TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

A sommelier, in short, is a wine expert. They’re someone trained in fine dining who specializes in all aspects of wine service and wine and food pairing. They take into account the components of a dish and the characteristics of a wine, and they find just the right balance.

I don’t splurge often, but when I want to celebrate an occasion, it’s a special treat to enjoy multiple courses with wine pairings. Each dish comes out, explained in detail by the server, and then the sommelier or a wine server brings the accompanying drink and explains a little about it as they pour. I love the language they use to describe the wine, words like oaky and grippy and tannic.

The work of a sommelier, like the work of a chef, is fascinating to me, because it’s creative. Changing one element in a piece of writing, or changing one ingredient in a dish or a cocktail, changes everything. The choices we make determine the experience, and there are infinite combinations we can choose from.

I’m no sommelier. I don’t have any expertise in food and wine pairings, and I don’t know much about complementary and congruent pairings. But what about poem and occasion pairings? Or song and occasion pairings? Or song and poem pairings? I think I’m pretty good at those. It’s no secret that I love making playlists — for trips, for loved ones, for creative projects. Every book I’ve written has a playlist of songs that I listened to while writing the book, full of songs that speak to the subject matter or that feel tonally aligned. It’s a book/music pairing.

Today’s poem is about the snow moon, the first full moon of February. The explanation behind the name “snow moon” is fairly straightforward: February is often the snowiest month. After reading this quiet stunner of a poem, I was inspired to turn on one of my favorite Nick Drake songs, “Pink Moon.” I highly recommend this poem/song pairing.

from Perihelion: A History of Touch
by Franny Choi

snow moon

The magic  where the  streetlights  turn the snow pink lasts
only   for   the   first  night,  the  same  way,  maybe,  a blanket
loses track of its scent when it’s been touched by too many
hands,  or the  way  a body  grays  when too  many  feet have
dragged their cigarettes  and complaints through it.  But for
that    one    first     night,     everything    cold-     flecked    and
whispering was  ours,  the  pink light  ours,  sent  from  some
other world so we could,  for a night,  feel untouched.  So we
could feel like sugar—crumbling, and perfect for it.

"Snow Moon" by Franny Choi from SOFT SCIENCE © 2019 Franny Choi. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.