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.

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!”

“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.

The 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:

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Readers are likely aware that I publish another newsletter, Sake Industry News, thanks to the liberal use of ads in this publication. In every other issue of SIN, we publish an interview with a brewer that consists of ten questions about the brewing season. Last issue, we published such an interview with a brewer that was chock full of interesting insights. (To find out who, please subscribe to Sake Industry News! You’ll be glad you did!)

One of the questions we asked him was, “How was production volume this year compared to last year? Up, down or the same?” His answer was that it was about the same. However, he went on to say that due to COVID19, sales have slumped significantly.

“We may have to reduce volume over the next few years. We’ve already committed to our rice purchase for next year so we won’t be able to adjust until the year after. It’s really quite scary!” he continued.

Just how challenging this can be for sake brewers – and rice growers too – might not be evident to most people, so let’s look at it here.

Naturally, all sake brewers want stable businesses, and most want to grow their business as well. And naturally enough they need to balance supply and demand. If they run out of product, consumers will run to other producers. But if they make too much sake, more than can be reasonably sold, it runs the risk of getting old and suffering in quality. In truth, there a dozen ways to mitigate the problem of having too much sake on hand, but not letting the problem arise in the first place is better than any of them.

So balancing what they think they can sell with how much they produce is a big part of running a sake-brewing business. There is much to take into account: trends, plans, stock on hand, economic environments and more will all affect sales. But after assessing what they think they can sell and how much they need to brew, they order rice.

Bear in mind with very, very few exceptions sake brewers do not own rice fields or grow their own rice. And even among those that do, no brewer grows all the rice needed for a full year’s production. Instead, they order it from farmers, usually through agricultural cooperatives but sometimes by direct contract.

Rice-growing is a whole ‘nother industry in Japan, with its own challenges. Naturally, farmers want to grow as much as they are legally permitted, but also need to be able to sell that rice easily. And like sake brewing, that calls for a whole lot of planning. Rice is harvested in the fall, but planting begins in the spring, somewhere between March and June. Planning just what rice will be grown where, and, for many farmers, how much will be sake rice and how much eating rice or even rice for some other use must all be planned way in advance.

What that means is that sake breweries place rice orders in February or so for rice for the following fall. Remember, every year is different. It might be a bumper crop, but yields might be much lower than usual. And much can change between the time rice is ordered and the time it hits the market a year later. Lots of things might change. Like COVID, for example.

And that is what happened this year. Brewers looked at things like sales trends up until February, and made decisions on how much sake rice to order. But due to COVID, overall sake sales in March dropped about 13 percent, and some individual brewers saw drops of 40 and 50 percent of shipments in March and April. Naturally, this would drastically drop the amount of rice one would normally order, but the orders were already in.

Modifying those orders is not a simple thing. In fact, sometimes it is just not possible. So much goes into the planning of how much rice and which rice will be grown where that it simply cannot be changed quickly. If a field in which sake rice was grown all of a sudden is used for another agricultural product, it is very difficult to change it back to sake rice. It just doesn’t work that way.

Some might think that another solution would be, rather than ask a farmer to just grow another rice, instead just say, “cancel the order, and let the field be empty this year,” but apparently that is even worse.

So in many cases, the brewers will be stuck with the rice that was ordered, and that is why it is “quite scary” to our interviewed brewer.

In truth, there are a handful of potential solutions. The rice can be stored at cold temperatures and used later – but the energy costs are significant. The brewed sake can be made in such a way that it stands up to time in the bottle better, stored colder than normal to slow down maturation (at a cost, of course!) and sold later than originally planned. And then, if need be, the following year’s production can be planned around the surplus.

But the rice-growing industry might not be able to adapt as fast.

In truth, it is a fairly intricate problem involving several industries, and it also depends on the whims of nature and the economic environment. Just how it will pan out, of course, remains to be seen. Stay tuned!

So the problem is complicated. But the solution is the same: all of us need to drink more sake. If we can enjoy more sake and nudge demand up steadily in spite of all that is happening in these times, we are doing our part, and all that we can to help the sake industry.

And speaking of Sake Industry News, why not subscribe today! Learn how to do that below.

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

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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.

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Happy New Year! Happy New “Brewing” Year that is! Welcome to 2BY, or “The Year Reiwa 2 Brewing Year.”

We have calendar years that run from January 1 to December 31. And we have fiscal years that are more variable, but tend to run from April 1 of one year until March 31 of the next, especially in Japan. And, most relevant to us, we have Brewing Year, or Jozo Nendo, which runs from July 1 of one year until June 30 of the next. Here’s an explanation of why that exist as it does.

First of all, while Japan does relate to the fact that this is 2020, officially and traditionally it is called Reiwa 2, or the 2nd year of the era of Reiwa. So to go from Reiwa to western years, add 18 – this will do in a pinch. The Heisei era, which started in 1989, just ended in 2019 with the switch to the Reiwa era when the emperor had his son take over.

While most sake is best young, sometimes sake is aged by the kura before being released. And sometimes, we can see an indication of the year in which it was brewed. This should make it all simpler – provided we know how to read that information. The problem is that a given sake brewing season stretches across two calendar years.

Sake brewing starts in the fall of one year and ends in the spring of the next. So, if a sake were labeled only as year Heisei 39 (2018), it would be brewed in one given season if it were January of 2018, but be a completely different brewing season – with different rice, weather, and possibly even more – if it were October 2018. This difference could be likened to two totally different vintages in the wine world. So, we need a bit more detail.

This point did not escape the clever folks in the brewing industry needed a way to speak about the sake of one season, unencumbered by trivial details like how the rest of the world measures time. It also was a necessity from the viewpoint of the folks at the ministry of taxation, who also needed a more efficient way to tax kura on their output.

And so long ago they came up with the concept of the “Brewing Year,” or BY. Just like fiscal years can differ from calendar years, in Japan the Brewing Year runs from July 1 to June 30th of the following year. This, then, encompasses the entire brewing season of every brewer in the country in one clean 12-month period.

So, BY1 ran from July 1 2019 until June 30 2020. And sake brewed last fall and into this spring would be considered part of BY1. And, we have just entered into BY2. So, even though calendar year 2 (read: 2020) is half over, we just now started BY2.

Why do they use July? Why not October 1 (Sake Day!) or another day in the fall when brewing begins? Well, consider that there are various scales of operation. A tiny brewery might begin in November and finish in February. More common is starting in October and finishing in April. A very large brewer might start as early as August and run until the next June. And there are even one or two that brew all twelve months of the year.

Since production is focused on the coldest month of the year, January or so, brewing operations will expand in both directions from that point. So by starting in July and running to June, the industry can capture a single brewing season for all brewers, big or small. While it ain’t rocket science, it is at least somewhat clever.

How does this help us? Well, when we see a sake labeled, for example, H26BY, you know that since Heisei 26 is 2014, this sake was brewed in the season beginning in the fall of 2014, and running into the spring of 2015.

That would make it about a year to a year and a half since being brewed, just about right for much sake, if young by some mature sake standards.

Note, this is not on all bottles. It is common to talk about it with producers and other sake adherents, but the only time it is actually printed on a label is when the sake has been aged deliberately, and the brewer wants you to know just how long it has been aged. It is indispensable in those situations, since the date that must be printed in tiny characters in the corner of the label legally indicates about when it was shipped from the brewery, and that may not let us know just how long it was aged before that.

Again, since aged sake is such a small drop in the bucket, you will not see this so commonly. But if and when you see such mysterious nomenclature, you will know precisely how old your sake is.

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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.

Also known as “Awanashi Kobo”

Admittedly, the subject of yeast types begins to push the envelope of geekdom, ever-so-slightly encroaching into the realm where most folks’ interest in sake begins to wane. While some want to know both in theory and practice the difference between a Number 9 and a Number 10, and perhaps even between a CEL-24 and EK-1, most of us are content to sip and smile. Even so, there are some interesting historical, cultural and technical anecdotes surrounding even things as dryly scientific as yeast, making it well worth a look-see for those that like sake. The lore – dare I say subculture? – surrounding foamless yeasts, or “awanashi kobo,” is one such example.

First of all, just what is foamless yeast? Usually, when sake undergoes its 20- to 40-day fermentation, the foam rises in great swaths and falls again, especially over the first third or so of this period. Last month, we talked about the appearance of the foam, and how much brewers can deduce from watching it. You can read that here.

The sake brewers of olde would judge the stage, progress and condition of a given batch by the appearance (and smell, and taste, and even sound) of this foam topping. Many brewers simply prefer the foam, as it gives them one more source of all-important input that can be used in assessing the progress of a fermenting tank, and when a sake is ready to be pressed. The five senses are, after all, the most reliable tools of the sake-brewing craft.

Also, there are ten times more yeast cells in the foam than the mash itself, so very often yeast for subsequent batches is removed from the foam of healthy, vibrantly fermenting tanks.

So foamless yeasts, obviously, are strains of yeast that do yield bubbles and foam on the top of the moromi (fermenting mash) as they ferment away and convert sugars to alcohol, carbon dioxide, and more. (Actually, even foamless yeasts create a little bit of foam.) The question is, if brewers can learn so much from the appearance of this foam, then why would anyone want to use these foamless yeasts? There are, actually, a number of very good reasons. Most of these are centered around efficiency, sanitation, labor-savings, and even safety.

For instance, since the foam rises so high during fermentation, brewers cannot fill a tank to the brim with rice, koji and water since it would soon overflow with foam, leading to hygienic nightmare. Rather, they can only fill the tank initially about 3/4 of the way to leave room for the foam to rise and fall. Naturally, this puts a damper on one’s yields and efficiency. With foamless yeasts, however, this concern is all but a non-issue, and a brewery can get much higher yields out of each batch and tank, which contributes massively to the overall efficiency of a year’s worth of brewing.

Also, when foam does rise and fall, the remains that cling to the side of the tank are a veritable hotbed of bacterial activity, an orgy of undesirable microorganisms just hankerin’ to drop back in and do damage to the unsuspecting ambrosia-in-waiting below. So this must be assiduously cleaned off by the brewers. Not only is this hard and time-consuming work, it is also quite dangerous, since it generally requires leaning into the tank.

So by eliminating the foamy remains, time, labor, and risk are spared. Finally, without all that gunk in the way, the hard-working yeast cells move and work a bit more freely, so that fermentation proceeds a smidgeon faster and can finish a day or two earlier.

Why are they foamless? What happens, it seems, is that most yeast cells will cling to bubbles of carbon dioxide that are created and then rise to the surface. Foamless yeast cells, on the other hand, for whatever reason do not cling to these bubbles and so are not carried up, up, and away. Since the bubbles are unencumbered, they pop, and there is no foam rising high above the mash.

The foamless yeasts that are commonly encountered out there today are non-foaming versions of the “usual suspects,” rather than being new, unknown, or total mutant life-forms. Most of the foamless yeasts commonly seen used in sake these days are simply foamless versions of the main Brewing Society of Japan yeasts, i.e. Numbers 6, 7, 9, 10, 16 and lately 18 (which, actually, does not even have a foaming counterpart!). There are others, of course, but we just hear about them less often.

Actually, these too are naturally occurring. About one in every several hundred million yeast cells of a given type are foamless, but obviously, if just one in several hundred million is non-foaming, no one will notice. It just takes patience to isolate some and cultivate a pure culture of them.

Also, they have been around a long time, it seems, but proper records go back until only about 1916, when several breweries reported experiences with them. Apparently, until then, the brewers that encountered these thought, “ Whoa. This can’t be right. Let’s just quietly throw this mutant away before anyone finds out about it. It could be bad for our rep and all.”

But then in 1931, the Sake Research Center in Niigata successfully brewed a proper batch with foamless yeast. In 1963, based on some foamless yeast isolated at a brewery in Shimane making a sake called Hikami Masamune, researchers began to study it properly, and with the help of a local-to-Shimane famous sake professor named Yuichi Akiyama (that was until recently still active and famous), in 1971 the foamless version of Number 7 became available to brewers around the country.

However, the first commercial use of a foamless yeast was actually in Hawaii, believe it or not. That was in 1960 or 1961, a full ten years before it was used on anything remotely resembling a large scale in Japan, by Mr. Takao Nihei of the Honolulu Sake Brewery. Dispatched by the brewing research organization within the government of Japan, he was the first to take what information there was on these yeasts (and a sample, of course) and run with it. His focus was saving labor and producing great sake with great efficiency, and this he did with great success.

Are these foamless yeasts really the same as their bubbling counterparts, except for the foam? I mean, c’mon; really? I always take the opportunity to ask that question whenever I visit a brewery using foamless yeast, being sure to pretend it is the first time I have ever done so. Most of the time they would answer, “Yes, the results are essentially same, and the practical advantages make it a clear choice for us.” However, there are a still a few hardcore brewers who insist that the foamless manifestations are not quite as good as the foaming yeasts. Naturally, the ability to gather information from the appearance of the foam is eliminated. Still, most brewers feel that with foamless yeasts they get the same quality of sake, with less mess.

A final technical note for those that are interested: foamless yeasts, at least those distributed by the Brewing Society of Japan, are designated by a -01 after the normal nomenclature. So a foamless Number 7 is known as 701, foamless Number 9 as 901, and so on. Those you are likely to come across are 601, 701, 901, 10-01, 1601 and 1801 (for which there is no regular #18).

Take the time to look for the yeast used in your sake. Sure, it’s a bit maniacal, but fun as well. And if you see one of the numbers ending in -01 above, you know just what it is.

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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.

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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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.

…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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This article originally appeared in the April 15 issue of Sake Industry News. 

Amongst the many steps of the sake brewing process, some are more glamorous than others, and that therefore garner more attention. “Koji-making” and “yeast starter” sound so much more romantic than “milling the rice.” As such it becomes easy to dismissively abridge the more mundane-sounding processes, and even more so when modern machines do a much better job than hassle-laden traditional hand-crafted methods.

And rice milling is the epitome of this. We usually say, “first, they mill the rice…” and move on to the more glamorous steps. But that belies how incredibly important milling is. One could say it is the most important step, since if the rice is not milled well – if there are lots of cracked or broken grains as one example – then the rest of the processes will not proceed well and the resulting sake will suffer.

Why, again, do they mill the rice? The objective is to remove fat and protein from the outside of the rice grains while leaving the starch in the middle intact, and doing this in such a way that the rice grains do not crack or break. Protein and fat can give character to sake, but they are usually viewed as the cause of rougher flavors. And avoiding cracking and breaking while milling is important so as to let the microorganisms used in the process to do what they need to do effectively and predictably.

From eons ago, rice in Japan has been milled a bit before being consumed. But really, only the outer eight to ten percent is milled away; that is enough to significantly improve the way it tastes. Long ago rice was milled using using grinding stones, often driven by water wheels when available. But this was rough, and only the very outer portion (that eight to ten percent) could be milled away.

In 1896, the company Satake, located in Hiroshima, developed automatic milling machines that made all that much easier. And that company grew into the largest rice milling machine company in the world, which they remain today. In the 1930s, Satake went on to develop special milling machines to mill rice especially for sake brewing. These employed harder milling stones that were much larger, and through these developments brewers were able to mill the rice much farther then ever before. This technology led to higher and higher milling rates, and eventually, the advent of ginjo-shu.

So for a long while, it was all about Satake. But note, the company’s bread and butter (or rice and pickles, as it were) was machines for table rice, a market they dominate today as well. But there are other milling machine producers, and many have come and gone. Today, the other main company that makes rice milling machines is Shin-Nakano. Both are great companies, and both continue to make their presence felt.

Shin-Nakano, while a much smaller producer of milling machines, is part of larger holding company that owns other sake industry businesses, including a couple of sake breweries as well. And they have maintained plenty of relevance by focusing on craft breweries, and offering plenty of added value, in the form of research with backed by proper scientific methods that has from time to time gone against what has been common sense in the industry. For this and other reasons, many sake brewers stick with Shin-Nakano machines, and they are quite visible in the sake world.

But beyond the machines themselves and their producers, there are developments that start out as ideas in the minds of brewers and such, and eventually work their way into the technology. One of those is what is called Henpei Seimai, or flat milling.

In order to grasp Henpei Seimai, remember that rice grains are not round, but are oblong, kind of like a rugby ball, and the starch center known as a shinpaku within is also basically of that shape. And like many of us human beings, there is much more meat around the midsection than at the top or bottom. This “meat” in sake rice is fat and protein. But when milling machines mill, they take the rugby-ball-shape and make it round by milling evenly everywhere around the grain. This means that, when milling is done, there is more fat and protein around the sides of the shinpaku then at the ends.

If they could somehow maintain the oblong shape and mill more around the midsection then at the top or bottom, a higher ratio of fat and protein could be removed. This idea was proposed about thirty years ago by Mr. Tomio Saito, a former Chief Official Appraiser at the Tokyo Regional Taxation Bureau.

And it worked! The concept was embraced by Daischichi brewery in Fukushima, and others followed soon after that, and Henpei Seimai was born. (Actually, Daishichi takes it a bit further and calls it Cho-henpei Seimai, or “Super Flat Milling.” You can learn more about that here.)

Henpei Seimai does not call for special milling machines. It just calls for modifying and jury-rigging older machines, a lot of skill and a ton of patience on the part of the miller. But basically things are tweaked so that the rice grains fall in fewer numbers against the milling stone, and maintain a vertical orientation as they do. This means that more gets nicked off the sides each time than the top or bottom, and the henpei seimai goal is achieved. So anyone with the requisite skill and experience can do it, it just takes longer, and uses more energy as well.

This is obviously appealing to most brewers: remove a higher percentage of fat and protein with less milling. But since it is a hassle, most brewers do not do it. Yet, amongst those that do, Shin Nakano seems to be the machine of choice, (although that is based on observation and word on the street rather than hard statistics).

However: Satake came back into the mix by recently developing a new milling machine that can do Henpei Seimai, but without all the little adjustments that are normally called for. No mess, no stress. Just select “henpei” and it works. It does it faster as well, and uses less energy in doing so.

But they also took it a step further: Satake developed a slightly different milling outcome that they call Genkei Seimai. Genkei means “original shape,” and as can be surmised from the name, it purports to mill the rice in such a way that it ends up closer to the original shape than normal round milling or Henpei Seimai. The result is that there is more fat around the middle than Henpei, but less than regular milling. However, there is less cracking and breaking since the original natural shape remains more integrated.

They have, in fact, just introduced this machine and this way of milling, so there are not enough results in the field to develop an opinion. That will come, and we will look at some preliminary mumblings in a moment. But to me, the most significant thing about all this is that the mighty Satake is actively getting involved in the sake rice milling game again. That bodes quite well for the sake world.

Back to the differences between the milling methods, please refer to the drawing. Regular milling takes a rugby ball and mills it into the shape of a baseball, Henpei Seimai mills more from the fat-laden sides than the ends, and Genkei Seimai is less flat, and mills somewhere in the middle, with the objective being maintaining the original dimensions, so to speak, of the rice grain.

Several breweries in Hiroshima cooperated with Satake to brew sake that were identical in every way other than one being milled using Henpei Seimai and the other using the newfangled Genkei Seimai. One of them was Imada Shuzo, brewers of Fukucho. The owner/toji, Ms. Miho Imada, sent me a bottle of each to do the comparison.

In truth, I only had one bottle of each, and both were freshly pressed and nama. While certainly delicious, I might be able to tell a bit more with some time in the bottle and pasteurization, but that chance will come in time. And from what I tasted, the results were as subtle as might be expected considering how slight the differences in milling are.

The Genkei Seimai sake seemed sharper and brighter in aromas, but more settled, broader and rounder in flavor. The Henpei Seimai seemed richer in aromas but lighter in flavor. While I am not sure why the aromas were that way, knowing that Henpei was brewed with rice with a bit less fat and protein, the slightly slimmer flavor seemed appropriate. But again, we would need another hundred samples or so to come up with a truly dependable result.

After having brewed with all three types of milled rice, regular, Henpei and Genkei, Ms. Imada emphasized one thing quite emphatically.

“None of these methods is unequivocally better than the other. None will replace the other two; they all have their place. It depends on what kind of sake you want to brew; that’s the deciding factor.”

And, as mentioned above, to me what is most important is that these developments continue to take place, and that important companies like Satake continue be involved at the research and product development levels.

If you are in Japan, you can purchase both sake here and compare for yourself: https://fukucho.info/?mode=cate&cbid=2467869&csid=0

If you are interested the machine that does it, you can see the specs here, in Japanese: https://satake-japan.co.jp/products/ricemill/sake/edb40a.html

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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.

Of course they do…

I do not get to Ishikawa Prefecture often enough. It sits nestled basking in its historical glory, on the Japan Sea side of the country, its rich history former reputation for wealth and opulence in stark contrast to mellowness and sleepiness that pervades much of the prefecture today.

During my most recent excursion there, I was able to visit a brewer called Kuze Shuzo, whose main brands of sake are called Choseimai (“The dance of long life”) and Notoji (“The road to Noto”). As is the case with a lot of Ishikawa food and drink, it’s enjoyable but hard to find near me, enough to cause one to think, “Why haven’t I heard of these guys more often, and why can’t I find this near me?”

They are unique and extremely interesting in many ways, one being that they grow their own rice that is also called Choseimai, although written deliberately with different characters. And one of the most interesting aspects of their brewing practice is the fact that they use two sources of water, one hard, and one soft.

Readers will likely recall a number of things about water used in sake brewing in Japan, including that since in the end sake is about eighty percent water, it exerts massive leverage on the nature of the final sake. And while iron and manganese need to be at very low levels to even begin to think about using a water source for making sake, beyond that brewers discuss the hardness or softness of water. This is measured by the amount of magnesium and calcium or calcium carbonate.

While one is not unequivocally better than the other, hard water encourages a fast fermentation that often leads to full sake with a quick finish, and soft water allows a slower, more lackadaisical fermentation that, when combined with lower temperatures, is conducive to ginjo production and more readily results in sake that is softer, rounder, and more absorbing.

Overall, Japan tends to have slightly soft water compared to the rest of the world. So even what is called hard water here in Japan is actually kind of soft when compared to the water in other countries.

Back to Kuze. They have a well inside the kura as do many producers, and like most places this is of course the main source of water that they use for making their sake. But just outside the brewery is another source of water, a spring that is sourced from a completely different origin, and has a significantly different mineral profile. It is, in fact, fairly hard water.

And so just for the fun of it, or perhaps just be-Kuze they can, they use that hard water for some of their sake. Interestingly, some of their products use both sources of water, i.e. both hard water and soft water in the same tanks of sake.

This of course complicates things hugely, and is in essence a nod to the history and culture of their immediate environs. And good marketing of course, if you can get people to listen to the story.

As they explained their brewing philosophy and methods to us, they eventually came to the sake that is brewed with both sources of water. And it came to light that they limit the hard water to being used in the moto, i.e. the yeast starter, and the soft water to use in the moromi, i.e. the subsequent fermenting mash.

Bear in mind that when making sake, the first milestone is the moto – the yeast starter – which takes two to four weeks to prepare, and the goal of the moto is to have a mini-batch with an extremely high populations of healthy, strong yeast. After that, more ingredients are added in three stages, roughly doubling the size of the batch with each addition, and then fermented for an additional three to five weeks, with the goal this time being more alcohol, and enjoyable flavors and aromas of course. This longer fermentation is often carried out at lower temperatures, and much more slowly, as such conditions encourage cleaner and more aromatic sake.

So when they told us that they use the hard water for the yeast starter stage, and the soft water for the subsequent longer fermentation, I immediately thought, “ of course they do.”

Indeed, of course they do it that way. While it does in fact make total sense, it is quite instructive to note why.

Remember that at the moto stage their goal is creating a strong yeast starter, and that means they want the moto to ferment strongly, so as to have the yeast reproduce quickly and healthily. And hard water will support that. Conversely, they want the subsequent moromi stage to take place more slowly, to some degree inhibiting fermentation speed, to bring out more appealing aspects of flavor and aroma in the final sake. And softer water will encourage that.

So, yeah; of course they use the hard water for the moto and the soft water for the moromi.

With about 1200 sake breweries out there today, and almost all of them making decent stuff, it is hard to do something truly unique yet still somewhat orthodox – and still be tasty enough to sell well. While it is not a choice that is open to many breweries, Kuze Shuzo has found one way to do just that. And when you hear of just how they do it, there is naught to say but “ of course they do!”

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The epitome of it all expressed at Kikuyoi

As the climax of the Sake Professional Course Level II course, we visit a couple of breweries. This year, as is the case most years, we head down to Shizuoka Prefecture a couple hours south, wherein sits majestic Mt. Fuji and about 30 great sake breweries. One of them makes a sake called Kikuyoi.