The sign glows like a beacon as I stagger down the narrow, cobbled streets of Kilkenney—or is it Edinburgh, Galway, or London? Ever since I began living as a digital nomad in July 2021, I keep getting dislodged, losing myself on the map as the boundaries between hours, days, and places blur. Yet in my deepest moments of disorientation, I keep encountering three letters that call me home: CBD.
CBD is the acronym for “cannabidiol,” one of over 100 cannabinoid compounds found in the cannabis family of plants. It’s the non-psychoactive cousin of THC (delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol), the compound that gives pot its high. And while CBD cafés aren’t really a thing in the States, during my travels in the U.K. and Ireland, they’ve seemed to materialize in my path every time I needed a place of temporary refuge.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the Old World pubs that have long welcomed weary travelers—but as a queer, nonbinary person with female biology, sometimes I’m simply not in the mood for the lads who get loud and the constant misgendering. CBD cafés, on the other hand, are comfortable spaces that embody the in-between, offering a similar, but safer, opportunity to cast off the weight of the world among like-minded community.
Following those three letters to Little Collins, a café and dispensary with locations in Kilkenney and Galway, Ireland, I sense that immediately. As I open the door, Lauryn Hill’s buttery soul oozes from the speakers. Pale green-and-yellow images of hemp flowers spread mantis-like across the walls, soft-lit by Edison bulbs. Potted plants dribble from hanging baskets and cluster in each corner, jars of CBD buds displayed beneath infused baked goods at the counter. I’m greeted with a smile and a familiar “y’okay?” by the staff, warming my soul on the kind of night when the damp cuts down to the bone.
Within minutes I feel like a regular, perched on a barstool among patrons who clutch steaming mugs of hemp tea instead of pints, sharing our woes with the self-described “budtenders” just like at any local. Everything was going great, says a broad-shouldered, bespectacled bald man whose South African accent has an Irish lilt, and then he just ended it. I interject that without even knowing the story, I can say he’s better off, and a smile creeps across his face. So you do know the story, the man says.
And he’s right: There is a seen- and known-ness here. Whereas pubs can feel like masculine spaces, I find CBD cafés tend to have a comparatively feminine energy, attracting women, queers, and people looking for something different than what spaces dedicated to alcohol can offer. That feeling is evidenced in places like Edinburgh’s Vitality and Kynd—a café serving hemp-based meals, baked goods, and beverages—and in London, where biodynamic restaurant Farmacy lists CBD drinks on the menu and Molecule serves hot drinks along with yoga and sound baths.
CBD hasn’t been legal long, and like many of us, these cafés are still figuring out what they are. They call to hippie, yuppie, spiritual, and stoner communities; they look like coffee shops and feel like yoga studios where the floor occasionally shudders with the bass of a basement afterparty. CBD itself is an ambiguous molecule, falling somewhere between intoxicant and supplement, lifestyle and wellness, cannabis and pub cultures. It’s not quite weed, and it won’t get you stoned, but for me, the right dose provides that half-a-beer-in feeling: My wits are still completely about me, but the volume of life gets turned down.
That’s because CBD and THC interact with the human endocannabinoid system: a complex network of nerve cells (or neurotransmitters) and their receptors, which are concentrated in the brain but distributed throughout the body, from the liver to our reproductive organs. The human body endogenously produces cannabinoid-like molecules, or “endocannabinoids,” meaning “the cannabinoids within”; one of these, anandamide, is named after the Sanskrit word for “bliss,” and you can feel this calm when it’s released. The endocannabinoid system modulates nervous system functioning and helps maintain mental, physical, and emotional equilibrium—and while stress depletes it, exogenous cannabinoids can help restore balance.
Yet there’s still much about these compounds even scientists don’t understand, much less consumers, due in part to a ridiculously circuitous legal landscape that varies across states and countries and inhibits research. THC and CBD come from the same cannabis plants—but those containing more than the threshold amount of 0.1-0.3% THC (it varies by country) are classified as “marijuana,” while those with sub-threshold THC are called “hemp.” When extracted from hemp, CBD is federally legal in the U.S., U.K., and Europe; from marijuana, it isn’t. Even though it’s the exact same molecule, hemp-derived CBD is categorized as an agricultural or industrial product, while the CBD that comes from marijuana is called a “drug.”
Like weed, CBD can be smoked, ingested, or topically applied, and the legal loophole has birthed a booming industry of products ranging from gummies, coffee, and chocolate to oils, balms, and even pillows. But it’s an unregulated market, and, as cannabis journalist Jackie Bryant says, many manufacturers exploit this by putting sub-perceptual amounts of CBD in their products, or even none at all. As with any substance, dosing is crucial: Some cafés serve food and drinks with just 4mg of CBD; others, 15-30mg; others still don’t list dosages. My experiences are just as variable, ranging from a pleasant calm to brain fog to no effect whatsoever.
Anything below 15-20mg is imperceptible to most people, Bryant says, but it also depends on the variety: “Full-spectrum” CBD includes 0.1-0.3% THC; broad-spectrum, trace amounts; pure CBD, none. Full-spectrum CBD is the most effective, Bryant says, because of the “entourage effect”—a scientific theory stating that cannabinoid molecules enhance one another’s positive properties—but in some places, it isn’t legal.
Studies show that isolated CBD can offer many of the same benefits as THC-containing types, from reducing inflammation to curbing anxiety and insomnia: phenomena I’ve experienced to great relief. But I’ve yet to meet anyone who is singularly focused on CBD like they are with weed, wine, or beer, and Bryant suspects most cafés are merely “placeholders for legal cannabis.”
Joe Harvey, owner of the Zen Den Tea Lounge in Glasgow, also believes many CBD cafés are biding their time until legal cannabis comes along, but he thinks that this will be an addition rather than a replacement. There are plenty of others like him who have given up ganja, but still seek the benefits of cannabinoids, or who, like myself, are highly sensitive to THC. He’s seen lives transformed by these plants, and works nights to run the café—which he purpose-built as a safe, calming space, especially for underrepresented people—for no financial profit.
While I certainly share the sentiment that cannabis should be legal, I also see the value in CBD cafés as they currently exist. CBD can be an entry point for people who haven’t otherwise felt at home in cannabis culture. I’ve personally been intimidated by the litany of strains; the unique music and language; the cold, machine-world feel of some dispensaries.
Whatever your drug of choice, it’s about finding the place where your soul can rest. Just like our bodies were built for cannabinoids, they come with the enzymes to process alcohol, and humans share DNA with yeast. The more we learn, the clearer it becomes that the boundaries we’ve drawn around spaces, substances, and our separate selves require re-examining. Our communion makes that manifest, whether sharing a pint, passing a joint—or sipping CBD tea with new friends, grounding in the here and now.
