A Very Romantic Cookie Recipe

I'm not much of a romantic, but making these cookies do something to me.

I can’t paint, but smashing mircro herbs into little pads of dough is my thing. (cannabis leaf, beet and cilantro sprouts, lavender and rose petals)

If you talked to me five years ago, I would’ve scoffed at the romantic human I’ve become. Born as a Gemini stellium with strong Virgo placements, love and romance have always been internalized, compartmentalized and analyzed with too much damn discernment. There with my guards up, I always felt safe without having to actually feel. Instead of holding on to the physical trait of emotion, it was examined, churned out, and stored as data to compute. My version of love was sometimes moon-chilled, cold, distant, and rational.

Love, like baking, is a science. Love is the sum of neurons and chemicals in our brains activated by hormones, electromagnetic waves set off by someone we want to lay down with? Someone who makes us laugh? Someone who smells good? What I’m learning is that love is also an action—an act on something that exists, dormant and stored inside. It’s regenerative and inexhaustible; it’s wild—it’s nights of sex or yapping. It’s your brain high.

"Love is an action, not simply a feeling.” — bell hooks

This is not just a fleeting emotion, but something our bodies physically store. When we talk about love as an action, it’s because love lives in us—in our cells, in our hearts, in the way we move through the world. Our brains are undeniably part of the process, releasing chemicals like dopamine and oxytocin that trigger feelings of joy and what I dread the most, attachment. Love is experienced and held in the way we breathe, how our posture shifts when we feel seen, cared for, or aroused.

In some meditation practices, love is seen as a practice—a way of being that starts with Metta, or loving-kindness. This is the love that’s cultivated from within before it can be shared with others. It’s not a feeling to chase, but a wellspring that is always available. When we practice Metta, we first direct love and kindness toward ourselves, nurturing a connection to our own worthiness. This kind of love lives in the mind and is embodied in our hearts and muscles, waiting to be expressed in action. Within the biochemistry of love, both the emotional and biological dynamics are bidirectional in several dimensions. I know… Bare with me a minute, I smoked some weed and now she’s going there…

Physiologically, love activates and releases Oxytocin (a peptide molecule that support a sense of safety, sociality, survival and reproduction) during moments of connection. It strengthens emotional bonds but also creates a sense of calm and trust, further ingraining love into our bodily experience. Our bones and spine relax in moments of comfort, and our skin responds to touch, signaling our emotional states in a way that transcends the mind. Love then, becomes something tangible that we hold. But at the end of the day what we do with this chemical orchestra is a choice. A choice to remain open, vulnerable, and expansive? Or do we close up and close off to the feeling? It’s a practice that cultivates a presence of love and softness inside before it flutters off to someone else.

“Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.” — bell hooks

These days, I intentionally try to lead less with my head and more with my body about love. I’m easy. I’ve leaned into the physical and emotional connections that are in fact tethered to myself—rather than to another. My love has been preserved by intentional solitude, and in that time, I’ve recognized that love is my making, that it belongs to me and is made to share. Its recognition expands my heart, broken wide open. Delicate. Resilient.

I love the trees and butterflies and the smell of diesel exhaust outside my bedroom windows. I love how, over time, the stretch marks on my body no longer phase me. They’re kissed by lovers, caressed by my hands when I smooth shea butter onto my skin. I love to witness elder couples immersed in French kisses, locked in bodies, almost erotic. I love the way my keyboard dances when I’m excited about lore, a person, a story, a recipe. I love what it means to be alive in a world, soft and strong simultaneously, in a life and in love that is impermanent and fragile.

Lightly baked as to not burn the herbs while keeping the insides soft.

So anyway, that was a whole lot of words to bring you to these romantic, out-of-character-cookies. They’re cute to make solo with a joint and music; with friends, or with your sweetie. They bring a sensual, effortless energy into something simple and sweet.

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The Recipe —