Search Results for: toji

A Legendary Toji – a celebrity (sorta) of the sake world

Like all worlds, the sake world has its luminaries, its celebrities, and its legendary figures. It would stand to reason that such personages are usually the creators of sake with great reputations; in other words, we would naturally expect that most sake celebrities would be toji, the master brewers behind great brands of sake. However, quite paradoxically, oftentimes the very people that would qualify for such reputations are too humble to claim them. But there have been a few whose presence and reputation loom so large that they end up becoming reluctant legends.

Several years ago in this newsletter, I wrote about one such individual, Mr. Naohiko Noguchi. That article can be found here, but here is a bit more about the man himself, and his most recent endeavor.

Mr. Noguchi is a toji of the Noto guild, centered in Ishikawa Prefecture, as was his father and grandfather before him. He began brewing at age 16, and after short stints at kura in Shizuoka in Mie, in 1961 he was hired as the toji at Kikuhime back in Ishikawa. The brewery Kikuhime was very small back then, and their customer base consisted of mostly lumberjacks. Like, literally; lumberjacks. Not for them the light and delicate style that sake Mr. Noguchi was accustomed to making in Shizuoka and Mie! So he had to change things up a bit, and fast.

At that time, the yamahai methods – which lead to richer and more umami-laden sake – had all but disappeared from use, since the new (for that time) methods were faster and more predictable. So Mr. Noguchi found a kura in Kyoto still making the yamahai style that would teach him the ins and outs of actually brewing it.

Which he did, and did well. This had the multi-faceted benefit of making the lumberjacks happy, launching the reputation of his employer Kikuhime as well as that of the yamahai style of sake, and his own prowess as a toji to boot.

He reigned at Kikuhime until the retirement age of 65, garnering countless accolades along the way, and finally stepping down in 1997. The next year – yes – the very next year, he came out of “retirement” to work at nearby Kano Shuzo making the well-known sake Jokigen. This he did for 14 years, until 2012. Do that math: he retired the second time at 79.

Mind you, sake brewing is not exactly a desk job. As much as I love sake, I have known since the beginning that I am far too wimpy and far too easily distracted to even attempt a full season at a kura, much less a lifetime. But Mr. Noguchi did it until he was 79.

And then, he did it some more. There was one more short-lived, ill-fated project with which he was involved the next year, then he took a couple of years off. And in 2017 he came out of retirement one more time.

Why, you might ask? In his own words, “If I am not brewing sake, I get physically ill,” which in fact did happen. So it was back to sake brewing, this time as the toji at a newly constructed brewery, called “Noguchi Naohiko Kenkyu-jo,” a name which refers to the kura as a research center.

This is fitting since he hired seven younger people to work and study along with him as they brewed sake. This was at age 85, and this year they began their second brewing season, with Mr. Noguchi being 86. That’s eighty-six. Eighty. Six.

In January of this year I had the chance to visit the brewery, watch them brew for a while, and then – together with three industry colleagues – enjoy an audience with Mr. Noguchi. It was, undoubtedly, one of the most amazing encounters I have had in this industry. I had in fact met him once before about ten years ago, when I found him focused, strong-willed, yet light-hearted. But this time he seemed so much more immortal.

He has always impressed me as lucid, sharp, and articulate. Ironically, he speaks in a local dialect, Noto-ben, that is quite difficult for me to follow. In spite of that, his eloquence and clarity always show through.

But still, I had been expecting him to just be giving orders, grunting and pointing fingers to direct the brewing staff, and be hunched over charts of data curves. I did not expect him to be out in the mix, actually doing the brewing work.

But there he was: quick, dexterous and strong. Together with the young’uns, he was hauling just-steamed rice bundled in cloth, moving with speed and purpose. Later, he was in the koji-making rooms, which are kept between 35C and 45C (!) and at highly humid conditions, working on breaking up rice clumps and spreading and mixing koji mold. It is hard for a normal human being to just be in such an environment, and much harder to actually move and work in one. But there he was, looking as natural and at-home as he could be, exuding the comfort of one who knows just where he truly wants to be.

The brewery is set up for observation by visitors, with a long hallway with a glass wall facing the brewing area of the kura, raised to the level of the top of the tanks. The other wall is a long, granite tapestry of a gallery that highlights Mr. Noguchi’s life, career, and accomplishments.

By looking at that, one gets a sense of just how dedicated he has been to his craft over the years. On display were brewing texts, dog-eared and faded, filled with notes and highlights. He was said to have studied such texts so thoroughly that he memorized their content.

During our chat with him, as we discussed his career, he nonchalantly touched upon concepts like, “If you’re going to bother do something, you might as well strive to be the best at it,” and “At the end of the day, it’s the size of your dreams that counts.” He has a second career writing motivational books, I thought.

All of the above adulation notwithstanding, it is important to point out that I am just an admiring, doting fan. I never had to work under the gentleman. He was notoriously strict, having earned the nickname “demon.” In fact, his 2003 autobiography was entitled “Demon’s Sake.” So I might not be quite so gushing had I actually had that experience. Still, I am sure the level of respect would be just as high, albeit laced with a few more emotions. But what do I know?

I do have a friend that did in fact work under Mr. Noguchi for a good 20 years or so at Kikuhime. He did not say much about the experience, nor did I ask. But he did say that, even having worked in the same brewery together, he could not even speak directly to him while working for him, and in fact not even until about ten years after both had left the company. I’m just sayin’.

In interviews and press conferences held prior to the opening of this brewery, Mr. Noguchi has said several times, “It is my wish to die brewing sake.” Let us hope his wish does not come true for many years to come.

Mr. Noguchi is not the only great toji out there, nor is he the only famous toji. Far from it! The sake world has its own celebrities, more understated then their western counterparts though they may be. But their presence and aura invigorates the sake world, and makes it all that more interesting for all of us.

You can read a bit more about Mr. Noguchi here in this article that I wrote just as the kura opening was announced.

Also, the company with which he is now working is doing a great job of marketing (surely his presence make that easy!), and there is much about Mr. Noguchi in Japanese media.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sake Professional Course in San Francisco, September 2019

Sake rice: note the opaque center where the starch is concentrated.

In mid-September in San Francisco I will hold the next Sake Professional Course, the 49th running of the course. The final details have yet to be set in stone, and as such the course has not been formally announced. Nevertheless, I can take tentative reservations. If interested, please send me an email for more information.

For more information on the course, for now, you can check out the information on the just-finished Chicago course, which is here.

Toji – Then and Now

Men at workI have been hanging out with a lot of toji (master brewer) lately. No particular reason, just one tasting and event after another, interacting and listening to what they have to say. Here are a couple interesting anecdotes from a couple of interesting toji.

In June, at the Iida Sake Brewing Seminar about which I wrote last month, Philip Harper, the toji at Kinoshita Shuzo on Kyoto – brewers of Tamagawa sake – talked about his take on how to make good sake. Naturally enough, there was much talk of toji. While the term translates loosely as “master brewer,” there is a lot more to it. And what is “to it” has changed over the decades.

Long ago, the toji was responsible for not only brewing the sake, but hiring, firing, and buying the rice as well. The kuramoto, or brewery owner, gave him a chunk of change and left everything in his fine hands. These days, he or she might not do all of that, but in exchange has to keep in mind the larger picture of marketing, pricing, and product differentiation.

Limiting it just to technical stuff, though, the toji of today have all kinds of modern measurement equipment at their disposal. Scales, thermometers, sensors of all kinds, and computers to combine it into a useful form from which brewers can make decisions to precisely target what they want. It’s all pretty neat, really.

But long ago, there was none of that. Fingertips were thermometers, noses and tongues were hydrometers and alcohol sensors, and brushes and ink were the computers. Sounds pretty primitive, doesn’t it?

As a point in passing, Mr. Harper mentioned something that astounded me to hear. Curious researchers noted the measurements made within the brewing process, such as temperature and moisture and many other factors, by older toji who brewed without depending on modern tools, but instead their own five senses. And these were compared to those made with modern technology.

And guess what? Lo and behold, the measurements made by the tool-less toji relying o their senses were found to be within one percent of those made by modern technological tools. Within. One. Percent. And that shows the power of experience and intuition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last month at a Hiroshima sake lecture and tasting, Tatsuya Ishikawa, the toji at the brewery making Taketsuru sake, presented his take on being a toji, and brewing local sake in Hiroshima.

He is a strong-willed yet light-hearted individual with well formed opinions on how sake should be brewed and the importance of regionality and terroir in sake brewing. And as one point in evidence, I was surprised to hear that he applies almost no temperature control at all to his fermenting tanks of sake.

While many – if not most – brewers will chill down tanks of fermenting ginjo to minimize bacterial havoc and promote cleaner flavors, Ishikawa Toji is having none of that. He lets it run at whatever the ambient temperature in the kura is, leading to his unique sake.
“If we are going to manipulate the environment and negate the effects of the climate,” he explains, “what is the point of making local Hiroshima sake?” Indeed, his strong feelings for tradition and it significance are clear. He continued by explaining that he cannot really get behind the concept of a toji that takes too much direction from the brewery owner. Long ago, the owner did not even enter into the brewery, much less suggest to the toji what sake to brew.

But these days, it is of course normal for the owner and the toji (when they are not the same person, which they often are these days) to discuss with each other what kind of sake to brew. Not this guy. It was part of his arrangement with his employer when he took over as toji. “I brew what I want, with no well-meaning direction or influence from you or anyone else.”

As I wrote about in this newsletter a few months ago, the old guilds’ significance is waning, and their influence is not at all what it used to be. Not that this is a completely negative thing; it is just the way things have become in response to the changes of modern times. But Ishikawa-san has his opinions.

“If the boss is going to direct everything about how the sake is brewed, what is the point of having a toji? Allowing such a situation to exist defeats the purpose of having a toji in the first place, and detracts from what terroir the sake might have.”

Certainly, both philosophies have their points. Much has changed, especially market realities and environments. And adapting to these is of utmost importance. But then again, so is maintaining the important and useful aspects of tradition.

In the end, the toji of olde and the toji of today each have had their unique set of circumstances and attendant challenges. It is not really fair or even possible to directly compare them. But it sure can be interesting to try!

Sake Professional Course

The next Sake Professional Course will be held in Las Vegas, Nevada on November 27 to 29. Learn more here, and if you are interested in reserving a spot, please send me an email.

The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan. The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

Learn more about the course here. You can read Testimonials from past participants here.

If you would like to make a reservation or to be placed on the notification list, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy@gol.com.

Changes in the Toji System

Men at Work at Rihaku Brewery

Men at Work at Rihaku Brewery

Certainly, change pretty much defines our world today, and the sake brewing world is not excepted from that truth. In particular, the changes within the sake world over the last 30 years in who actually does the brewing are pretty astounding.

There is one master brewer per brewery, and that person is called the toji. Almost always this was – and is – man, but currently perhaps 40 or 50 out of the 1100 or 1200 active kura have a toji that is a woman.

But long ago – and not so long ago – the toji in any given brewery was dispatched from his guild in the countryside. There were about 30 to 35 toji guilds across Japan long ago, although many of them are now defunct as their membership declined along with the number of breweries.

But back in the day, the toji was a seasonal employee. He may have worked at the same brewery every year for decades and decades, but each year was a new, one-year contract. Originally, the toji would receive a chunk of money from the brewery owner, and he would hire and pay everyone else, buy the rice, and just get the job done. That was not really a hard and fast rule, but even as recently as 30 years ago, most breweries in the industry were run by seasonally employed toji.

Slowly things changed. The need for year-round employment led to changes that included toji and brewing staff more commonly becoming year-round employees of the brewing company, replete with the benefits, like a paycheck in twelve rather than only six months of the year. When not brewing, other tasks could be handled, or hours could be seasonally juggled.

Another change included members of the brewery-owning family to take over the brewing themselves. Sometimes this was out of interest and passion, other times out of necessity. It is hard to run a small family business when all of the technical skill for creating your product is in the hands of someone that is but a seasonal hire, and not even a member of the family.

Yeast StarterSo what this led to is basically three genre of toji: those there are only seasonally employed toji from one of the guilds, toji that are year-round company employees, and toji that are family members. Note, too, that there is some overlap. Toji coming in from the countryside can be from the traditional guilds, but still be full-time employees (not just seasonal employees). And conversely, family members and local hires can be associated with one of the guilds in the boonies, for educational and informational exchange and support.

With that as the background, let us look at some very interesting numbers.

Thirty-two years ago, in 1986, 74 percent of the toji in the (then, much larger) industry were seasonal hires, not full-time employees. In 1996, a scant 10 years hence, that number had dropped to 62 percent. In 2006 it had dropped to 35.5 percent, and in 2016 it was down to only 16 percent of all breweries in the industry that had seasonally employed toji from the traditional guilds. Wow.

Note that this is not necessarily a bad thing; it is just … different. The industry is half the size of what it was back then, and the percentage of toji that are seasonal employees is a quarter of what it used to be. And whether or not a toji is seasonally hired or not has no direct influence on his or her skills, nor the quality of the sake. I’m just sayin’.

Looking at the other side of the toji coin, in 1986 only 12 percent of the toji in the industry had secure, year-round employment with the company. Sparing you the gory details of the decades in between, toji that are year-round full time employees went from that to 38 percent in 2016. And toji that are a member of the owning family went from a mere 14 percent in ’86 to a whopping 47 percent in 2016.

What this means, at a glance, is that almost half of the 1100 to 1200 sake breweries active today have family members in charge of the brewing operations.

Again, bear in mind there are several dynamics at work simultaneously, and that looking at the above number alone will not lead to any firm conclusion. One thing that has led to this is a very positive thing: the availability of reference material, education opportunities, and the infrastructure that allows almost instant communication. No longer does a brewery-owning family need to rely on an old codger from the boonies with a thick country accent. Just send the kids to brewing school, and keep in touch with friends running other breweries. That flow of information, and lots of patience and experience, is very commonly how sake is brewed in this modern era.

Nevertheless, it is interesting, and surely, there are at least a few out there that will feel a nostalgic pang at the decline and loss of the tradition-laden historical guilds, myself included.

Learn much, much more about toji guilds here.

For those that are interested, the brewery workers under the toji are called kurabito, the brewery-owning family and family members are called kuramoto, and the brewery itself is a kura or sakagura.

~~~   ~~~   ~~~

The Sake Professional Course scheduled for April 23 to 25 in Brooklyn New York is full. Thanks to all those that signed up! The next one will be in Miami in September. If interested, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy @ gol.com. Learn more about the Sake Professional Course here.

Toji Guilds: What do they do differently?

fune1One of the biggest factors contributing to the quality of the sake from a given kura is the skill of the toji, or master brewer, in residence therein. And while technical texts and other means of advice and support are much more available to brewers today then, say a century ago, the experience, intuition, and decisiveness of the person in charge is still of paramount importance.

It is probably fair to say, though, that the industry is less dependent on the various guilds of master brewers than they were back in the old days. And in fact, I myself have been seeing less (not zero, mind you, but less) significance in the differences between the various guilds themselves, beyond their formidable cultural and historical presence.

Sure, we hear about slight differences, like the Nanbu guild does it this way, but the Echigo guild does the same step another way. But in the end, the overall level of technical prowess is higher than it used to be, toji or no toji, guild or no guild. And so many other factors guide the decisions of any given toji – such as house style or modern consumer needs – that those little differences between the guilds get squashed in comparison.

Nevertheless, I am pretty sure there is a lot about sake brewing about which I have no clue, and recently learned a bit about some of the real technical differences in the way different guilds of toji brew, and teach their protégé.

The toji guilds are centered around old farming regions, and most of the toji of a particular guild would Shizukustay close to home. But as the number of guilds and therefore toji has declined drastically (many are gone for good, or have but a couple of members), those that have maintained their numbers begin to necessarily spread out a bit, practicing their craft in kura farther and farther from their main region. Also, as there are textbooks, computers and seminars these days, the differences between the gilds is less clear cut than it used to be, in terms of technology, methods, and logistics.

And so I found myself in Ishikawa Prefecture, on the Noto Peninsula, home to the Noto Toji Guild. It is a narrow strip of land so sparsely populated, mostly with tobacco farmers, that in some higher spots one can see water on both sides, a testament to how few buildings there are.

One brewer I was visiting, a tiny operation, had as their toji the son of the owner, destined to take over himself in due time. But oddly enough, due to some affiliation from university, he was affiliated with a totally different guild, the mighty Nanbu Guild, basically centered in Iwate way up north.

So here sat this Nanbu toji in the middle of the home town of Noto toji. While it may not seem like much in writing, I was surprised and impressed. In any event, this particular gent had the chance to speak with many a Noto Toji as he was surrounded by them, and that juxtaposition made for great conversation as we strolled around his kura.

I found one particular technical difference big enough to surprise me and encourage further discussion.

 

Men at workWhen brewing a tank of sake, after the yeast starter is prepared, it is mixed with more rice, enzyme-rich moldy rice called koji, and water, added in three separate doses over four days. After that, the resulting fermenting mash – called the moromi – is allowed to ferment away for from 20 to 35 days or so. As it goes about its fermenting business, the temperature in that tank will rise. The highest temperature it reaches can be anywhere from 10C to 18C, depending on the grade of sake and ten million other things.

It was explained to me by this Nanbu Toji surrounded by Noto Toji that the Nanbu guild liked to let that temperature run up freely and of its own accord. “It gives us the fine-grained, clear flavor we are famous for,” he explained. But the Noto guild prefers to hold that back, forcing the moromi to take as much time as is feasible to come up to that higher temperature. The words used to me were, “Osaete, osaete,” or “They hold it back, as if saying ‘Easy now, killer, easy now.’” As he explained to me, he held his arms out, palms facing me and pushing forward, as if holding back an invisible force. And again, there is a reason. “It gives them the full flavor and quick finish that is their trademark,” I was told.

The differences are quite significant. We’re not talking a day or two here, but more to the tune of a seven days. In other words, one school says the highest temperature can be hit in a week, another says hold it back and make it take 14 days or so. To me, having that much variance in the basic brewing methodology is surprising.

But they’re right. If left on their own to brew sake as they like (i.e. without owner or consumer “suggestions” or “guidance”), Nanbu toji-brewed sake is indeed clear and fine-grained. And without a doubt, Noto toji-made juice is quite full – until the end, when it cleans out astonishingly quickly.

Well, I initially chalked this up to his particular perception. But the next day I had the good fortune to visit another brewery, this one firmly ensconced in the region’s Noto toji hands. And as the evening’s discussion with that toji wore on, we returned to this point.

I began to describe to him what I had been told. “I have heard that the Nanbu toji let the temperature of the moromi run up freely, whereas you Noto guys tend to?” He cut me off at that point.

With his arms out, palms pushing toward me as if holding back an invisible force, he interjected “Osaete, osaete?” And added a bit more verbiage to the tune of “Easy now, killer, easy now. Gotta hold that puppy back a bit.” Not only did he know where I was going, the very words were the same. The gestures were too, for that matter. This kind of indicated to me just how deeply ingrained their thinking is on the issue. “It’s what gives our sake the full flavor yet clean finish Noto Toji are known for.”

I was impressed by not only the differences, but also by the acute awareness of those differences on the part of the journeymen themselves.

I reiterate, though, that these differences are likely less significant than they once were. Textbooks, computer-generated curves and the equipment to allow brewers to match them, and modern understanding of the processes have usurped much of the effect of those older, empirically driven methods. But still, the differences in the practices of the various toji guilds are alive, well, and infinitely interesting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sake ConfidentilInterested in Sake? Pick up a copy of my latest book, Sake Confidential, A Beyond-the-Basics Guide to Understanding, Tasting, Selection, and Enjoyment.

Learn more here.

Lauding Toji

Giving credit where credit is due!

Recently, I read an article that came to me mysteriously by email about how winemakers in general deserve more attention and credit. The article suggested that too often folks fall in love with terroir, i.e. all that connects a wine to a certain place, and as such that the role of the person who actually called all the technical shots along the way gets downplayed, and that that shouldn’t be. The gist of the article was that hundreds of decisions are made between grape and bottle, and that deserves to be recognized and appreciated as well.

Which got me thinking: what about toji? Does the master brewer at a sake brewery get the credit that he or she deserves in creating a great sake?

Very often, perhaps as often as in the wine world, the person that guided and influenced the process gets very little attention or credit. It goes to the rice, or the generations of great sake that forged the reputation of the brewery, or sometimes even the region in general f’gad’s sake. Rarely, or at least not often enough, does it go to the toji.

So: Does the toji matter? Hell yes, the toji matters!

Long ago, the toji mattered, arguably, even much more than today. Back in the day, kuramoto (the brewery owners themselves) rarely even entered the brewery. And when they did, it made the brewing staff antsy, it did. “What’s he doing in the kura? He doesn’t have any business in here!” But things have changed.

Remember, back in the day, most toji brewed fairly close to home, and had but one style to aim for (the local one), and was pretty much stuck with local rice. But all that has changed. These days, toji might travel very far from home. The rice they use might be from anywhere, and brewers have a much bigger market at which to aim than the local yokels. Often, the kuramoto (the brewery owners themselves) dictate what is to be brewed, and the toji just complies. Either way, the toji is making gazillions of decisions about each fermenting tank every day.

In fact, in these modern times, there are more or less two ways of coexisting: one in which the kuramoto leaves it up to the toji and stays out of his way, and the other in which the toji brews up whatever is ordered by the kuramoto. Both are alive and well and living in Japan.

And let us also remember too that more and more often those two are the same: the
kuramoto is the toji, owner-toji as they are called. As tough as this can be, it eliminates a lot of problems. (Assuming schizophrenia is not part of the equation, of course. But I digress.)

The interesting if unrequested article that came to me also touched on the concept of manipulating wines, and my own reading on that subject indicated that the jury is still out on how much or how little of this is acceptable. But it again got me thinking.

While surely the same argument can be had for sake, at least to some degree, even the most un-manipulated sake has the bejeezus manipulated out of it from start to finish. The rice is milled, soaked, steamed, molded, mixed and forced to temperature. Water is added as needed, alcohol might be added, and the mixture is pressed at the end. Each of these manhandling steps has myriad aspects that combine to become part of the aforementioned gazillion decisions.

Having said that, any toji will tell you that he or she doesn’t really make sake per se, they just prepare the ingredients, create as an ideal an environment as possible for what they want to accomplish, and get out of the way. The sake brews itself, with a mind of its own.

Does a toji manipulate a sake? Hell, yes! Does it matter? Hard to say!

One owner of a somewhat large brewery once shared with me his thoughts on a what makes a great toji. After several glasses of some of his own fine hooch, he got down to the truth.

“You know what makes a great toji? I’ll tell ya what makes a great toji! Forget this gold medal stuff. Forget the prizes. Gold, schmold! Give me a person who year-in and year-out can deliver consistent quality of sake, the same stuff no matter what happens. No matter what the rice is like, no matter how warm the winter is, no matter what major piece of equipment breaks down in the peak of the season, no matter what personality conflicts he has in his team, and no matter who gets sick when… he still manages to brew consistent, dependable sake! Now that is a great toji”

So yes, in the final analysis, toji make a huge difference and should be lauded much more than they are.

Do some get attention? Yes, mei-toji (famous toji) have always been a part of the industry, and there are a handful that are recognized as such. A few have even been designated by their local prefectural or the national government as famous craftsmen or even intangible cultural assets. But still, not as many as one might think, and certainly not as many as are deserving of such recognition.

Why does this not happen more often? One reason is that they are a humble lot. Traditionally, toji were happy to stay in the background, being masters of their realm was enough, and even those with tyrannical streaks could be tyrants in that slice of their universe. Traditionally, they were not meant to be the “face” of the sake; that was the kuramoto’s job. To the outside world they were just doing their job.

But this is all changing, and so I say yes, let us make a bigger deal of the toji, and a more personal deal out of them too. They deserve it.

There are still a couple of seats remaining open for the Sake Professional Course in Japan, the most thorough sake education on the planet. Five days of sake bliss: learning, tasting, eating and visiting breweries. Held in Tokyo with a trip to the Kyoto-Osaka-Kobe area. Learn more at http://www.sake-world.com/html/spcjapan.html 

 

“Seimai-buai“: A Tale Of Grossly Misplaced Importance

This post is a sample from Issue #37 of Sake Industry News. Each issue of SIN has a handful of current news stories and reports, and one technical article written by John Gauntner. It is published on the 1st and the 15th of each month, and includes an audio version of the content as well. A one-year subscription is US$100, or US$10 a month. Subscribe with no risk, since your first two issues are free, and you can cancel with no obligation. Learn more and subscribe here

 

I recall a picture I recently saw of a wedding celebration. The couple was involved in the sake business somewhere outside of Japan, and clearly had access to a wide range of good sake. A dozen or so large bottles sat in an approachably haphazard arrangement in a basket so that the guests could access any of them easily. While the labels were all intact, each bottle had the seimai-buai (rice milling) written in inordinately large, colorful characters on the outside of the bottle. The message was clear, if perhaps a bit misguided: “this is all you need to know about this sake.”

With that opening, let’s state up front the premise of this diatribe: Many people pay far too much attention to the seimai-buai. That includes consumers as well as those in distribution, both in and outside of Japan. And it includes myself from time to time, if I am not vigilant. For some people, it’s the first thing they want to know, and the last they consider.

In truth, though, it does not warrant that much attention! So I am suggesting we relegate it to secondary importance – at best. I am not suggesting that we should not look for it, or ignore it, but merely that we should not excessively focus on the seimai-buai number, or use it in choosing or assessing a sake; that’s all.

As a quick, concise review, the seimai-buai is the milling rate, and tells us how much of the outside of the rice grains were milled away before brewing. The number represents what remains after milling, rather than what was milled away. The eight grades of premium sake have legally defined minimum seimai-buai, and the number must be printed on the label for those grades, collectively known as tokutei-meishōshu, or “special designation sake”. (You can see those rules here ). If it is not listed on the label, the sake is a futsu-shu by default, i.e. not of a “special designation.” Which is fine.

So if you know the grades and take a few moments to remember what the seimai-buai is for each of them, by just seeing the grade you know about what the seimai would be,

The problem originated when some brewers began to make daiginjo with extremely highly milled rice, trying to outdo each other. Milling only to 50% is legally enough for a daiginjo, but sake milled to 35% are common. But some then pushed that, through 30 and 23, down to 18, 17, 8, 7, and even one percent. Then the curtain was closed on that game when one brewer hit zero percent (read about that here).

But this has left many with the idea that more milling is better, or at least more extravagant. In truth, most say that going beyond 40 percent is fairly meaningless in that the sake will not be intrinsically better just because of more milling. But still, the seimai-buai garners a lot of attention, and many folks like to be seen drinking – or talk about having tasted – sake with a very high seimai-buai (which is represented by a low number!).

It is not that anything is wrong with such sake. It’s great, for sure. Light, delicate, refined and aromatic. But such sake is but one type of sake, just one style, and while such milling and the requisite care in brewing necessitate a higher price, the sake itself is but one facet of the jewel that sake is, and is not better just because of the high milling.

Sure, we all like the rare, the special and the unique, myself again included. And if that is the figure of merit of the moment, then without a doubt such sake are the perfect choice. But for most people, most of the time, there is so much more to which to pay attention in a sake.

And again, this is not limited to people overseas, or even consumers. Many brewers in Japan find to their dismay that distributors preconceive a connection between the seimai-buai and the price they are willing to pay. And, as covered in way back in SIN #1, a few producers are choosing not to play the game, and confidently just leaving their sake graded as futsu-shu.

The main gist of what I am encouraging is to focus on it less. I am not suggesting we ignore the seimai-buai, or that it is uninteresting or not important, but merely that we should not focus on it above and beyond any one of another fifty factors, like rice variety, region, yeast, tōji and kura style, production method, maturity, temperature, food, climate – just to name a few.

In fact, from about 70 percent down to about 40 percent, it can tell us a lot about how heavy and rich or light and delicate a sake might be. It is only one factor contributing to that, but it is an admittedly important one.

Hokkaido Rising

This article was originally published in Sake Industry News Issue #17

There are 47 prefectures in Japan, and every single one of them makes at least a little bit of sake. This was not the case until a few years ago, when one company in Kagoshima, the erstwhile lone holdout owing to its status as the premier sweet potato shochu producing region, added a sake to their array of shochu. Even in tropical Okinawa, the home of the idiosyncratic distillate awamori, there is one company who makes a tank or two of sake a year.

There are of course the major producing regions, like Hyogo, Kyoto, Niigata and Akita, and also those on the other end of the spectrum that produce very little. Buried in there somewhere amidst the more nondescript regions is Hokkaido. As the northernmost of Japan’s four main islands, Hokkaido is one prefecture all by its large self. But Hokkaido’s sake-brewing fortunes are possibly pivoting toward recognition and popularity.

The prefecture is attracting a lot of attention on several fronts that straddle a variety of industries. Namely, there are a couple of new breweries there on the sake production front; there are a handful of new sake rice varieties there showing up the agriculture front; and there is a lot of proactive tourism promotion there as well that continues to be a formidable destination draw. The intersecting aspects of these three are laden with potential as well.

Looking back a bit, Hokkaido once had over fifty breweries at its peak, and was the tenth largest brewing region. Things contracted from that zenith, and now there are only 13 breweries remaining, although many of them are noteworthy and appealing.

Next, let us look at sake rice. I recall a brewer from one of the Hokkaido companies once telling me that he found an old brochure from his own company on the floor of the storage room in the brewery. In the brochure, the company boasted – not stated, mind you, but actually boasted – that all of their rice was from Japan’s main island, Honshu, and that none was from Hokkaido.

Why? Because back then, Hokkaido rice had a pretty bad reputation. But a combination of agriculture technology and, unfortunate though it may be, climate change has made Hokkaido rice quite appealing, tasty and reasonably priced.

On top of regular table rice, much effort has been put into developing sake rice strains too, with good success. Hokkaido represents about 22 percent of Japan’s topography, so there is plenty of room for sake rice cultivation. And rising to that challenge, Hokkaido is now the second largest rice-producing prefecture (for all rice, of course, not just sake rice).

There are three main sake rice varieties developed and grown in Hokkaido, all created in the last twenty years or so. The most widelyYeast Starter grown, Ginpu, tends to yield light and clean sake (Ginpu, by the way, has established itself well enough to be used by breweries all over Japan, and is now firmly ensconced in the list of the ten most-grown sake rice varieties). Next is Suisei, which is well rounded and often yields a gentle sweetness that seems especially prominent amongst Hokkaido’s dry sake environment. And third is Kitashizuku, the newest. So new, in fact, that it is hard to see a tendency of character in the sake made using it. That will take another few years. There are a also a couple of widely grown table rice types used in sake brewing too, namely Kirara 397 and Yumepirika.

There are, in fact, several breweries that look at global warming and believe that, as things get warmer, Hokkaido will become an increasingly important rice region, and as such it is beneficial to learn to use the rice from that region well, and to develop the personal relationships that will help ensure a steady supply once that time comes.

Back to the sakagura of Hokkaido, several are well-known and have been for decades, perhaps none more than Otokoyama. Others include, Kokushi MusoChitosetsuru, and Kunimare. Lately, a smaller brewery making a sake called Niseko is making its mark as well.

Perhaps most interesting to many in the sake world are two others, one being Kawakami Taisetsu. Readers may recall that in the last issue of Sake Industry News we spoke of the hassles involved with getting a sake-brewing license, and in this case as well it was not granted anew. Rather, a passionate investor of some means bought a dormant brewery in Mie Prefecture in the western part of Japan and moved the company up to Kawakami Village in Hokkaido and started the company anew.

The tōji is a journeyman master brewer, having worked at breweries in five different prefectures before his most recent one in Hokkaido, which went under a couple years ago. The two teamed up and began brewing Kawakami Taisetsu in a small, craft-laden manner using the three aforementioned Hokkaido sake rice types. As mentioned above in Industry Stirrings, things have gone well enough for them that they are opening a second brewing location that doubles as a tourism site and is to some degree open to the public.

No alt text provided for this image

There is also one more brewery that packed everything up and moved up to Hokkaido: Michizakura Shuzō, brewers of Michizakura sake. This company moved their production to a village in Hokkaido that had no breweries. The brewery itself is under construction, with brewing slated to begin in October. There is a story as to how and why this move took place, but I am not yet privy to it. Look for that in a future issue.

Then there is the touristic aspect of Hokkaido. It has long been a popular ski destination, although perhaps more for visitors to Japan than Japanese people. But beyond that there are just huge, beautiful expanses of nature, with hiking and camping and a plethora of agricultural products to enjoy. All of these are great opportunities to let the world know just how good their sake can be.

There is just one concern that I have, and that is that there are only 13 active breweries up there. Of course, that is plenty if the goal is just to find great sake. Heck, one can be enough! But it is easier to develop a reputation as a sake-brewing region of diversity and quality when there are a large number of breweries with a large number of products from which to draw. With only 13 making sake up there, as good as each one of them might be, once having tasted the lineup, some folks might move on to other regions of note.

But in truth, while having a reputation that pervades the entire region can help in marketing the sake of that region, if most or even some of the breweries are doing well enough with their sake and its reputation, then the region should be considered successful.

Look for the sake of Hokkaido, especially but not limited to the ones mentioned above. It should continue to prove a very interesting region in the years to come.

The Leverage of Post-Brewing Processing Steps

The sake brewing process is a fairly intricate, convoluted affair that sounds complicated at first listen, and only gets more so as one gets deeper into it. And that is precisely the appeal of sake: you’ll never know it all. If one were to streamline the explanation so as to convey it in just a few sentences, it might sound like the below. While it is a super simplification, it is enough to lay the foundation for the topic here.

“To make sake, a yeast starter that has a very high concentration of yeast must first be created so as to allow the subsequent fermentation to continue unfazed by all the stray micro-organisms dropping in for a visit. But to get sugar to feed that yeast, some of the rice must be inoculated with a mold, koji mold, that provides enzymes and breaks down starch molecules to glucose.

“After the yeast starter is adequately prepared, the size of the batch is essentially double three times over four days by adding more rice, moldy rice, and water, with the purpose of dividing it up into three separate additions being to keep the yeast population high and strong. After the 20- to 30-day fermentation period, the remaining rice solids are filtered out through a press to yield clear sake.”

There you have it, in all of its tradition-insulting oversimplifying glory. What we have at this point is undeniably sake. But if the explanation of the process were drawn out over several pages, it would likely be then suffixed by something akin to, “oh, then, you might charcoal filter it, you might pasteurize it, store it, cut it with water, maybe pasteurize it again, bottle it, and ship it.” This makes it sound as if once fermentation is completed and you have “sake”, the rest is a simple matter of course, and not much to be concerned about. But, as you may have surmised, it is not that simple. Sake never is.

Without a doubt, the “after it’s sake” processing has just as much to do with the nature of the final product as does the complicated brewing process before it. One brewer told me that he considers the last few steps, or “after-care” as he called it, to be about 51 percent of the quality of a sake, and the complicated pre-pressing steps only 49 percent. A completed sake can take any one of a million paths, depending on the methodology, forcefulness, order and especially the timing of these “post-brewing” processes.

Perhaps the easiest thing to look at as an example would be pasteurization. When a sake is pasteurized by essentially warming it up for a short spell, various things happen, most notably bacteria are killed, and enzymes are deactivated. This provides great stability to the product. But the timing of this step ( usually done twice, by the way) is a huge factor in how a sake matures.

Consider a freshly pressed tank of sake. It has residual enzymes, a bit of sugar and starch and a few stray yeast cells still hanging around and looking for some action. Like all late-night partiers, these folks will interact a bit and their presence will be felt. But once the police-sweep of pasteurization clears out the ‘hood, these colorful characters are gone, as is the potential effect of them having been there.

Waxing technical again, sake matures much more quickly when it is stored unpasteurized, and much more slowly after it has been pasteurized. So the longer a brewer waits to put the heat on, the fuller, richer, meatier, more pronounced-in-flavor the sake has a tendency to be.

Of course, nothing is quite that simple. It will mature after pasteurization, just not as vividly.

The point being, there are no hard and fast rules for the brewers to follow. What kind of sake is the brewer aiming for? How close or far from that is this particular batch? How slowly or quickly will that puppy in particular mature? When can it be expected to be shipped? How much time is there to play with, both before and after pasteurization? Can it be stored cold or must it be at room temperature, and what are the effects of that environment on what it is and what it will be? It is as frustratingly difficult as any other step in the brewing process, and exerts as much leverage as well.

Traditionally, sake was pasteurized once very soon after brewing, then stored in a storage tank, and pasteurized again on its way to the bottle to ward off the effects of any bacteria it may have encountered on the way from said tank to said bottle. Today, however, there are countless variations of this once-standard way of processing.

Another not-so-simple issue is bottling. From long ago, sake was matured for six months or so in large tanks, then bottled later. But lately there has been a significant movement amongst craft brewers toward storing in bottles, not tanks, which calls for a much larger amount of warehouse storage space.

Huge. Still, many brewers find this yields a more fine-grained sake. Sake handled this way if often pasteurized just once, and more mildly as well.

The duration of maturation and dilution with water are similar in the myriad of affects that will result from different choices. Put them all together, and you can begin to see that the permutations are endless. Also, keep in mind there is no right way to do anything. It is all a function, obviously, of what style of sake the brewer intends to make.

Fine-grained, or big-boned? Light and dancing or settled and earthy? A one-glass sake or a session sake? All have their place and fans, and all call for different after-care.

At a tasting a while back of Shizuoka Prefecture sake, I made my way to the Kikuyoi booth. Shizuoka sits about an hour south of Tokyo, and is the home of half of Mt. Fuji, as well as Japan’s best green tea and best wasabi. It has been a haven of good sake since the late 80s, rather than for centuries, but it is making up for lost time with a mighty vengeance.

Kikuyoi is brewed by owner-to-be and toji Takashi Aoshima. For now, let us just say there are great stories behind this brilliant guy, having looked askance at his sake-fate initially, then later returning to it with an unrivaled passion. His sake is settled and simple, delicately rich, and decidedly not ostentatious. I make a point of tasting it a lot – yea, verily, drinking it a lot –  and as I worked across his table I noticed that the degree of maturity this time was exquisitely precise – more so than I recalled. The flavors stood out from their mellow background just perfectly.

Catching Aoshima-san for a brief moment after my run-through, I told him as much. “Your sake seems to be matured almost perfectly,” I offered.

“So! That’s right!” he blurted enthusiastically. “I agree wholeheartedly. I finally got the knack of it; it’s all in the timing of the pasteurization,” he explained.

“So now,” he continued, “I have, like, zero time. I am basically brewing in the winter, growing rice in the summer, and fiddlin’ with pasteurizing my sake and stuff like that in the gaps between.” The fact that he was beaming happily about his fate made it hard to feel sorry for him. He is famous for the dedication and energy he puts into brewing his sake, and it was evident in our conversation.

When next you come across an explanation on a label for from  brewer on something as innocuous-sounding  as pasteurization, bottle storage, or charcoal filtration remember that, as simple as those steps sound in comparison to koji and yeast starters and multiple additions, they carry quite the clout when it comes to the nature of the final sake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Know more. Appreciate more.
Interested in learning more about sake, and the industry in Japan that makes it? Subscribe to Sake Industry News, a twice-monthly newsletter covering news from within the sake industry in Japan.  Learn more and read a few sample issues here.

 

 

Assessing Sake in the Old Days

Limited to only the five “Go-mi” terms

Describing the flavors and aromas of sake can be a challenge. It doesn’t have to be, but often we make it so. In the end, if we like it then we like it. No descriptors are necessary if it is just for ourselves.

However, if we want to convey the appeal of a sake, how it tastes and smells, and what makes it special and different from other sake, then we need words and descriptors that people can more or less agree upon.

And these days there are lots of resources available for this kind of thing. Some organizations have lists of terms to which students should try to limit themselves to ensure that people are using the same words, which is surely one effective strategy. Flavor and aroma wheels are available too from a range of people and sources.

All are useful! And terms like this are more important to some than to others, for sure. On top of that, there are plenty of folks that rely upon their own lexicon developed through years of experience, and furthermore, there are people that are not really interested in concrete descriptors. But in the end, it is better to have them than to be caught short on words – or to be inconsistent – when the occasion calls for it. Such terminology gives those with experience something to say, and those without it a foothold from which to ascend.

But not so long ago, sake professionals in Japan did not have such – or need – such an arsenal of expression. Remember that long ago, people drank what was local. And “I like it” was often synonymous with “it’s all I can get ‘cuz it’s all they sell near me!” Furthermore, back then there was far less varieties of sake from which to choose. The local brewery to which one might be limited could have three or four products – only!

The sheer variety of sake available these days from any one brewery is mind boggling compared to what it might have been as recently as 50 years ago. So for a plethora of reasons, flavor wheels and official lexicons simply were not necessary. But today, they are. And we have them! And fortunately, we also have legions of sake fans and professionals that are willing to at least try to express sake flavors and aromas in concrete words.

So, what terminology did they use long ago? How did sake pros talk to each other before we had so many varieties of sake and before modern infrastructure made the de facto market for any brewer much broader than the local yokels?

Five terms. That’s what they had; that’s it. Limiting things in that way is either extremely streamlined or needlessly restrictive. But worked for centuries for the sake industry, so there must be some merit to it!

So what are those five terms? Avoiding a long linguistic discussion on characters and their possible multiple readings, the five flavors are as below.

Go-Mi

That’s it! Sweet, dry, acid, bitter, astringent. The are collectively referred to as the go-mi, or “the five flavors.” Long ago when judges would assess a sake, they would look for these five facets amidst the flavors and aromas, and importantly, the balance between them. All must be present; none can stand out from the others too much. It is certainly a very interesting concept, and brutally simple as well.

It also has its shortcomings. For example, to many people, sweetness and dryness are two sides of the same coin, are they not? And astringency is not an everyday concept in the West, although it is used much more in Japan. Furthermore, it overlaps with acidity somewhat.

Imperfections notwithstanding, limiting things in this way does provide some focus. But it surely makes it harder to convey to others what a sake actually tastes and smells like.

Of course, this discussion is admittedly laced with a healthy dose of hyperbole. In other words, even in the old days, surely people used more than five words to describe their sake, and to convey it. The use of these was probably limited to technical assessments and professional judges. Also, while these days no one “on the street” assesses sake this way, even these days there are still some older kuramoto and toji that settle down into this focused approach when seriously tasting sake.

As a side note, when normal people talk to each other about sake, rather than the five single syllable readings written above, we say amai (sweet), sanmi (acidity), karai (dry), nigai (bitter), and shibumi (astringency). You are much more likely to hear these words in a conversation.

In truth, these five terms are close to being relegated to a historical anecdote. But at the same time it is important to remember how things were done for so long, especially something that worked so well and for so many. And at the same time, to convey the wonders and appeal of sake to the world at large, modern terminology and expression is key. Like everything related to sake, including the go-mi, balance is key.

 

 

The 2nd Sake Professional Course Live Online, October 2020

On October 3, 4, 10, 11, 17 and 18 I will be running the second Sake Professional Course Live Online, to be held via Zoom on those five consecutive weekend days. The seminar will be run from Japan at a strategically selected time so that viewers in other parts of the world can watch it as well.

The content of the course will be identical to the live, in-person Sake Professional Course, and the exam for Certified Sake Professional will take place online as well on October 24. We will run optional sake tastings at the end of each session, for those that want to purchase the sake. In truth, a handful of details are not yet set, and in fact Sake World newsletter readers are the first to know about this!

Learn more and download more information here. If interested, please send me an email, and I will get back to you as soon as the details are settled.

“No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!”

Hatsu-Nomikiri

“The First Tasting of the Season”

There is one yearly event, however, that livens the whole place up: hatsu-nomikiri. Held sometime between June and September, this is an event in which the condition of each tank of sake brewed the previous season is sampled and checked.Sake breweries are usually fairly quiet in the summer. Except for the few large breweries where brewing continues all year, most places are dark and quiet and empty, as the brewers themselves have gone home for the summer. Traditionally, the brewing staff traveled great distances from their rural farmland homes to work at the kura (brewery), although today most places employ local people.

Until about 100 years ago, sake was brewed in cedar tanks with bamboo bindings. Gorgeous though they may be, such tanks are significantly less airtight than the solid enamel-lined steel tanks used today, there was a greater possibility that the sake had “gone south.”

This might mean one of several types of contamination, with the most common being “hi-ochi,” a condition that can arise in unpasteurized sake. Sake suffering the dreaded hi-ochi becomes cloudy and yeasty, with the various flavors going haywire to the extreme.

And, so, each summer, most commonly just after the rainy season, the toji would trek back to the kura. In front of a small gathering of insiders, the valve at the bottom of a tank would be opened, and a small stream of sake would be guided into a special tasting glass that allowed the fragrance to spread. This would first be offered to the owner of the brewery. After he gave the nod, the toji himself would sniff and assess. They would then proceed to the other tanks one by one, checking the condition of each in the kura.

This is precisely the situation, by the way, in which a traditional tasting cup, a 180 cc white porcelain tumbler with two blue concentric circles on the bottom, would be used. The blue circles on the white background allow one to easily assess the clarity of the sake.

Each tank brewed throughout the season will take on a short life of its own, and the way each matures in the tank over the several-month aging period will be slightly different. Some will seem more well-rounded and balanced, others more brash and immature. The flavor and fragrance will of course be slightly different for each as well. So one other reason for tasting from each tank is to determine in which order the tanks will be bottled and shipped, with the more mature-tasting tanks going first.

These days, the aforementioned enameled metal tanks are the norm, so that the worries of the past are not as much of a concern today. Still, the event takes place, with the toji and owner being joined by perhaps a few important sake dealers, and several “kanteikan”(professional tasters) from the prefecture’s sake research center, or a similar such organization. These sensei will record their opinions in detail, to be used by the brewery for internal reference only.

Things proceed much in the same way as the old days, with sake being drawn off from a valve at the bottom of the tank. The temperature is recorded, sometimes written in chalk on the ground or even on the tank itself. The number of the tank is recorded, and the sake brought to another room for a formal tasting in a more official setting.

Yeast StarterThe results of this exercise will also help determine how the blending of the various tanks will proceed. For example, blending tank #4 with tank #21 may create precisely the type of sake aimed for, based on the tasting notes. Other information, such as whether or not a sake will benefit from pasteurization or extended aging, can also be inferred.

Naturally, things are vastly different from kura to kura. For example, most places have already completed their hatsu-nomikiri by the end of July. Many kura in Akita Prefecture, however, gear up for the event in September. Also, as this is the first such tasting, traditionally kura would then check the condition of the sake several times after that.

However, this is not something to be done haphazardly. When the tank is opened and sake drawn off like that, there is the risk that this act in itself will allow contaminating bacteria into the tank. It must be performed carefully, with clean implements.

Today, however, there is great diversity in the methods of each brewery. Many places age their sake in bottles, not in tanks. Also, some breweries age their sake a full year or two (usually at low temperatures) before even considering shipping it. Although the condition of such sake will also be assessed from occasionally, the actual hatsu-nomikiri might not take place for a while.

Although the timing and logistics of the hatsu-nomikiri have evolved and are adapted to each brewery’s needs, the event takes place everywhere, with at least a bit of inter-kura fanfare.

Also check out my Sake Education Video Channel on YouTube here:

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Know more. Appreciate more.
Interested in learning more about sake, and the industry in Japan that makes it? Subscribe to Sake Industry News, a twice-monthly newsletter covering news from within the sake industry in Japan.  Learn more and read a few sample issues here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~