fermented (miso butter) chocolate chip cookies 🍪

get the recipe 💁‍♀️

and some thought: If you’ve met me in person over the past seven years, yes even just once, the odds are fairly high that I would’ve shared with you the story of the year I found myself in a wheelchair with a sciatic nerve injury and, without a whole load of options to turn to, ended up trip deep in an ego death dose of psilocybin (i.e. magic mushrooms)... only for the nerve pain to instantly dissipate and find myself able to walk yet again. Terrific ice breaker, honestly.

But needless to say, also some of the most life changing (and absolutely craziest, yes) six hours of my life.

And, after some light digging, it turned out I’m not the first person (obviously) who has experienced incredible healing when unexpectedly venturing into psychedelic plant medicine (well touted nowadays for its mental health benefits, it turns out it might just exemplify how tied the mind-body connection really is).

So when encountering me in the wild I generally like to finish off my story by saying that I like to share “just in case, because you never know when in life you might be faced with no options to turn to.” And, arguably, that really is when one should turn to such profound and life changing medicine.

But if you’ve been a long time reader now and are wondering why I’ve never shared much details of said adventures, caution would be my whole encompassing answer. Because unlike a recipe where I can (almost!) guarantee a successful result, I have absolutely no way of knowing what you yourself will encounter when venturing into your own subconscious (and that’s in the end what most psychedelic journeys will demand from you- being ready to meet any and all parts of you)(and you might be surprised how much bravery it really takes to face your not so shiny corners, sort of say).

Because that’s the thing you’ve heard me tout over and over again for years as both a baker and an economist: there’s no such thing as a free lunch. There’s always a trade off in life and a price to pay; and just as you can’t have your cookies both soft and crispy, you can’t expect such life changing medicine to come with no strings attached.

And, interestingly enough, it’s the scientific research in psychedelic medicine that gives us the answer for the price we ought to pay for magic.

For you see, plant medicine such as psilocybin works in our brains by turning off the part called the Default Mode Network (i.e. the part that houses our egos and everything that constitutes our sense of self)(there’s a reason its colloquially called an “ego death”, after all).

So if you’ve never ventured down this route this might seem terrifying (and, in a way, it is). But if you have, you’ll already know it’s one of the most magical experiences you can have on this Earth (if all goes to plan). For the best way I’ve yet heard such an ego death compared to is a great snow fall on a mountain, where absolutely everything gets blanketed in a deep powdery snow- and with it, every old trail and piste disappears. And so, a new mountain arises, and you might just realise that there are much better ways to walk up and ski down said mountain.

And your landscape, your perspective, will never be the same.

Because sure, the snow might melt, but you’ll still never approach the mountain the same way again.

But over the past couple years my view has changed from thinking that pretty much every single human could benefit from this medicine (because who wouldn’t want to meet the person they were before life told them who to be... right?), to changing tunes a little as I now believe it perhaps should be reserved greatly for when there’s no stone left unturned. When no options are left to turn to.

Why? The answer really is incredibly simple really: because at high doses the price to pay for your new life will, undoubtedly, be your old life.

i.e. your mountain really will never be the same after encountering such profound medicine.

So perhaps not everyone should take the red pill, sort of say, as a change in perspective can be so powerful that you can never experience your old life the same way again (and if that’s a good thing, it’s up to you)(because it was marvelous for me, but my mountain needed a really good snow fall in order to make it a beautiful ridge yet again).

Hence my hesitance to share, even though I told you two years ago that I would likely burn in hell if I told you that all my healing came from sourdough and a change in diet (and I probably would honestly). Which is why we’re here today: because over the years I’ve gotten to know so many of you through your emails and comments, and know how many of you struggle with ailments that could perhaps benefit from hearing my story.

But this is also not why emails have gone amiss this past year, that is truthfully a story about some trouble I found myself with one of the death eaters of my story (in all honesty I had to lay low and move a couple times to feel safe)(but in keeping with being honest, that is all I can share about my radio silence- that it was necessary for me to rebuild my life far away from all the trouble, death eaters and past).

Why? Because you can’t heal where you are not safe. And it took me a couple years to find myself in a little spot in the world where I can feel content again to show up here and be able to tell you my story (and keep on baking for you, of course). But for that, and my unconventional silence, I am sorry.

As one day I dreamed of bringing you innovative and delicious food products (and perhaps one day again), nowadays I believe it might just be a greater gift to share with you, well, this super duper crazy story. A story that started as a trip down to Baja California, across the great American West and its Native American plant medicine culture, over to the great desert plains of New Mexico, down Tornado Alley into the Bayou (were ancient plant medicine culture criss crosses into folklore magic), and finally down to Chihuahua’s desert in Mexico with its peyote poachers, to the mountains of Oaxaca were Maria Sabina famously practiced medicine back in the 1960s (yes, rumor has it even with The Beatles themselves lmao), but were locals also still partake in the ancient pre Hispanic rituals in today’s day and age.

And, not to spoil the ending but, it turned out to be less of a physical trip and more of a spiritual one; where I myself found the answers into my very first journey that I so desperately wanted (and, as I found out, needed in order to be able to do justice to this story).

Still. I also found out something else too, and worry not as it was in a kind way (for no “bad trips” or many cautionary tales in my story, tbch), but as the old saying in 1970s psychedelic culture goes: when you get your answer it’s best to hang up the phone.

xo! and speak very soon,

Paola

p.s. I made these chocolate chip cookies for you while in New Mexico and I’m glad to finally be able to share them with you guys- for they’re as close as you can get to the best of both worlds: think crisp edges and ooey gooey centers.