Always eat yellow snow. Not only is it not as distasteful as people claim it to be, it can be quite refreshing.
Oh sure, it can be a bit bitter at times, but at other times it can be quite sweet (perhaps even bittersweet) – the trick is to be selective: not all yellow snow is the same. It’s a bit like human beings – they come in an infinite variety of flavours. Some are sour, some are tangy, some are acidic and acerbic. And taste is subjective.
To truly be a connoisseur – such as myself – one must eat as much yellow snow as possible. Only then can one pick out the delicious yellow snow from the noxious yellow snow. Only then can taste’s subjectivity be properly processed, put in its correct context – only then can it approach an artistic objectivity. And, believe me, it takes a lot of yellow snow to achieve such a sensitive palate. Fresh yellow snow is different from aged yellow snow, and each has its own benefits. Needless to say, the quality of the yellow snow relies heavily on the quality of the snow; after all, it is one-half of what goes into yellow snow. Hard snow if one likes a bit of crunch, soft snow for a smoother texture. (Regardless of its origins, both will melt in one’s mouth.) It takes practice. It takes patience. And once you’ve got the hang of it, it becomes a very enjoyable pastime.
Why, nowadays, I simply get down on my knees, in a kind of downward-dog fashion, put my face right up to the yellow snow, and take a big bite, filling my mouth with as much as possible, sloshing it around, tasting the high and low notes, a bit of blueberry, cheese, or maltiness, perhaps, swish it around my tastebuds, gargle it, sup it, let it aerate in my mouth. If I’m lucky, I’ll find some yellow snow that’s still a bit warm – the contrast of hot and cool is exciting, the aromatics of it highly sexual. Even rancid yellow snow can be a learning experience.
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To read the rest of this review — and more by Steve Schmolaris — visit his website Bad Gardening Advice.
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Steve Schmolaris is the founder of the Schmolaris Prize, “the most prestigious prize in all of Manitoba,” which he first awarded in 1977. Each year, he awards the prize to the best album of the year. He does not have a profession but, having come from money (his father, “the Millionaire of East Schmelkirk,” left him his fortune when he died in 1977), Steve is a patron of the arts. Inspired by the exquisite detail of a holotype, the collective intelligence of slime mold, the natural world and the suffering inherent within it — and also music (fuck, he loves music!) — Steve has long been writing reviews of Winnipeg artists’ songs and albums at his website Bad Gardening Advice, leading to the publication of a book of the same name.
