction are the load-bearing comedic note across the entire run.
Where it can lose people: it is loud, it is vulgar, and it is willing to get its host physically hurt for a laugh. If your high is a sensitive one, this is the wrong show. For anyone whose high makes ordinary television feel too slow, Eric Andre is the only thing that runs at the right speed.
Eric Andre is chaos as a service. Shortest commitment on the list and the highest energy per minute.
Cooked with Cannabis (2020-present)
Kelis hosts. Six episodes, all dropped on April 20, 2020. Three professional chefs per episode compete to build a three-course infused meal for $10,000 and a panel of stoned celebrity judges. Netflix released the show as part of its 4/20 programming push that year, and it became the rare cannabis cooking competition that took the cooking seriously rather than the gag.
Cooked with Cannabis separates from earlier cannabis-cuisine attempts on budget and casting. Kelis is a Le Cordon Bleu graduate. Co-host Leather Storrs is an Oregon chef who has been working with cannabis professionally since 2014. The contestants brought decarboxylation calculators, infused oils prepped in advance, and dosing math that respected California’s then-current 100mg recreational maximum per package. None of that sounds like must-watch TV on paper. Watched high, the slow cooking sequences and the dosing breakdowns become unexpectedly absorbing.
The judges across the season span the comedy-and-cannabis world: B-Real of Cypress Hill, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Ricki Lake, Phil Rosenthal, El-P. Most of them are visibly impaired by the second course of every episode, which is the show’s actual selling point. Watching judges try to articulate flavor notes through 25mg of THC is the kind of thing that doesn’t work as a clip on Twitter and works completely as a half-hour binge.
Episode three, “Munchies, Marley, and Movies,” is the strongest hour with the strongest dishes. The catch is volume. Only six episodes were ever made, and Netflix never renewed the show, which is the genre’s recurring tragedy.
Cooked with Cannabis is the closest cannabis culture has come to a Top Chef of its own.
Bong Appétit (2016-2019)
Bong Appétit is the cannabis-cuisine show Cooked with Cannabis built on. Vice TV ran three seasons starting in 2016, now available on Apple TV and on demand through Vice’s site. The first two seasons followed Vice writer Abdullah Saeed hosting elaborate infused dinner parties in Los Angeles. Season three pivoted to a competition format with B-Real of Cypress Hill, chef Miguel Trinidad, and chocolatier Vanessa Lavorato as judges.
What the show contributes to cannabis cuisine is procedure. Episodes spend extended time on extraction methods, terpene matching, dosing calibration, and the way different strains pair with different ingredients. In B-Real’s 2019 interview about the cook-off format, he stressed that the season-three reformat was specifically designed to challenge professional chefs to work cannabis as an ingredient with intention rather than as a stunt.
Slowness is what makes it watch-while-high material. Episodes are forty minutes. There is real cooking, real chemistry, and real conversation between professionals who actually care about what they’re making. If you’ve watched a regular Vice cooking show and found the editing too aggressive, Bong Appétit is the calmer cousin.
Production values are uneven, which costs the show some viewers. Vice’s house style ages quickly, and a few of the season-one episodes have the look of late-2010s YouTube content. The payoff sits in two episodes: the season-two hour where Saeed cooks for his mother, and the season-three episode where Lavorato builds an infused chocolate course around three different terpene profiles. Both are genuinely good food television.
Bong Appétit is the food-nerd entry. Required viewing for anyone who cooks at all and is curious about edibles done well.
It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (2005-present)
Always Sunny is the longest-running live-action sitcom in American television history. Sixteen seasons, a seventeenth on the way, and the FXX (formerly FX) series streams on Hulu in full. It is not, strictly, a cannabis show. Frank, Charlie, and the rest of the gang use a wider buffet of substances than just weed, and the show is not interested in cannabis in the way Weeds or High Maintenance are.
It earns its place on this list anyway because of one specific dynamic: nothing on television rewards the kind of dumb, escalating set-piece logic Always Sunny specializes in like a cannabis high does. The episode “Mac Day” in season five, “The Gang Gets Invincible” in season three, and “The Gang Gives Frank an Intervention” in season five all pivot on cannabis in functional ways. Always Sunny’s Fandom wiki entry on the gang’s substance use reads as half a feature article on its own.
The rhythm is what makes Always Sunny a genuinely good high-watch. Most episodes are 22 minutes. Each follows a tight three-act structure of escalating bad decisions. Watched stoned, the slow-burn of Frank’s plans collapsing in on themselves becomes considerably funnier than it has any right to be sober. The show is also self-contained enough that you can drop into season eight or season fourteen without context and still understand the bit.
For first-time viewers, “Charlie Work” (S10E4) is the cleanest entry, followed by “The Nightman Cometh” (S4E13), then “Mac and Charlie Die” (S6E1-2). Skip the pilot. Season one is the show finding itself.
Always Sunny is the highest-density laugh-per-minute entry on the list. Best for short sessions and short attention spans.
Murder Mountain (2018)
The only docuseries on this list, and the necessary corrective. Netflix’s Murder Mountain is six episodes about the Emerald Triangle of Northern California, specifically Humboldt County, where a 2018 North Coast Journal report found that 717 people per 100,000 go missing every year. Most of the runtime sits with the 2013 disappearance of Garret Rodriguez, a 29-year-old who moved north to work the black-market grow scene and never came home.
I’ve put this on the list because every other show here treats cannabis as a vibe, an aesthetic, or a backdrop, and at least one of them needs to acknowledge that the legal industry the rest of us shop at exists because the black market it’s replacing has a real cost. The show is not anti-cannabis. Interview subjects include longtime growers who built the region’s reputation when prohibition was the only option. What the series adds is texture: where the weed actually came from before California’s 2018 legal market, and what was lost when that market formalized.
Watched high, the docuseries plays differently than its true-crime peers. Pacing is patient. Cinematography of redwood country is genuinely beautiful. Interview subjects skew soft-spoken growers, not Vice-style provocateurs. As Rolling Stone’s coverage put it at release, the show is “a meditation on a region as much as a true-crime story.”
Start at episode one. The series is short enough that watching in order is the only sensible approach. Anyone hoping for a clean villain or a closed case will be disappointed; the Rodriguez investigation is unresolved on the record, and the directors are honest about that.
Murder Mountain is a documentary that earns its place on this list by not being a comedy.
Honorable Mentions
Mary + Jane (2016) ran one season on MTV before cancellation in 2017. Snoop Dogg executive-produced and made guest appearances as “the Snoop Fairy.” Jessica Rothe and Scout Durwood played two best friends running an all-female weed delivery service in Los Angeles. The show is uneven and the writing is not at the level of Broad City or High Maintenance, but the all-female delivery premise is unique on this list and the season-one finale episode about a paranoid client genuinely lands.
Get a Life (1990-1992) is the deep-cut original list item. Chris Elliott played a 30-year-old paperboy living above his parents’ garage, and the show ran two seasons on Fox before cancellation. The cannabis content is implicit rather than explicit, but the surrealist register and the lo-fi pacing make it a quiet stoner-comedy ancestor that David Lynch fans should recognize.
Letterkenny (2016-2023) ran twelve seasons of small-town Ontario sitcom on Crave and Hulu. Cannabis is in the texture rather than the foreground: the Skids subgroup includes recurring stoner characters, and the show’s rapid-fire dialogue rewards the kind of close listening high-watching can produce. It earns honorable mention because the cannabis is real but secondary.
Snoop Dogg’s Father Hood (2007-2008) ran two seasons on E! and is one of the only legitimate cannabis-celebrity reality shows produced for mainstream cable. He hosts his own family at home, smokes on camera within network limits, and the result lands as a cultural document more than a binge.
How I Picked These Shows
Three filters did the work. Cannabis has to be load-bearing or near-load-bearing in the show, which knocks out everything that mentioned weed once in season four and never again. The shows here either build cannabis into their premise (Weeds, Disjointed, High Maintenance, Bong Appétit, Cooked with Cannabis) or treat it as a recurring presence that shapes character behavior across multiple seasons (Atlanta, Broad City, Trailer Park Boys, That ’70s Show, Workaholics).
A show also has to actually reward watching while high, which is a different test from whether it’s a good show in the abstract. Some excellent television gets harder to follow stoned. Plenty of mediocre television becomes genuinely better. Eric Andre would not crack a top-200 list of great American TV. He is unbeatable as a high-watch.
The last filter is access. A few candidates streamed on platforms that have since shuttered, lost their licensing deals, or never had a US streaming home in the first place, and they got cut. Anyone reading right now can put any show on the list on tonight without hunting for a torrent.
Every show was rewatched at least once before the order locked, with one exception: Get a Life, which I last sat with over a decade ago and confirmed on Crackle’s current catalog instead.
Where to Watch in 2026: Streamer Guide
Peacock is the deepest catalog for this list as of May 2026. It carries Weeds in full, That ’70s Show in full, and a rotating Showtime back-catalog that includes most of the prestige cannabis-adjacent material from the last fifteen years. The base ad-supported tier covers everything on this list that Peacock holds.
HBO Max carries High Maintenance in full and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. The Eric Andre Show is split: Adult Swim’s site has the original episodes for free with ads, while HBO Max carries the higher-resolution back catalog. If you want the cleanest source, HBO Max wins.
Netflix carries Trailer Park Boys, Disjointed, Cooked with Cannabis, and Murder Mountain. Disjointed and Murder Mountain are both Netflix originals, so they aren’t going anywhere. Trailer Park Boys has bounced licensing in the past and is currently licensed through at least 2027 per Netflix’s most recent disclosure.
Hulu carries Atlanta, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (alongside HBO Max), Letterkenny, and Pen15 if you want the millennial-cringe entry. Paramount+ carries Broad City, Workaholics, and the Comedy Central back catalog. Apple TV’s à la carte purchase model is the fallback for Bong Appétit, which Vice TV’s contraction has made harder to find on a single subscription.
If you have one streamer and want to maximize this list, Peacock plus HBO Max covers seven of the thirteen main entries.
Frequently Asked Questions
What’s the best stoner TV show ever made?
High Maintenance, by a meaningful margin. The Vimeo-to-HBO origin story, the vignette structure, the use of real cannabis as a prop, and the patience of the writing all combine to make it the only show on this list that was designed from the ground up to be watched high. Weeds is the genre’s foundation, but High Maintenance is the genre’s high point.
Which cannabis shows are best for a solo session?
Atlanta and Murder Mountain. Both reward attention, both have texture and pacing that high-watching enhances rather than competes with, and both are short enough commitments that you can finish a season without losing the thread. If your solo session is more of a comfort-watch mood, That ’70s Show and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia are the safer picks.
Are there any cannabis docuseries worth watching?
Murder Mountain is the only docuseries that earns a full place on this list, but Vice’s Weediquette (a longer-form docuseries Krishna Andavolu hosted across three seasons) and the Discovery+ short Weed Country are both worth a session if you finish Murder Mountain and want more.
Where can I watch Weeds in 2026?
Peacock has all eight seasons. The base ad-supported Peacock tier ($7.99/month as of May 2026) is enough. Hulu also carries portions of the catalog through a Showtime add-on, but Peacock is the cleaner watch.
Are cannabis cooking shows worth the time, or are they just gimmicks?
Cooked with Cannabis and Bong Appétit are both worth the time if you cook seriously or are curious about edibles. Both shows include actual culinary technique alongside the dosing math, and both go deeper into terpene-flavor pairing than most non-cannabis food shows go into any pairing question. The gimmick concern is fair for the early-2010s YouTube cannabis-cooking content that preceded both of these. Cooked and Bong are the corrective.
A friend of mine, sober ten years and a former editor at a cannabis magazine, told me last fall that the only show on this list he still rewatches is High Maintenance. He has a lot of opinions about everything else. That one, he said, is the only one that holds up after the high wears off.
No matter your style, your strain, or your streamer, we can all agree on this: there is nothing quite like settling in with a good show, baked.
