Monthly Archives: May 2020

and what they tell you…

Sake brewing today has become very scientific. But long ago, before the days of thermometers, hydrometers, and barometers, brewers relied entirely on their five senses to gauge the progress of a fermenting tank of sake. As a curious side note, one toji told me that they compared the accuracy of some of the old school guys to that of modern instruments, and that the old toji of yesteryear were just as accurate as the modern equipment. Not sure this has been scientifically documented, but it is a great anecdote.

Although they might not have known the scientific causes for the phenomena they were observing, experience and intuition (there it is again!) told them how to interpret what they saw, tasted and smelled. One of the most reliable of these empirical yardsticks – and one that is still used today – is the appearance of the foam on the top of the moromi (fermenting mash).

Throughout the 18 to 35 day ferment, the foam will change appearance quite regularly, and very clearly reflect what is taking place inside the tank. Over the centuries, names were given to the foam at each stage that made it easy to assess and convey the status of the work in progress.

After the yeast starter has been created, and after the three additions of water, rice and koji over four days have been completed, foam will begin to develop as the yeast cells process the sugars in the tank, and give off carbon dioxide. This will rise to the surface, often still attached to the yeast cells. This is why the foam has two and a half times as many yeast cells in it as the liquid beneath.

Two or three days into the ferment, small striations will appear on the surface, similar to taught muscle under skin; hence the term suji-awa (fibrous foam). Next, a think layer of soft foam will begin to cover the entire tank; this is known as mizu-awa (water foam).

The timing of these changes of course depends on a myriad of factors, such as how much the rice has been milled, and the temperature of the tank. But soon after this the ferment will enter its most active stage, and foam will rise in great swaths, so that it looks like huge rocks tumbling over each other. This is known as iwa-awa (rock foam).

This continues into the highest stage of foam, known as taka-awa, with the bubbles themselves at this stage being very small and fine. This usually occurs about the tenth day or so, but there is great variation depending on a plethora of factors.

The foam rises so high that brewers usually rig a simple rig consisting of a piece of wire that gently spins on a motor with the sole purpose of gradually beating down the foam as it rises. This spares them the need for extremely high-walled tanks. It also aids in sanitation, as one of the greatest sources of sake-spoiling bacteria is foam that has dried on the inside of the tank.

As the fermentation begins to wane, the foam too falls back, leading to the stage known as ochi-awa (falling foam). This segues into a stage with very large, soapy-looking bubbles known as tama-awa (ball foam).

After this foam, too, fades away, the surface of the moromi is referred to as ji, or ground. This stage has many sub-conditions with their own names. Small wrinkles in the surface are referred to as chiri-men (a type of rough cloth). A totally smooth surface is known as bozu, in reference to the shaved head of a priest. If rice solids that did not ferment have risen to the surface, it may look like a lid is on the moromi, and this is referred to as futa (lid).

Much can be told about the quality of the sake at this stage from observing this surface. For example, if the lid is thick, it indicates that a significant amount of wild yeast ended up in the moromi and survived.

This is because the fibers in rice tend to attach themselves to many types of wild yeast, and rice to the surface when pulled by the carbon dioxide molecules, giving that thick-lidded appearance. Brewers know, then, that a thick-lidded moromi in its final stages will often lead to a sake that is rough, acidic and less refined.

Naturally, today these observations are combined with chemical measurements such as acidity, residual sugar, and temperature to create the precise and wonderful flavor profile for they aim. But back in the day, the appearance of the foam was an important tool for brewers in assessing just when a sake was ready.

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…and live to tell about it

Some things are not what they seem. That kind of defines sake brewing, and much about the sake world in general. One poignant example of that is judging in sake tastings, as many people imagine that it is a ton of fun. “How cool! Tasting sake for a living! What a great job!”

In truth, there are, in fact, worse jobs. So, it does not totally suck. And I only do it several times a year, so it is hardly a “job.” But really, it is anything but fun.

Of course the first few dozen are cool, fun, and enjoyable. But very few tastings in the sake world consist of only a few dozen sake. More often than not, especially at proper government or industry tastings in which proper and strict scoring is called for, there are about ten times that many. And the judges of course have a responsibility to assess each one carefully, properly and to the best of their ability.

There are many ways of competitively tasting alcoholic beverages. Most tasting competitions have panels that are groups of half a dozen tasters with an experienced leader. If there is less than a clear majority or consensus on any one sample , discussion ensues to round that out up, and that process takes time. Scores are often on a 100-point scale, even if the lower 70 percent of that is never used.

Tasting sake in Japan has always been done a bit differently. Judges work alone, at their own pace, with no discussion with other judges. Scoring is typically 1 to 5, with 1 usually being the best. Judges can work at their own pace, but have to get through all the sake. It gets monotonous: taste, spit, score, move on. Again. Again. Again.

But, really, this is just one more way of doing it. Although it certainly does not need to be this way, it does allow lots of tasters to work through a large number or sake. In fact, one can easily judge several hundred sake in a day in tastings in Japan. Over 25 years of participating in tastings like this, I would say that the typical maximum is 220 or thereabouts.

However, I have done up to 550 in one day. Five. Hundred. And fifty. It was in a tasting held by a distributor in Tokyo, and I participate every year (although the event was cancelled this year for obvious reasons.)

How does one taste 550 sake in one day? One at a time; that’s how.

Obviously, the fun factor wears off pretty quickly. But the hardest part about it is maintaining focus and concentration. Sure, palate fatigue comes into play as well, but more than that it’s mental. And, while of course each sake is assiduously expectorated, after 100 or so the inevitable buzz that you actually do not want rears its ugly head. It’s definitely a long-ass day. What can you do to make it easier on yourself? Several things, in fact.

Breakfast is key. To taste like that on an empty sake is just plain stupid. Still, a huge meal before tasting would dullen your senses, but if too little is eaten the buzz wins, the taster loses. Next, consciously minimize what you take in, and be sure it is consistent in volume. There is no need to take in any more than is necessary to thoroughly assess the sake, and because it is absorbed through the tongue, minimizing that helps.

Obviously frequent breaks for deep breaths and water are essential both mentally and physically. You have to remain focused through the inescapable fog. Also, after a while, a thertain numbneth theth into the tongue. Water, vigorously swished, will usually clear that out.

In one tasting in which I judged years ago for Fukushima Prefecture, they had a unique way of keeping the judges’ palates fresh. On a table in front of a chalkboard, laid out neatly, were a pitcher of water and requisite glasses, two dishes of white powder, and (get this) a bowl of eggs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was the palate cleansing station.

The powders proved to be salt and baking soda, and were quite effective in helping my tongue forget temporarily the barrage of ambrosia to which it had just been exposed. The eggs, however, were new to me, and I had to ask how to use them. The egg is cracked, the yolk is manually separated from the white, swished around the palate and swallowed – raw. Of all the options available, this was (surprisingly) the most effective in absolving the taste buds of any previous experience.

The above will help, but nevertheless tasting that much always takes its toll. Don’t plan anything later in the day. While this seems obvious, some people are ambitious – often judges will go grab a beer after tasting that much.

So, yeah, write off the rest of the day, and the first half of the next one as well.

In truth, tastings of that scale are rare. This example is extreme; most people judging will never have to taste that much. Should you ever find yourself a judge in a sake tasting, the above should help you maintain perspective and focus.

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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.