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.

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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.

Here we are in the depths of winter. Although the days have begun to grow minutely if incrementally longer again, they continue to grow colder as all around us remains in hibernation. But this is just the time when the sake-brewing season is traditionally at its peak.

With actual brewing of initial batches having begun in November, most (if not all) breweries have pressed their first several batches of the season. Naturally this does not apply to large brewers that brew year-round, and there are also many that start earlier or even later than the average. But traditionally and statistically, the first few weeks of November see the pressing of the first tank of the year at many breweries. Being January now, most breweries are in the thickest part of the season, finishing batches and starting new ones on daily or almost-daily basis.

And along with this first pressing comes a handful of terms – with greatly overlapping meanings – to describe the resulting sake.

After the tank of rice, water, koji and yeast has run the course of fermentation, the clear sake must be separated from the white slurry of rice solids that remain. This step is usually done by a machine that forces the slurry though fine mesh panels, catching the solids and letting the amber ambrosia pass through. There are of course other, more labor intensive, quality-imparting methods then these machines.

Regardless of the method, this pressing step is known as “ shibori.” and the first pressing of the brewing season is “ hatsu-shibori.” We can often find sake labeled “ shibori-tate,” meaning “just pressed” on shelves of sake retail shops.

Another term greeting us from sake labels early in the new year is “ shinshu,” or “new sake,” which is sake that is, well, new. Most sake is aged after pressing for from about six months to about 18 months, although there is great variation in this as well from brewery to brewery. Aging sake like this allows the just-pressed new-sake brashness to mellow and round out, not unlike what happens with wine. Shinshu is sake released without this maturation, and as such has a fresh and brash youthfulness to the flavor.

So, one might ask, what is the difference between the two terms used above, shibori-tate and shinshu? The main inference is that a shibori-tate is just out of the presses, with all of the attendant brashness that implies, whereas a shinshu may have been pasteurized, filtered, and tweaked, but simply has not been aged for long, if at all. And yes, there is a whole lot of overlap there.

Much sake released now is also nama-zake, which is sake that has not been pasteurized. Pasteurization in sake means temporarily heating it gently to deactivate enzymes that could alter the flavor. These active enzymes could send the sake awry and out of balance if it is not kept cold. Sake that has not been pasteurized (i.e. nama-zake) has a zingy, fresh, appealing lilt to the fragrance and flavor, although this aspect can overpower the true nature of the sake if it is not kept in check during production.

Much shibori-tate is nama-zake as well, as is much shinshu.

Not enough terminology for ya? Thirsty for more? Here are a few more that, while by no means limited to this time of the year, may be a bit more common to this season.

Genshu is sake that has not been cut with water after brewing. Sake ferments naturally to about 20 percent alcohol, which is a bit high to allow the fine nuances to come through. It is therefore usually cut with water to bring it down to about 16 percent alcohol. Genshu has not had water added, and therefore is a bit stronger. This often complements the rough-and-tumble brashness of shibori-tate sake.

“Muroka” unfiltered, in the sense that it has not been charcoal filtered. Most sake, after pressing, is at some point in time filtered using powdered active charcoal to fine-tune the flavor and remove unwanted aspects. (This filtering process is curious to watch, as they actually dump a bunch of fine, black powder into this lovely sake, then filter it out.) Muroka sake has a wider range of flavor components, and again refraining from filtering augments the appeal of freshly-pressed sake. It all works together.

Note that often several of these terms can be found one label. For example, you can have a shiboritate nama muroka genshu, and it would not be at all uncommon or strange, even if it is a mouthful (in more than one sense of the word).

But in the end, the terminology is ancillary in importance, and all that really matters is enjoying freshly-made sake when it is best: now.

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Amidst all these terms is one more, self-explanatory (if you understand Japanese, that is) very rarely seen – Gantan Shibori. Gantan is the word for New Year’s Day. So a sake marketed as Gantan Shibori will have been pressed on January 1, and shipped out immediately so as to be enjoyed on that day or very soon thereafter.

While of course this tells us nothing about the grade of the sake, it will surely be nama, muroka, and most likely genshu. And it will of course be shibori-tate and shinshu too! So you kind of the whole kit-n-caboodle in a bottle of Gantan Shibori.

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Sake Professional Course in Chicago
April 23 ~ 25, 2019

From Tuesday, April 23 to Thursday, April 25, 2019, I will hold the 30th North American running of the Sake Professional Course at the restaurant Sunda, in Chicago, Illinois. The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan, with the exception of visiting sake breweries.

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.

You can learn more about the course here, see the daily syllabus here,and download a pdf here. If you are interested in being in the mailing list for direct course announcements, please send me an email to that purport.

Testimonials from past graduates can be perused here as well.

Along with the arrival of the season’s first sake comes the proliferation of sugidama. If you are in Japan, certainly you have seen these here and there, the large globes of tightly bound sugi (Japanese cedar, or more accurately, cryptomeria) leaves that are usually about 50cm ( 18 inches or so) in diameter, suspended by a cord in front of sakagura (breweries), sake pubs and sake retailers.

Sugidama are also known as sakabayashi, and originated in the Edo period (1604-868). Historically, they were hung out in front of sake breweries just when the first batch of sake is pressed each year. It’s a sign to local sake fans that says “Yeppir, the new sake is ready!” Over time, sugidama came to be used by sake dealers and sake-serving pubs to let customers know that “yes, indeed, sake can be found here, so shimmy on in and get some!”

The sugi (cryptomeria) tree holds religious significance in the Shinto religion, particularly in connection with O-Miwa Jinja in Nara Prefecture, which houses a deity of sake brewing. Traditionally, the leaves from the sugi on the grounds of this shrine were used to make all the sugidama for sake brewers everywhere. Or at least, so it has been said.

Sugi is used in many places in a sake brewery, and at many steps in the process. Until about 70 years ago, tanks for sake brewing were made of sugi wood (now they are porcelain-lined steel), and in fact for the few batches made each year in wooden tanks, sugi is still used. The walls of the koji-making room are most often made of sugi, as are the trays and boxes in which the koji is kept as it goes through the 48-odd hour preparation process. Although one rarely seas wooden rice steaming vats anymore, those puppies too were made of sugi. And, once the sake is done, for centuries it was shipped in 72-liter casks called taru and then drunk from small single serving wooden boxes called masu. And – yes, you guessed it – both taru and masu are traditionally made from sugi.

Although there are several stories, one says that if the leaves of sugi are dipped into a tank of sake, that sake will not go bad. But more practically, this wood is seen as best for protecting the sake from spoiling. But also, sugi is the one type of wood that does not impart a woody smell to the koji, or the moromi (fermenting mash), or the completed sake. Other wood varieties would make sake taste and smell woody, but sugi minimizes that effect.

Back to the iconic sugidama: since they are made in late fall or early winter, the needle-like leaves are still green. Over the next several months, however, the green needles turn brown. Originally, it was said that when the color had changed to brown, the sake had aged enough to be optimally ready for drinking. So one would enjoy the hanging of a sugidama outside a brewer, and wait with great anticipation until it turned brown and the sake was ready to drink.

I recall a visit to a kura in Yamagata Prefecture named Kamenoi Shuzo, brewers of the sake Kudokijozu, during which the president Mr. Imai pointed to a large sugidama hanging by the entrance. “See that, there? As you know, it should turn brown by the fall. Well, back in 1995, we had a sugidama that somehow miraculously stayed green; it never changed colors. While that alone was a mystery, that particular year the rice harvest was horrendous, and as such the sake that year was bad as well. Somehow, the sugidama knew the sake was never quite ready to drink, and so it never turned brown.”

I dunno; stories like that kind of link sake to the rest of nature in a very cool way, one that almost makes veracity a secondary point.

Often, I have wondered how they were actually made. My inquiries were met with, “Well, ya just keep stuffin’ more and more sugi leaves in there, and trim it ‘till it’s round enough…” But only recently did I see a work in progress when visiting a brewery that was just about to press its first batch of the year.

In the old days, the experienced guys would ball up a bunch of boughs and stuff everything else into that. These days, many if not most use a ball of wire or styrofoam at the center.  I was genuinely surprised to learn that it was that simple.

Although accounts differ subtly from source to source on the details, the above is the basic gist of the saga of the sugidama. But it has evolved in its use if not its symbolism. Today, sugidama appear not only in front of kura (breweries), but also in front of sake retail shops, as well as sake pubs and other places serving sake all over the country. A few are even found outside of Japan.

One of the most charming sites of winter – if you are into sake – must be a sugidama with freshly fallen snow resting on the top. If it doesn’t evoke an inner warmth, try viewing it with a glass of sake. It soon will. 　

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The next Sake Professional Course will be held April 23-25, 2019 in Chicago Illinois. You can learn more here, and make a reservation with an email to me at sakeguy@gol.com. Hope to see you there! 

No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!

Fall can be fun, but fall can be tiring. One sake tasting after another means so much other work does not get done. The traditional fall tasting season mercifully ends soon, but making the rounds is both important and fun.

One of the last for me this year was a tasting of Yamaguchi Prefecture sake. There are 28 or so breweries there, 20 of which gathered for the event. And as I am always reminded, tasting the sake is fun, but one can learn ten times as much from chatting with the brewers. Therein lies the value and appeal of these tastings.

And at the Yamaguchi tasting the other day I made my way round to the eponymous Taka, brewed by the company called Nagayama Honke. The owner/toji Taka Nagayama himself was there to pour and greet.

I know his stuff well and zipped through them, but the last one got my attention. It was a junmai daiginjo, but made with Tojo Yamada Nishiki. While not overly assertive in flavor, the breadth and the reverb permeating the overall flavor profile were outstanding – but not surprising. Afterall, it was Tojo Yamada.

Tojo was the former name of the village in which this outstanding rice is grown, but a spate of annexations saw the town itself become annexed into another one a few years ago. So even though the town of Tojo is long gone, the term Tojo Yamada Nishiki was safely trademarked, and good thing too.

Like any agricultural product, there are certain regions and even microclimates in which each strain of sake rice will thrive. And this of course applies to what is almost universally considered to be the best sake rice, Yamada Nishiki. This variety is grown in 33 of Japan’s 47 prefectures, but the overwhelming consensus is that it grows best in Hyogo Prefecture. And deep in the mountains of this prefecture, where the days are hot and the nights are cold, is a village formerly known as Tojo, and another village named Yokawa. And it is these two areas from which the best Yamada Nishiki comes. Tojo tends to command a higher price than Yokawa, but the latter is exceptional to be sure, especially in comparison to that rice grown in other regions.

And Taka, our sake-pouring owner-toji friend from the opening paragraph, lavished praise upon Tojo Yamada. “Yeah, you can’t really top it, can you! It’s as good as it gets, and the price of the rice reflects that. But I have done a good job of keeping the retail price as low as I can so folks can enjoy it.

“And,” he continued, “what is amazing is how well it stands up to time. It basically does not hineru,” he asserted. Hineru refers to a sake starting to taste old from, well, getting old. The difference between hineru and nice maturation is a fine line, of course, but I digress.

“Even Yokawa,” he continued without being prompted, “as good as it is, that will show maturity pretty quickly; but not Tojo. That’s why I think Yokawa Yamada Nishiki might be good for super premium sake bound for overseas markets – it will remain stable for a long time,” he concluded.

The point here is not that one should drink Tojo over Yokawa, or that one region is superior to another. Those are worthwhile discussions too. But rather, what is interesting is how fundamentally different the same strain of rice can be from two regions that are so close. Tojo and Yokawa are right next to each other. They are perhaps a couple of kilometers apart; that’s all. But the slight differences in the mineral makeup of the soil and of course minute climactic differences lead to the best and second best examples of the mighty Yamada Nishiki to be noticeably and consistently different.

What is wild about this to me is that, yes, the choice of rice is connected to the final flavor profile of a sake. But that connection is not nearly as tight as the connection between the grape variety and the final flavor of the wine. Ten brewers can take the same rice, milled to the same degree, and make ten completely different sake. How the koji was made, the yeast used, the fermentation temperature and number of days, and how the sake was pressed and later handled all contribute huge differences.

Yet, in spite of all this, the basic nature of the rice will shine through, and that basic nature can be quite different on a subtle but measurable level, even for the same strain grown just a few kilometers apart.

Similar differences can, in fact, be demonstrated in other strains of rice from other parts of Japan. In fact, there are a handful of brewers now doing things like brewing sake using the rice of only one rice field, and not blending them, to make the most of the differences that invariably exist from one rice field to the next.

Surely these efforts will garner more attention as time goes on, although few will be as prominent as the tale of two Yamadas as told by Taka. It’s all fascinating stuff, and it all demonstrates how much there is to learn – and unlearn – about sake

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Sake Professional Course

The next Sake Professional Course will be held in Las Vegas, Nevada on November 27 to 29.  As of today, only three (3) seats remain open.

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.

Three Significant Days in Sacramento, CA:   The Iida Group Sake Brewing Seminar

There was, in late June, in Sacramento California, an unprecedented event: a seminar ran by a very prominent player in the Japanese sake-making world. It was a seminar taught by Japanese master sake brewers for the 15 or so craft sake producing companies in North America. It was, as might be expected, very, very cool. The seminar was run by a company called Iida Shoji that has a significant presence in the industry, and one that is steadily growing. The company owns a few sake breweries, so they are involved at that level. But they also run a company called Shin-Nakano, which makes rice milling machines.

In fact, Shin-Nakano makes rice milling machines only for sake production, i.e. not for rice in general. So they have a niche, and they have it sewed up tightly. Interestingly, to bolster their significance as the “rice milling machine of choice” for sake brewers, they present lots of research on techniques, methods and trends for modern sake as related to rice milling. And on top of all that, the employees seem open, light-hearted, and innovative.

The event was held in Sacramento since that is where Shin-Nakano has a rice milling plant. The region produces a lot of rice, and much of that is used in sake brewing in the US, which makes four times as much sake as is imported.

Iida Shoji reached out to and garnered participation from 14 small craft brewers in the US and Canada. While the five large breweries were mostly not in attendance, I am sure they were there in spirit. Also, by my count, there were six small breweries that for one reason or another were not present. I say that to point out that there are about 20 small craft sake breweries in the US now, in various phases of existence, running from “inactive” to “kicking ass.” And most were present.

While there were tastings and a party or two, as well as a visit to a craft sake brewery in San Francisco (Sequoia Sake), as well as a massive rice milling site, the heart of the seminar was a series of lectures by three sake brewers that came over from Japan: Kosuke Kuji of Nanbu Bijin brewing their eponymous sake in Iwate, Philip Harper of Kinoshita Shuzo brewing Tamagawa sake in Kyoto, and Junpei Komatsu of Komatsu Shuzo, brewing Houjun sake in Oita. Each had a different angle, a different background, and different styles of sake.

There were also panel discussions with all three, and lectures on rice growing and distribution in the US as well.

Philip Harper is the toji (chief brewer) making Tamagawa, a rich sake with a clean finish; it is a very expressive yet traditional style. He has been brewing sake since like 1993, I think. Kosuke Kuji is the larger-than-life, with an always cheerful, vocal and energetic presence and spirit. He is the president of Nanbu Bijin, but very, very technically adept and excellent at conveying information. Junpei Komatsu restarted his brewery up after 20 years of dormancy. He began with very small batches at first, which made his perspective especially relevant to the attendees.

The seminar began with each brewer speaking in generalities about sake brewing and their observations of how everyone in North America was doing with their sake brewing. Later, it broke down into specific points and questions asked by the participants.

I am not a brewer, but hey, how could I not be there? From my slightly detached viewpoint, here were the main points. Most of these were echoed by all three lecturers, although each one emphasized different facets.

First, emphasized one brewer, figure out what kind of sake you want to brew. Don’t just try to make something drinkable, or not too bad. Decide if you want to make a rich sake, a light sake, an aromatic sake or a acid-driven wine-like sake. Or something altogether different. That will determine absolutely everything about your operation, so thnk about it well, and decide with commitment.

Next, sanitation. Be uptight, meticulous and fastidious about cleaning everything, all the time. This alone, it was emphasized, will very much improve the quality of your sake. Keep the bad bacteria out at all costs. Let the good micro organisms work in peace. (To me, this is the hugest difference between US and Japanese sake brewers.)

Also, all three emphasized that brewing will be different for each and every person at each and every venue. So you have to figure out what works for you, at your place. You have to “write your own textbook,” from experience and intention.

There were countless other small, detailed, technical questions and discussions, and what was great to me was that overall big issues like sanitation that would supersede smaller things like choice of rice or koji mold or yeast were covered, but the small and minutely detailed questions were answered as well. The balance was as fine as any great daiginjo.

The seminar was significant because it was the first time a representative of the sake industry in Japan proactively acted to help sake brewing efforts overseas. I have long observed the industry in Japan encouraging sake brewing overseas, showing interest and support. As more brewers overseas try their hand, more people will become familiar with sake and willing to try it and learn more about it. And this in turn will help the industry in Japan. It’s pretty much win-win. But this was the first time I have seen such a concrete and effective event take place. It was great.

A month later I ran into someone from Iida Shoji, one of the people most actively involved in putting the three-day seminar together. I congratulated him on its success.

“I look forward to attending next time, too!” I said.

“Hm…maybe two years from now. Not next year,” he replied.

“Oh, really? Not every year,” I teased.

A quick flash of exasperation on his face indicated just how much effort he and his company had put into it. It was clear they would need a break of about two years.His audible sigh augmented his expression.

“See you in two years.”

In just about any educational material about sake, we read or hear that the main difference between premium grades of sake like ginjo-shu and regular non-premium sake is the milling of the rice. Specifically, for ginjo sake the rice has been milled much more, and down to a specified degree before brewing. The more the rice is milled, the higher the grade of sake. Short and sweet, and easy to remember. Yeppir.

While true, beneath the surface of that truth is another, and that is that rice milling is just the tip of the iceberg. In reality, there are a gazillion little things that are done differently in the processes used to make premium sake versus regular sake. At least a gazillion.

Of course, the milling is, in fact, very important. This removes the fat and protein that are found in the outer regions of the rice grains, leaving a higher ratio of starch, and leading to a more refined sake.

But how, beyond the milling, does brewing ginjo differ from brewing regular sake? Basically at every step of the process. Each step is done with increased attention to detail that adds a bit more quality with each successive step, leading to a significantly better sake in the end.

Concretely, what changes? For example…

Once the rice is milled, it is soaked and then washed to remove the clinging rice powder, and to adjust the moisture content. For cheap sake, the rice will be washed and soaked in fairly large vats and lots; that will get almost all the powder off and get the moisture content into the ballpark in a fairly efficient way.

Precision Soaking

But for ginjo brewing they wash the rice even more thoroughly, and soak in much smaller lots to attain uniformity of moisture across each grain in the batch, and also to get that moisture content to within a half a percent of target. While that was easy to write for me, it is not easy to accomplish. Do not let the significance of that precision be lost on you.

Doing that every single day to a ton or rice at one time takes skill, experience, and attention to detail. In fact, washing and soaking may be the one step where the difference is the most visible to us mortals.

And this lunacy continues with each step. Steamed rice for regular sake goes along a conveyor belt and cold air is blasted through it, but for ginjo, often it is spread out on straw mats to cool down slowly and naturally. The difference in the effort expended is huge. It is almost as if the sake gods conspired to ensure that the more hassle-laden the work is, the better the sake will be.

While less visible, koji-making is where it really gets nuts. Koji, that moldy rice that supplies enzymes for saccharification, as well as much so much flavor-augmenting amino acids, can be made using machines, and/or in huge-ass lots in which the moisture and temperature are not consistent throughout. But for ginjo, koji is often made in trays as small as 1.5 kilos, and then checked every two hours across the 48 or so hours it takes to make. Every. Two. Hours. This helps ensure that every single grain of rice sees the same temperature and humidity, and provides the same enzymatic power.

On to the yeast starter: Ginjo is usually made with different yeast strains, and in yeast-starter rooms that are kept much colder than average to thwart wayward bacteria from proliferating.

Next, fermentation itself. In short, regular sake is fermented in large tanks leading to large yields with large efficiency. Ginjo is always made in smaller tanks, as it is easier to keep the temperature consistent across the whole mash. With a huge tank, the temperature in the center of the mash will not be the same at the bottom, top or sides of the tank. Ginjo tanks will be jacketed too, with coolant running through those jackets at the flip of a sensor-driven switch to help keep temperature appropriately low no matter how warm or cold it is outside.

Extreme Method of Pressing: by drip

But wait! There’s more! Once fermentation is complete, the sake is pressed to remove the rice lees. This can be done in a handful of ways, some mundane yet good and some extravagant. You have likely surmised by now that ginjo is made using the much more extravagant, low-yield, hassle laden methods. Even when pressing by machine, a recent trend is to put the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside a refrigerated room to eliminate the activity of bacteria that can damage aromas.

Pasteurization for cheap sake is done roughly and quickly, with stability being the goal. Ginjo is pasteurized in one of a handful of methods each with a handful more variations that try to ensure stability but retain liveliness. Not only is the method important but the timing is paramount as well. For regular sake, such attention to detail is simply not justifiable.

Each one of these adds just a bit to the mix and that incrementally leads to better ginjo. And all of the explanations of each one of the steps above could have been expounded upon ad nauseum to further illustrate the point. But I figured readers have a few better things to read; and you all likely get the point.

Interestingly, all of this has trickled down to once lowly junmai-shu. In other words, the junmai-shu of today is brewed using the ginjo techniques described above, whereas a few decades ago it was more commonly brewed in basically the same way as cheap futsuushu (regular sake). The methods, tools, and attention to detail were the same as very cheap sake; only the milling of the rice and the addition of distilled alcohol were different.

As such, the junmai-shu of just a few decades ago rarely boasted the fine lines of distinction that much of today’s junmai offers. While it was hardly rough stuff, it was not nearly as smooth, genteel, lively or aromatic as the average junmai-shu today – which tends to push the ginjo envelope.

Gentle Pasteurization

Some less than optimal flavors and aromatics can be particularly pronounced in just-brewed sake; so a bit of maturity – like six months to a year – works wonders in mellowing and melding the various elements. Pasteurization also helps in taking the edge off. As such, the junmai of olde was rarely drunk young, or nama (unpasteurized). It just wasn’t enjoyable enough in that just-pressed state.

But these days, junmai-shu is much more light, aromatic, soft, refined and layered. In fact, of late, the term “fruity” lends itself to many a junmai-shu description. In particular, banana and melon. And much junmai – as well as ginjo – can now be enjoyed very soon after brewing, and as nama too. This evolution is a result of it being made much more like lofty ginjo-shu and daiginjo-shu, and less like plebian futsuu-shu.

Note, though, that not all brewers are making junmai-shu in these ginjo-esque ways. And there are increasingly glaringly obvious differences between the dos and the do-nots. But certainly the basic visible trend is that junmai-shu has approached ginjo-shu and left futsuu-shu behind.

In truth, it is not as clear cut as the above. Not all regular sake is made in the rough ways, and not all ginjo is made using every one of the precision-driven steps above. But in general, the differences are as laid out here.

Both junmai-shu styles and ginjo-shu styles (including daiginjo styles, i.e. “ginjo to die for”) have been evolving for 40 years, and will continue to do so. And that evolution will take place in countless small ways, mostly outside of the milling process. So yes, it is about the milling of the rice, but it is about so much more as well.

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Sake Professional Course

The next Sake Professional Course will be held in Miami, Florida in September.

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.

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.

2017 National New Sake Compeition Report

In May, the 105th Zenkoku Shinshu Kanpyoukai was held in Japan. The official English name for this contest is the Japan Sake Awards, but the literal translation is much more descriptive if slightly unwieldy: the National New Sake Tasting Competition. It is the longest running competition of its kind anywhere in the world. Those interested can find more information in the archives of this newsletter (which go back to 1999!), in particular in the June or July editions for each year.

But to save you the hassle, here is a summary of the main points of this prestigious competition.

The sake submitted is not stuff you can normally buy, but rather daiginjo or junmai daiginjo made specifically for this contest. It is brewed to have a minimum of faults, but still seem unique and special. I often refer to it as “daiginjo on steroids.”

This year, 860 of Japan’s 1200 sakagura submitted an entry to the contest. Each company is allowed to submit one sake per brewing license, i.e. one per brewing facility owned. Some big companies own more than one facility so they would be permitted one for each.

Almost all of it is not junmai because using the added-alcohol step brings out more aromas and flavors. But this year, 156 of the 860 submissions were junmai, up from 139 a year ago. Clearly more brewers are interested in trying to win with junmai sake.

Koji being cultivated in small trays

Sake is tasted blind in round one, and about half (this year, 437 to be exact) make it to round two. They are then tasted blind again, and about half (this year, 242 to be exact) of these will be designated as gold, the rest that made it into the second round are designated as prize-winners (the term “silver” is not used, although the gist is the same).

This year, 242 won gold, and 215 won silver. While prestigious within the sake industry, it is not that commonly used in marketing as the average consumer has no idea this contest even exists.

For the seventh time in eleven years, and fifth in a row, Fukushima Prefecture won more golds than any other prefecture, and as has been the case for the past decade, the entire Tohoku region did very, very well. In fact, much more interesting than Fukushima – with all due respect to their accomplishments – was Miyagi, where 20 sake out of the 23 total submitted got gold! Two more got silver as well. This was an unprecedented result.

This year, brewers were whining that the Yamada Nishiki rice that is most commonly used for contest sake like this was not dissolving easily in the fermenting mash. This means tight flavor profiles with little flavor expressed. But this proved to not be too much of a problem, although flavor profiles seemed to vary quite a bit from region to region.

Much winning sake was on the sweet side, with extra glucose to balance out bitterness contributed by yeasts that give fruity aromas. This seemed especially true in Fukushima, and only slightly less so in Miyagi.

While the sake submitted is not usually sake desitned for the market, the flavors, aromas, styles and leading prefectures are a harbinger of where sake is currently headed. Therein lies the contest’s appeal.

There is so much to be said about this competition: the changes over the years, the remarkably-few-yet-still-there-to-some-degree politics, the history, the records, the reasons it came to be. Much of that can be dug up in the archives of this newsletter, (see the end of the newsletter for more on that) but more importantly it seems as though amidst today’s sake popularity, more brewers and consumers as well are showing an interest in this historically and culturally significant competition.

You can see the results in Japanese here and in English here .

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Sake Professional Course  in Denver, Colorado
August 28-30, 2017

From Monday August 28 to Wednesday August 30, 2017, I will hold the 27th North American running of the Sake Professional Course at the University of Denver, (Fritz Knoebel School of Hospitality, Daniels College of Business) in Denver, Colorado. The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan, with the exception of visiting sake breweries.
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.

You can learn more about the course here, see the daily syllabus here,and download a pdf here. If you are interested in being in the mailing list for direct course announcements, please send me an email to that purport.

Testimonials from past graduates can be perused here as well.

Announcing the establishment of the “awa Sake Kyokai”

On November 1 of last year, eight sake brewing companies formed the “ awa Sake Kyokai,” or the “Sparkling Sake Association.” On April 14, 2017, the awa Sake Kyokai had increased its membership to nine, and held its inaugural event in Tokyo.

With respect to the name: the word awa means foam, or bubbles. The official Japanese same keeps the word awa in English, with sake and kyoukai in Japanese. Furthermore the word awa is not capitalized. (Explaining this seemed better than just writing (sic) after the word awa. But I digress.)

The purpose of the group is to produce and promote high quality sparkling nihonshu. With the Olympics coming to Tokyo in a scant three years, the member brewers decided it would be good to have a type of sake that can be enjoyed in a toast much like a sparkling wine or Champagne.

Let us briefly look at the sparkling sake market as a whole, and then at the awa Sake Kyokai in more detail.

I have not found accurate numbers of how many sparkling sake products there are in awa sake kyokai certification mark

Japan right now, so the below is my own estimate. In truth, I doubt there are any hard stats, since sparkling sake is classified as sake, i.e. as far as the government is concerned, it is the same stuff. Still, I do have confidence in the numbers here, even if they are my own approximation.

There are 1200 breweries in Japan (1241 this year, to be exact.) Let’s say they average 20 to 25 products each, including seasonal variations. That is about 25,000 sake products in Japan. I think there are significantly less than 200 sparkling sake products on the market. So that means that sparkling sake, in terms of number of products, is less than one percent of the market. In terms of volume produced, it is way, way less than one percent.

The point is not to trivialize it; on the contrary, I do want to support the development of this sector of the sake world. However, it is important to point out that sparkling sake is not to the sake world what sparkling wine and champagne are to the wine world. Not even close.

Also, note that there are a handful of ways to make sparkling sake. It is legal to just pump regular sake with carbon dioxide, and fast and easy as well. As such, a good number of sparkling sake products are made in this way. It is also common to leave some sugar in the sake after pressing, and add a bit of the yeast-laden foam back into the bottle to do a secondary fermentation in the bottle, trapping the gas inside. There are variations and other methods as well.

Back to the awa Sake Kyokai, even though there are plenty of producers making sparkling sake, there are only nine members. While there are likely several reasons for this (some of which are beyond the scope of this newsletter), certainly one is the strict set of conditions to which sake made under this banner must comply.

Those conditions are:

1. Made with rice, rice koji, and water, and conforming to the legal definition of nihonshu.
2. Made with rice that has passed legal quality inspection.
3. Contains only naturally occurring carbon dioxide resulting from fermentation.
4. Transparent in appearance, with visible bubbles when poured.
5. Minimum ten percent alcohol.
6. Minimum pressure of 3.5 bar at 20C

Also, a further stipulation is that the flavors and aromas must remain stable for at leaest three months in the bottle.

So many products on the market do not meet one or more of the specifications above an so will not be marketed under the awa Sake Kyoukai organization’s efforts. It might be alcohol that is not high enough, cheap rice, methods that do not comply, or added fruit flavors (legally rendering them something other than sake) or more. In fact, there are many well known, well marketed and very visible sparkling sake that are not a part of this organization. Which is fine.

The nine breweries are: Tenzan, Hakkaisan, Chiyomusubi, Shichiken, Nanbu Bijin, Mizubasho, Kikuizumi, Fukumitsuya and Dewatsuru. The current chairman is Noriyoshi Nagai, president of Mizubasho. Some of these breweries have more than one conforming product available, while two do not yet even have a conforming product on the market. More members as well as more products from those members can be expected.

While there are various opinions on sparkling sake overall, it is a real and fast growing sector of the sake market and should be encouraged. Note, too, that relatively little sparkling sake is being exported. A bit is, to be sure, and that bit is growing. Certainly the efforts of the awa Sake Kyokai will help that.

While it may or may not rival champagne in the future, the sparking sake sector is bubbling up, and likely to come to a head at some point in time. At least, it is certainly moving in a positive direction.

Why make it harder than it needs to be?

There are countless varieties of yeast used in sake brewing today. Yeast converts sugar (that has been created when enzymes in the koji break down starch in the rice) into alcohol. So, no yeast, no sake. But it does much, much more. But the most evident expression of yeast in sake is aroma. Basically, yeast yields aromas.

If you smell banana and melon in your sake, that comes from the yeast. If you smell apple and anise, that comes from the yeast. If you smell bacon and smoke, that comes from bad yeast.

Almost all brewers select and manually add the yeast of their choice for each sake. And, in a very few cases, yeast can drop in from the air and naturally occur. These can be categorized in a handful of ways, most usefully perhaps in terms of “classic” yeasts and “modern” yeasts, with the former giving more overall balance and the latter being more aromatic.

But another way to categorize yeast is “foaming” and “non-foaming.” The difference is just as the terms imply: foaming yeast froths up on the top of the fermenting mash, whereas non-foaming yeast does not. Other than that, they are pretty much the same.

Foaming yeast are much, much more common and were in fact the standard for centuries. Why are the foamless ones 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.

Many yeasts have both foaming and non-foaming manifestations. An organization called the Nihon Jozo Kyokai (Brewing society of Japan) distributes the lion’s share of sake yeast to the industry. The yeast varieties they distribute are numbered, as in number 6, 7, 9, 10, 14, and 18. These are the most commonly seen, although there are others. When a -01 is added, that indicates a foamless version. So 601 is a foamless 6, 701 is a foamless 7, and 901 is a foamless 9.

During production, the two types of yeast behave very differently.

For instance, since the foam rises in great swaths during fermentation, brewers cannot fill a fermentation tank to the top with ingredients when using a foaming yeast. If they did, the foam would overflow, taking yeast with it, and fermentation would peter out. Using a foamless yeast eliminates this problem, since there is no foam to overflow. So the brewers can fill the tank to the top from the beginning, and this means brewers can get about 25 percent more sake from each tank. That is significant.

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 can be dangerous. So by eliminating the foamy remains, time, labor, and risk are spared. Yet one more advantage of foamless yeast is that the yeast cells move and work a bit more freely, so that fermentation proceeds a smidgeon faster and can finish a day or two earlier.

So foamless yeast is faster, easier, and increases per-tank yields significantly. This naturally begs the question: why in the world would a brewer not use a foamless yeast?

In a word (or two): sensory input. Visual data. Insights that chemical measurements cannot provide.

I recently visited the brewer of Matsuo, Ryuta Tanaka, deep in the backwoods of mountainous Nagano prefecture. As we meandered through his kura, we eventually made it to the moto room, where all the yeast starters are created. Most sake here is made using a yeast known as Number 14, the non-foaming counterpart of which is 14-01.

“All of our sake is made using foaming yeast; 14-01 is fine, but I gotta have the foam,” he began. “Sure, I give up yields. Sure, it is more of a hassle. But this sake stuff has a life of its own; it doesn’t always proceed as expected. So the more info I can get, the better I can roll with it and guide it to end up as tasty.”

During the 20 to 35 day fermentation period, the surface of the mash will change daily. After a few days, the foam will appear, peaking at about the tenth to the twelfth day, and then slowly collapse and contract into a skin-like surface. Experience and intuition let a master brewer look at the foam on any day and know how healthy the yeast is, and what the sake will end up tasting like when done. Foamless yeasts, for all their benefits, do not offer nearly as much visual feedback as to how the fermentation is proceeding.

Tanaka-san continued. “With experience, it is amazing what I can tell from the appearance of the foam. F’rinstance, I can look at the foam on any given day and tell you what the nihonshu-do will be on the next day!” The nihonshu-do is the specific gravity, and it will tell the brewer how fast sugar is being produced and how fast it is being fermented. So it is a seminally important measurement to sake brewing.

“Usually, we have to measure that daily with a hydrometer; but I can eyeball it based on the foam,” he stated, obviously pleased with this. “That’s the way sake has always been made; brewers used their five senses to get the job done. They didn’t need no stinkin’ hydrometers!” While I admittedly took a bit of liberty with that translation, the gist was certainly the same.

Last month in this space we talked about sadistic sake fans. While their counterparts may exist in masochistic brewers, often the older, hassle-laden ways are, indeed, better. While there are certainly many opinions, increased sensory data is one reason for that.

Suffering does not (always) equal better sake

Sake sadists. They’re out there. You may be one of them. In truth, “sake romanticists” might be just as applicable a term, although it garners less attention. “Sake sadists” makes a better eye-grabbing headline.

To what does that refer? There are many people out there – inside Japan and out, Japanese and not, some that know their sake well and some that do not – that seem to like a sake better if they are led to believe that the brewing staff suffered more when brewing it.

Let’s sake that two glasses of sake were put before someone of this bent. And let us say that for the one on the right, he or she was told that, in order to make this level of quality, the koji was made in such a labor intensive way, and with so much more attention to detail, that the toji (master brewer) had to get up every 90 minutes to check on the moisture and temperature, every day for five months of the year. (Such sake exist!) And let us tell him or her that the one on the left was made using modern equipment that accomplished the same thing, without the koji-person needing to even get out of bed.

I can all but guarantee that if these two sake were placed before a sake sadist, he or she would like the one on the right. Deprival. Discomfort. Fatigue. Angst. These are sometimes mistakenly considered to be connected to craftsmanship and quality.

And in truth, sometimes they are. Very commonly the old ways do, in fact, lead to better sake. That is why they have been doing it that way for centuries upon centuries. But not always. Sometimes the ease and comfort that modern technology affords is, actually, just as good as the labor intensive ways, or even better.

Sometimes technology can in fact augment craftsmanship. Not replace it, mind you, but seriously augment it.

An example of this arose when visiting a brewery in Shimane (Ok, it was Rihaku) with a handful of visitors from the US. The president and toji-for-now was explaining how they made their koji. Let me preface this by saying that the company is now transitioning from having an old, experienced toji who could make do with a minimum of modern conveniences like thermometers and scales, and who still cranked out consistently great sake, to young staff that are far less experienced.

He led a dozen of us into his koji-making room. Therein, steamed rice with a mold sprinkled on it would spend 48 hours or so of pampering and tweaking, permitting the mold to grow into the rice, giving off the enzymes that will liquefy the rice, and convert its starch to sugar. Koji making: the heart of the sake brewing process.

He tapped the thigh-high stainless steel table with the heel of his palm as he spoke. “This entire table sits on a scale. We can see the weight of the rice that sits upon it,” he explained as he pointed to a red LED display in the corner.

“Moisture content is everything in completed koji. It guides the mold, and also affects how fast things dissolve. And we know for each batch of koji precisely what we want that moisture content to be.

“And, because we know how much dry rice we started with, once we load it up here and weigh it we know what the moisture content is at that point. Naturally, that means we know how much moisture we need the rice to give up through evaporation.”

He continued, obviously pleased with his new toy.

“By spreading the rice out over a larger and larger area of the table, we can create more surface area, and blow off less or more moisture, as needed. We adjust that moisture content during the first 24 hours of the koji-making process.”

He walked over to the corner of the table, and showed us what is basically a ruler along the edge of the table that indicates the distance from the edge. He then showed us a large, laminated card with a graph printed on it.

“Like I said, we know what we want the moisture to be when our koji is completed. And we know what the moisture content is when the rice comes into this room. So we know how much we need it to give off. And, finally, for a given thickness of the layer of rice sitting on this table, we know how much it will blow off, the speed at which it will dry out.
“So by looking at this graph, we can see that if the rice on the table weighs X kilos, then we spread the rice out on the table as far as point Y. If that is done properly, the perfect amount of moisture will evaporate, and we will have perfect moisture in the rice as we go into the crucial second day of koji making.

“If we set it up this way, with just one experienced person in here, heck, even you guys could make good sake.” This was immediately followed by a surely unintentionally condescending snort.

“But,” he continued, “consumers these days do not want to hear that. No one wants to hear how modern technology and clever ideas makes sake brewing easier. They want to hear how much effort and angst and hard work we had to do. They want to hear how we suffered to achieve that attention to detail.” He smiled wryly as he slowly shook his head.

“Somehow, people think that the more the brewer had to suffer, the better the sake. Of course, there are steps of the process in which that is close to true. But there are also plenty of clever tricks and modern tools that make sake that is just as good, with less effort.”

He then went on (and on) about how the old toji who had retired a few years ago made do with so much less. He was able to do much of his work without entire tables on scales or graphs. He was so experienced in his craft that he was able to do almost everything by observation, experience and intuition honed through years of dedication to his craft.

Surely there are still toji like that. But not many. As the industry changes, and the brewing staff at more and more kura change from old gnarly guys from the boonies to local youths enjoying a newfound passion, impossibly accurate intuition and modern tools will continue to coexist.

And it will therefore become increasingly important to rein in “sake sadism” and even “sake romanticism”. As long as it tastes and smells good to us, it matters not how it got there.