In 2006, a man in his forties ate a fish for dinner near Saint-Tropez.
He spent the next thirty-six hours hallucinating. Not queasy, not unwell in the ordinary food-poisoning way. Hallucinating, badly enough to seek help, and long enough that it was written up.
In 1994 a ninety-year-old man had much the same experience from much the same meal.
The fish was Sarpa salpa, the salema porgy. It is a common Mediterranean seabream. It is sold in markets. It is not exotic, not restricted, and not rare.
The condition has a name, which tells you it happens often enough to need one: ichthyoallyeinotoxism.

The recordOlder than you would think
Pliny the Elder knew about it. The Arabic name for the fish translates as roughly the fish that makes dreams, which is a better name than anything science has managed since.

Reports also cluster around Kyphosus species near Norfolk Island in the South Pacific, half a world away from the Mediterranean, which is a hint worth holding on to.
The twistIt is not the fish
Here is the part that reframes the whole book.
Sarpa salpa is not a psychoactive animal. It has no interest in altering anyone's consciousness and no equipment for doing so. The leading explanation is that the fish accumulates compounds from the algae it grazes on.
Which explains everything that is otherwise strange about it. Why the effect is seasonal. Why it is regional. Why two people can eat the same species in the same week and only one of them ends up seeing things. The fish is not the source. The fish is the delivery.
Now put that next to the honey.
Honey: a flower makes a defensive toxin, a bee carries it into a jar, a human eats it.
Fish: an alga makes a compound, a fish eats the alga, a human eats the fish.
Same mechanism. Opposite direction. Neither the bee nor the fish has any stake in the outcome.

The chemistry passed through an entire organism without belonging to it.
And once you have seen that twice, the categories start to look less solid than they did. Plant, animal, food, drug. Those are our words. We drew those lines, and we drew them for our own convenience. The chemistry does not respect them and never agreed to.
That is the most humbling and the most wonderful thing in this entire book.
The honest part
This is not a recommendation, and it would be a poor plan even if it were.
The reported experiences are largely described as unpleasant — frightening rather than illuminating, and lasting a day and a half whether you are enjoying it or not. It is unpredictable by nature, since nobody can tell you what any particular fish has been grazing on. And it arrives with the ordinary risks of eating a fish that is disagreeing with you.
It is a wonderful thing to know about. It is a bad dinner.







