The proponents of junmai types over added alcohol types are quick to point out how fast the junmai types are growing in production and consumption, and how fast the added-alcohol types are decreasing. And this is true enough; certainly the awareness of and preferences for junmai, junmai ginjo, and junmai daiginjo are growing steadily. Misplaced though the reasoning may be. (Did I just say that?)

But as always, there is bit more to the story than any one interpretation of static statistics states, alliteration fully intended.

For one, futsuu-shu, the 65 percent of the market that is all made with good dollops of added alcohol for economic reasons, continues to contract fairly quickly. However, even if we limit the analysis to premium sake, tokutei meishoshu (“special designation sake”), i.e. honjozo, junmai-shu, ginjo-shu, junmai ginjo-shu, daiginjo-shu and junmai daiginjo-shu, the junmai types grow faster than the non-junmai types.

Still, there is one caveat that is conveniently ignored: that of the enigma of honjozo. Why is this? Because it is indeed premium, although (oxymoronically) at the very bottom of premium. And it is contracting faster than any other type of sake, even lowly futsuu-shu.

And this makes the numbers appear the way they do. In other words, if you look at all premium sake together, sure, junmai types are growing faster than non-junmai types. But if you take out honjozo, then the non-junmai types are growing just as fast as the junmai types.

My point is not to prop up added alcohol sake, nor to diss junmai jihadists. (Did I just say that?) But rather, the point here is to show how fast honjozo is dropping, and to consider why that might be. And lastly, to propose that it might not be as bad as it looks.

Let’s look briefly at the history of honjozo. Adding pure distilled alcohol to sake has been around since 1942, when it was enforced with good purpose, to save rice during hard times yet to let the industry survive.

When things settled down in post-war Japan, all sake continued to be brewed with added alcohol – most often for economic reasons. But along the way, brewers learned the great things that can happen to a premium sake by adding a bit of ethyl alcohol to the mash just after fermentation – and then a bit more water later. These include coaxing out more flavor and aroma from the rice, improving shelf life, and making the final sake smoother and more well-rounded. Then, in 1968, two breweries more or less simultaneously begin brewing junmai, after which junmai types s-l-o-w-l-y gained momentum that continues today.

Honjozo became an industry designation in the early 70’s, and means “the original brewing method.” Which it is not; but hey, there were on a roll. What honjozo does mean is that the amount of distilled alcohol added is strictly limited, with the spirit of the rule being to show that it is added for good technical reasons like those outline above, but not just to increase yields. Also, the rice must be milled to 70 percent of its original size as well. Back in the early 70s, before junmai caught on, and when heavily-doped futsu-shu was closer to being the norm, honjozo was considered a step above in terms of both brewing philosophy and quality as well.

However, as junmai and ginjo grew in popularity, the once-lofty honjozo began to lose it significance, and so it continues today.

Why might this be? Because it is, increasingly, in this no-man’s land between cheap sake and premium sake, at least in terms of marketability. It is not futsuu-shu, but nor is it ginjo. Consumers like extremes, and honjozo is neither here nor there in the opinion of many. Sad, but true.

In other words, if someone wants to drink cheap, honjozo is too expensive and too good. If someone wants to drink premium, honjozo is perceived as the lower end of that spectrum, and summarily passed over in favor of something with the hallowed ginjo word on the label.

From the brewers’ point of view, it is pretty much the same. With jus a bit more milling of the rice, a brewer can classify it as a ginjo and benefit from all that fanfare and marketing. In fact, much honjozo was made with rice milled enough to qualify it as a ginjo anyway in the silly rice-milling wars commonplace today. So sometimes, all they really need to do is to decide to label it as a ginjo. Done.

Conversely, with just a bit less effort, a brewer can sell it as a futsu-shu, and a rather good one at that, giving it a distinct advantage on the shelf when compared with really cheap sake. So the benefits of labeling a sake as a honjozo began to fade away, and continue to do so.

To be sure, there is still plenty of great honjozo left, especially tokubetsu (special) honjozo. And much of it is some of my favorite sake to drink! Not overly fruity or aromatic, still tinged with idiosyncrasies, yet clean, smooth and pleasant. Not all of it, mind you; but much of it is so.

Alas, for these reasons, the contraction of honjozo will likely continue. But in truth, the sake itself is not going anywhere, it is just being reclassified as other stuff, either a notch up or a notch down, perhaps with slight tweaking. While it is a shame to see historically significant grade of sake dry up, I myself think that the sake that remains in that classification will even more aptly represent what good honjozo can be. And I, for one, am looking forward to continuing to enjoy them. Yet I also expect them to continue to skew the statistics.

Sake and the Number 30

Some recent research has demonstrated a peculiar significance of the number 30 in recent sake history.

Japan uses a dating system based on the year of the current emperor’s rule. This is now the Heisei Era. The previous era, the Showa Era, ran from 1925 until 1989. So, Showa 30 was 1955. Bear that mind.

In Showa 30, sake was 30 percent of all alcohol consumed in Japan. Now it is less than seven percent. Also, sake production today is currently about 30 percent of what it was in Showa 30.

Currently, about 30 percent of all sake brewed is considered premium, or more accurately stated, junmaishu and the four grades of ginjo combine for about 30 percent of all sake, with honjozo and futsu-shu being the remaining 70 or so.

Torrential Rains in Tochigi May Affect Sake

In Tochigi Prefecture, as well as neighboring Ibaraki Prefecture (about two hours north of Tokyo), record-setting rain fell over a 24-hour period September 9-10, the result of abnormally low atmospheric pressure, which in turn was created by a typhoon. Hundreds of houses were flooded as rivers overflowed and embankments collapsed across the area. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated to safety. The situation called for dramatic rescue efforts by the Self-Defense Forces.

How much fell? In Nikko, a famous sightseeing town, 534 mm (21 inches) of rain fell.

The situation is expected to significantly affect rice yields as many rice fields and other crops were wiped out by the flooding. Tochigi in particular is a source of a lot of rice used in sake brewing. Shortages in Tochigi could create a chain-reaction of supply-and-demand effects that affect price and availability.

While most of the best sake rice comes from regions other than Tochigi, the region is a strong supplier of decent-but-not-top-grade sake rice that is indispensable to the industry for use in less expensive sake. The importance of rice like this should not be underestimated.

The real effects of this have yet to be seen, but it is enough of a cause for concern that industry publications have already raised a flag. Stay tuned!
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Sake Professional Course in New York City, December 7-9

 The next Sake Professional Course is scheduled for New York City, December 7 to 9, 2015. The venue is smaller this time and participation is limited to 40 people. It is just about half full, or half empty, depending on your perpsective.

More information is available here, and testimonials from graduates can be perused here as well. The three-day course wraps up with Sake Education Council supported testing for the Certified Sake Professional (CSP) certification. If you are interested in making a reservation, or if you have any questions not answered via the link above, by all means please feel free to contact me.

Following that, the next one is tentatively scheduled for Japan in January, and then the spring in Chicago. If you are interested, feel free to send me an email to that purport now; I will keep track of your interest!

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

Learn more here.

I’m tellin’ ya, warm premium sake is the next big thing.

At the end of this summer, I was a judge in perhaps the most interesting sake competition happening: the Kanzake (“Warmed Sake”) Contest. It is hosted jointly by the Sake Bunka Kenkyujo (Sake Culture Research Institute) and Slow Food Japan, and is just what it sounds like: a tasting competition for warmed and hot sake.

There were 30 judges, and we assessed 633 sake from 223 kura. The contest reminded me of just how good warmed sake can be (OK, scratch that: I never forgot that for a moment), and made me feel that the time to promote it again has come.

There were several classifications based on price and temperature. I was judging the “reasonably priced, hot” group. Directly to our starboard was the “reasonably priced, warm” sake group. There was also the “expensive warmed sake” group and the “less than fully orthodox sake, warmed” group.

As we tasted, I was struck by how a few degrees in temperature change could make a big difference. Since ours was the “atsukan” (i.e. hot, not warm) division, it had to be pretty hot. And it would inevitably cool down as we worked our way through each flight of several sake each. So we had to rush a bit to get through them all while we could still consider them atsukan. Easier said than done.

From time to time there were selections that were actually better when a bit cooler, down into the lukewarm range known as “nurukan.” However, we were to judge them on their merits when hotter, and so, alas, we had to ding ‘em.

So the temperature range makes a big difference.

The results are here, although the document is in Japanese.

However, more important than just which sake did well, the fact that warm sake is returning to the minds and hearts of consumers after a couple of decades of chilled-only premium sake is deliciously refreshing.

Not just any sake can be warmed; it has to be right for it. That means it needs to have the right flavor and aroma profile. But that is not rocket science. Just taste it. If you think, “Hey, this opens up at room temperature.” then try warming it. Sake with earthy, bitter or even sweeter elements goes well warmed. Conversely, most fruity sake is not suited to warming.Yet there are lots of great ginjo that are in fact enjoyable if not better warmed.

Why do they heat sake? There are several theories, but most point to health reasons. Putting warm sake into your core when it is cold out was considered much healthier. Today, some say that warm sake is gentler on the body, but I am sure just how much you drink supersedes that. Regardless, sake has been enjoyed warm in Japan for centuries upon centuries, and it is only when ginjo started to become popular in the early 80s that chilled premium sake became so popular.

Note, sake was also sometimes enjoyed chilled long ago as well. So, not all sake was hot.

One massive misperception is that good sake is drunk cold, bad sake is drunk hot, and they heat it to hide the flaws. Poppycock.

No brewer in the history of the industry ever tasted his product and said, “Whoa. This stuff sucks. Let’s tell everyone to heat it and fool ‘em.” Never. To be sure, heating rough sake will hide the flaws. But that is not why they do it.

Certainly, most – if not all – importers of sake know this. But almost none will promote this truth. But hey, I can actually understand that as polarizing a topic makes it easier to convey to the masses, and there is a job to do. Surely getting more and more people to at least try premium sake is a higher priority.

But hey, it is nearing the time to transcend that and move on to the next level, and that is learning how good the right sake can be when warmed.

The revival of warm premium sake in Japan has led to a whole lineup of new toys. Vessels for warming sake and keeping it warm are easy to find now, as are thermometers for measuring the temperature. Just do an internet search an “sake warmers” and see what comes up.

How does one heat sake? In short, indirectly. The best way is to take the vessel into which the sake has been poured and put it into a pan or pot or kettle of just-boiled water. Do not put it in boiling water as the temperature will cause some of the alcohol to blow off and skew the flavor profile. As it warms, sip it from time to time. Keep tasting it until it is just where you want it. A microwave oven will work in a pinch, although it is admittedly not quite as good.

How hot is hot? Ah, if only it were that simple. But try it a little warmer than we are. Maybe 40C to 44C, or 105F to 113F is a good ballpark figure. Each sake will be a bit different, and each person’s preferences will be as well, so the permutations are endless.

Tokkuri (traditional sake flasks) are cool but not obligatory. The same goes for o-choko (cups). But these too are readily available via sake stores, Asian supermarkets, and the internet. Heck, a tumbler or tea cup will work in a pinch. Try it. The time has come. We gotta start somewhere.

It is not rocket science, in fact, it more art than any science.

The point here is to encourage you. If possible, start with a sake that might be recommended as suited to warming. Then learn to look for earthiness, richness and perhaps less prominent aromatics. Then branch out from there to find your preferences. Go bonzo.

Warm sake is set to make that long-awaited comeback. And remember: you heard it here first.

…and its lack of legal standing

Like almost anything consumable in Japan, sake has its seasons. Examples include warm sake in the winter, nama (unpasteurized) sake in the spring, slightly toned down chilled ginjo in the summer.

And overall, perhaps the best season for sake is the fall. Like, now. Just about everything seems to taste better in the autumn, especially in Japan. I dunno… maybe it is the mercifully cooling temperatures and dryer air, or perhaps it is the yellows, oranges and browns of the foliage. It may even be that so many varieties of fish express fuller and richer flavors once the fall sets in. Whatever the combination of factors may be, it is surely a great season for enjoying sake. In fact, it is one of the top four, methinks.

There is a special type of sake called hiya-oroshi that is released in the fall that has an irresistible charm to it. The word hiya-oroshi has its origins back in the Edo period (1604 to 1868). Back then, finished sake was stored in the large wooden tanks used for brewing. Normally, this sake had been pasteurized once (by heating it for a short time) before being put in these tanks for maturation. If the brewer needed to ship some out, they would have to pasteurize the sake a second time before putting it into small wooden casks – called taru – for delivery.

This is because the outdoor temperature was still high in the summer, which would allow the sake to become warm enough where dormant enzymes and the lactic bacteria that fed on them could both become active, potentially sending the sake awry. A second pasteurization permanently deactivates these enzymes and “dispatched” any bacteria present, removing that fear, but taking at least a bit of the zing of the sake along with it.
However, once it became cool enough in autumn, brewers could fill their taru from the storage tank without pasteurizing the sake, and ship it with no fear of it going bad. The lower temperatures of autumn ensured nothing bad would happen. Such sake – sold in the fall without pasteurizing a second time before shipping – came to be known as hiya-oroshi.
Hiya means cold, and oroshi means to lower something; in this case, sake was lowered from the tank into the taru.

Note that hiya-oroshi is technically the same thing as nama-tzume, i.e. the second of normally-two pasteurizations is foregone. But nama-tzume is a purely technical term whereas hiya-oroshi has a seasonal implication, i.e. it is only released in the fall.

The problem is, though, that the term hiya-oroshi is not a legal definition and is therefore open to variation from brewer to brewer. In other words, it’s the usual fun-and-games of the sake world: a term on a label means a particular thing – unless it doesn’t.

And, also typical of the sake world, the industry maintains the spirit of it all – what is important is intact, even if the details vary a bit. Almost always, hiya-oroshi will be slightly young and vibrant. That much is consistent from brewer to brewer.

But lately there has been a spate of totally unpasteurized hiya-oroshi out there. So while usually, by definition, the second of the two pasteurizations was skipped, some brewers skip both and ship hiya-oroshi as totally nama. And, in fact, I have even encountered some twice-pasteurized hiya-oroshi out there as well. Huh?

Why? Because they feel it suits their style better. How can they get away with this? Because hiya-oroshi is not a legal definition. In the words of Barbosa from Pirates of the Caribbean, “They’re more what you’d call guidelines than actual rules.”

Hiya-oroshi – whether pasteurized just once as is traditional or not – often has a bit more of a fresh, lively taste to it than other sake. While not as brash as freshly pressed sake, there can be a slightly youthful edge to it because it has not been laid down as long as most sake has. Naturally, this varies greatly from sake to sake, and from kura to kura.

Furthermore, there has been a half-baked movement over the last decade or so to release all hiya-oroshi on September 9, a day known as sekku, recognized as a turning point in the seasons. But even amongst the regions that push this, no one has gotten everyone to agree to do that. As such, the dates on which it is released vary greatly as well. No matter. It is always about early September, and spreading it across a few days helps keep the hype restrained.

While mostly a local, fresh product that is widely available in Japan for a short period of time, some of it does get out to other places in the world as well. Look for it at a reputable sake shop near you.

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Sake Professional Course in New York City, December 7-9

 The next Sake Professional Course is scheduled for New York City, December 7 to 9, 2015. The venue is smaller this time and participation is limited to 40 people. It is just about half full, or half empty, depending on your perpsective.

More information is available here, and testimonials from graduates can be perused here as well. The three-day course wraps up with Sake Education Council supported testing for the Certified Sake Professional (CSP) certification. If you are interested in making a reservation, or if you have any questions not answered via the link above, by all means please feel free to contact me.

Following that, the next one is tentatively scheduled for Japan in January, and then the spring in Chicago. If you are interested, feel free to send me an email to that purport now; I will keep track of your interest!

Sake, like much about Japan, is refreshingly simple at first. One need know so little to enjoy it almost immediately. But just below the surface, sake and everything about it become fascinatingly intricate and multifarious, yet also fraught with exceptions and vagueness. And so it is too with rice.

Sake is brewed from rice. Surely we all know that much. There are about 280 varieties of Japonica rice grown in Japan, and most premium sake is brewed from special sake rice (called shuzo-kouteki-mai) of which there are about 100 varieties. Each has its own characteristics; size, starch and protein content, solubility, and preferred climate can be different for each.

And yes, while different rice varieties lead to different flavors in the final sake, it is not as tight a connection as it might be for grapes-to-wine.
The biggest reason for that is that each master brewer can coax the rice to behave in a prescribed way, leading to totally different sake styles from the same rice. Nevertheless, if one tastes enough, it is indeed very possible to see threads of familiarity and style that run through sake made with the same rice.

The most popular and widely grown sake rice is called Yamada Nishiki. About fourth on the list is one called Omachi. Ah… Omachi.

Late last month I attended what is called the “Omachi Summit.” The fact that this event exists at all divulges much about the sake-and-rice industrial complex of Japan.

To short-circuit a potentially long-winded explanation, with but a couple of exceptions, brewers do not grow their own rice. It is instead grown by individual rice farmers (i.e. not business entities) and is distributed primarily but not exclusively through a network of agricultural co-ops for which we will use the general term “Zennoh.”

And Zennoh is a proper, structured organization with business objectives and a corresponding marketing arm. And the Okayama Prefecture branch of Zennoh is who is behind the Omachi Summit, with this year being the seventh running.

The Omachi Summit is a contest / tasting / party to assess and celebrate all the sake made using Omachi rice grown in Okayama. Note, the sake can be made elsewhere, but the rice has to be grown in Okayama to be a part of this gala affair. Omachi rice can be and often is grown outside of Okayama. But Okayama is its birthplace, and without a doubt the best source for premium Omachi rice.

A bit more about this vaunted rice variety: Omachi was originally discovered in 1866, in a village of the same name in the western part of Okayama Prefecture, where almost all Omachi is grown. It is, for what it is worth, the oldest pure (i.e. not a product of cross-breeding) rice variety in Japan, and was one of the three most widely grown varieties in Japan during the Meiji period (1868-1912). Back then it was also popular as a table rice.

But its suitability to brewing great sake soon became obviously apparent, and more and more brewers in western Japan began to use it. In fact, once upon a time, it was almost common sense that Omachi should be used when brewing top grade sake for contests and such. This was before the days of Yamada Nishiki, and other crossbreeds, of course.

However, it’s very long stalks made it hard to grow and harvest by machine, and so farmers stopped growing it. It wasn’t until the mid ’80s that anyone really began to grow it again – a side effect of what was known as the ginjo-boom. It has become so popular that now it is the fourth most widely grown sake rice in Japan.

As mentioned, Omachi itself is a pure rice strain, unlike most sake rice varieties. But it is found in the “family trees” of 60 percent of all sake rice grown today. How’s that for a stud of a rice!

At the event, there were about 150 sake from about 100 kura spread across 31 of Japan’s 47 prefectures. Obviously there are more using Omachi, albeit grown outside of Okayama. They were tasted and scored by a panel of judges, after which we were free to taste and assess ourselves.

So, what does same made from Omachi taste like? In short, it is much more earthy and decidedly herbal than fruity and flowery. Aromas are in general less prominent than they might be with sake made with, say, Yamada Nishiki. The individual flavor components compete against each other in a healthy way, as opposed to blending harmoniously, as they might with Yamada Nishiki. I like the term “herbal, broad and striated” when describing the flavor profile of sake made using Omachi. While hardly an appetizing term, it does conjure the nature of sake made with Omachi, at least in my mind.

In his short speech, the tasting panel chairman explained how the judges were encouraged to look beyond aromas and avoid selecting sake based on alluring bouquets, instead assessing those flavor-driven facets that make Omachi-brewed sake special. Still, it seemed that most of the awarded sake on the tables had quite prominent aromatics. Yet there was also plenty of sake with all kinds of interesting things happening: spice, tartness, astringency, breadth and complexity. While some of these were in need of a bit of fine tuning, you could see where the brewers were trying to go. And you felt like encouraging them in that effort.

The event highlighted and reinforced many things about Omachi. It really is an awesome rice, and sake made using it can be character laden, extremely interesting and tasty to boot. And it is growing in popularity as well. More and more younger brewers are using it, so much so that there was not enough to go around this year. Surely Zennoh Okayama will do their best to alleviate that next year!

In the end, it all supported the truth that Omachi is a very interesting rice, and one well worth studying.

But then again, aren’t they all?

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Sake Professional Course in New York City, December 7 to 9

The next Sake Professional Course is scheduled for New York City, December 7 to 9. The venue is smaller than usual so that only 40 seats are available.

More information is available here, and testimonials from graduates can be perused here as well. The three-day course wraps up with Sake Education Council supported testing for the Certified Sake Professional (CSP) certification. If you are interested in making a reservation, or if you have any questions not answered via the link above, by all means please feel free to contact me.

This will be the last Sake Professional Course this year (after all, it does take place in December!); the next one after that in the US will be next spring.  If you are interested, feel free to send me an email to that purport now; I will keep track of your interest!

Would that there be a tokubetsu junmai, Fodder?…

The late, great comedian George Carlin, in a skit called “I used to be Irish Catholic,” speaks of a time
when he and his friends would ask a priest named Father Russel weird questions during what they called “heavy mystery time.” One such deftly crafted conundrum concerned “Easter duty,” or receiving communion during the Easter season. George himself tells it with a thick New Jersey accent, rendering it much funnier than mere prose. Nevertheless:

“Hey, hey, hey Fodder! Hey, uh, suppose that you didn’t make your Easter duty and it’s Pentecost Sunday, the last day, and you’re on a ship at sea. And the chaplain goes into a coma! But you wanted to receive. And then it’s Monday, too late… But then you cross the International Date Line! Would that there then be a sin, Fodder?”

I remember this story each time I talk about the grades of sake called tokubetsu junmai and tokubetsu honjozo.

In short, tokubetsu means special, so tokubetsu junmai is special junmai, i.e. a bit better than regular junmai (but not quite as good as junmai ginjo), and tokubetsu honjozo is special honjozo, i.e. a bit better than regular honjozo (but not quite as good as ginjo). And, importantly, there are legally defined rules that determine what makes them special.

So, a junmaishu or honjozo can be tokubetsu, i.e. special, if it conforms to any one (or more) of three rules. One, it is made with 100% proper sake rice. Two, the rice used has been milled to ginjo levels, i.e. to 60% of its original size or better. And three, “something else special, approved as such, and listed on the label.”

The qualifying point will almost always be one of the first two above. Like, 99.9999 percent of the time, it will be. But the possibility exists that there is some bizzare-o reason a sake is qualified as tokubetsu. However, for all intents and purposes, we can forget about that third rule.

But when lecturing about these wonderful and under-appreciated two grades, there is invariably someone who wants to get to the very bottom of all this, and understand it with crystal clear clarity. Sake doesn’t roll that way, but nevertheless, they want to try to nail it down. So (s)he will come up with all kinds of weird concoctions and ideas, and will ask, “Would that then be enough to call it a tokubetsu?”

It might. It might not. It would be up to the folks in the National Tax Administration. But it is all but moot since almost without exception what qualifies a sake for tokubetsu will either be ginjo milling, the use of sake rice, or (commonly) both.

In fact, the only exception I recall ever having seen was a junmai-shu mixed with a slurry of daiginjo nigori-like dregs. Approval was received, the label explained it, and the sake sold as a tokubetsu junmai. But, really: whatevuh. It was an anomaly.

It needn’t be that difficult nor complex. Just bear in mind that, for all intents and purposes, tokubetsu junnmai and tokubetsu honjozo are legally defined grades that are special by virtue of having been made with 100% proper sake rice or by being made with rice (not necessarily proper sake rice) milled to ginjo levels, i.e. down to 60% of the original size or more. And often, it conforms to both of these rules.

Why am I putting so much energy into this explanation? Because tokubetsu junmai and tokubetsu honjozo are some of my favorite sake. They are clearly a cut above the simple grades below them, but they do not conform (get sucked into?) the ginjo-flavor-and-aroma borg above them. Plenty of almost-rustic character, lots of interesting things happening in their flavor profiles, but still quite refined. While there are comparatively fewer products in these two grades, they are very much worth exploring and spending time with; eminently enjoyable.

If these are that good, why then don’t the brewers that make them bump them up just a notch and sell them as ginjo and junmai ginjo? Surely most of them would qualify, and if not, could be tweaked to do so!

Indeed, this is true. There are a handful of possible reasons, and one is that often breweries have products in the ginjo and junmai ginjo realms that are standard and sell well. To introduce another sake in the same category could confuse consumers. Or perhaps by backing the specs off just a bit, a product like a tokubetsu jumai or tokubetsu honjozo can sell for a bit less, at a different price point. And surely, there are other well-considered reasons as well.

But in the end, just remember that tokubetsu junmai and tokubetsu honjozo are knocking on the door of junmai ginjo and ginjo, and that in all practicality their legally-defined specialness derives from either sake rice or ginjo milling.

But yes, once in a blue moon, there may be another qualifying reason. And so we can continue to ask, from time to time, after stating a curious if appealing set of circumstances, “Would that then be enough to call it a tokubetsu?”

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Sake Professional Course in New York City, December 7 to 9

The next Sake Professional Course is scheduled for New York City, December 7 to 9. The venue is smaller than usual so that only 40 seats are available.

More information is available here, and testimonials from graduates can be perused here as well. The three-day course wraps up with Sake Education Council supported testing for the Certified Sake Professional (CSP) certification. If you are interested in making a reservation, or if you have any questions not answered via the link above, by all means please feel free to contact me.

This will be the last Sake Professional Course this year (after all, it does take place in December!); the next one after that in the US will be next spring.  If you are interested, feel free to send me an email to that purport now; I will keep track of your interest!

In all its historical glory…

Each year in May, the most prestigious sake contest in the world is held in

Hiroshima. The Zenkoku Shinshu Kampyoukai is a tasting of newly-brewed sake from all over Japan, and is a measure of the technical skill of the brewers in the industry. Its purpose is to encourage the brewing industry to constantly work to push the envelope of brewing expertise.

The name of the event is best translated as the National New Sake Tasting Appraisal, although for some reason the official English name is the Annual Japan Sake Awards.

This year, the 103rd running of the event, I was so privileged as to be the first person outside of the sake industry to participate as a judge in the finals. It was an incredibly amazing thing to do, and I really felt the pressure of the responsibility. And it may have been the coolest thing I have ever had the opportunity of experiencing.

The organization that runs the contest is the National Research Institute of Brewing, which was for most of its 111 year existence a government entity, although that changed a few years back.

Rather than drone on about details, here I want to highlight some of the special characteristics and idiosyncrasies of the contest, and a bit about how the tasting is conducted, all with the goal of promoting more interest in the yearly event.

This year, 852 of the 1200-odd sake breweries in Japan submitted a sake to the contest. That number is actually up by seven from last year, even though the number of active breweries declined a bit. This is likely due a changing of the guard in the industry, with younger brewery owners perhaps a bit more enthusiastic than their predecessors.

It is not the be-all end-all of sake contests, nor is it universally loved. A few brewers choose to summarily pass and not even play the game. And most consumers here in Japan are not even aware of it! But still, it is historically, culturally and technically a very interesting event even if it does have a narrow focus.

It works thusly: All the sake is tasted blindly in a preliminary round by a panel of judges over three days. Each judge tastes solo, with no discussion of merits or faults. And the scoring is scathingly simple: the sake is assessed a 1 (the best) to a 5 (the worst). In the preliminary round, comments are also recorded for feedback to the brewers. Those that score well enough advance to the final round. While there is no clear dividing line, it usually ends up being about half of the sake.

A couple of weeks later, the final round takes place, with a judging by a

panel of 24 judges over two days. This time, it is even more brilliantly (brutally?) simple: each sake is assessed a 1, a 2 or a 3. That’s it. Full stop. No discussion, no comments; do not pass go, do not collect $200.

And after this round, a slightly vague clean break in the scores is again used as the dividing line. Those that do well enough here (again, usually about half of the qualifying sake) are awarded a “Kinsho,” or gold medal. The remaining half of the sake that made it to this round are recognized as well.

The sake are of course tasted blindly. They are not arranged geographically or in any logical order such as that. They are, however, clustered into groups of similar aromatic potency. The thinking is that a very aromatic sake may impair the taster’s ability to be fair to a subsequent sake that is less fruity. So all the submissions have an aromatic component called ethyl caproate measured using a spectrometer before the event, and are presented in groups of their perfumed peers, so to speak.

The sake submitted by most of the breweries is a bit intense, kind of like daiginjo on steroids. It is not normal sake available on the market (with some exceptions), but is brewed especially for this contest. While some folks may (and some do) ask “what’s the point?,” keep in mind the purpose here is to assess and promote technical skill. Odd though it may sound, long-session drinkability is not the major consideration.

And as a rational concession to this point, we were instructed that we could lower our score of a sake by one point if we felt that, as good and flaw-free as it might be, it was not something we could chill out with and actually drink. This was, I thought, a very reasonable way to do things.

In terms of actual execution, the 24 of us had 50 minutes to taste 50 sake, which was just about the right amount of time. Then we had a ten minute break, and we went on to the next 50 sake in 50 minutes. We went through five increasingly grueling rounds of this on day one, and three-and-a-half rounds on day two.

I imagine that the preliminary tasting is harder, since by the time we got to them in the finals, the weird stuff had been weeded out. Having said that, I had trouble assessing a score of “3” to many of the sake, since everything there had already cleared the preliminaries!

Almost all of the sake submitted were made using some added alcohol, i.e. are not junmai types. This makes sense since the added alcohol helps bring out flavor and aroma (the sake are also watered down again, so are not, in the end, fortified). Nevertheless, there were 121 junmai sake in there, up seven from last year.

Interestingly, I heard one industry expert vociferously complain about the junmai submissions. He feels that some brewers just unthinkingly threw a junmai type in there, not expecting it to win, but rather to express their commitment to fanatical junmai-ism, so to speak, or rather against the practice of adding alcohol.

“It is distracting to the judges that are trying to concentrate, and such sake is irrelevant to the contest. It is as if they are sabotaging the dignity of the event,” he explained. Certainly this is only one opinion, but I can very clearly see its merits, and his point as well.

In the end, 415 received an award this year, of which 222 were gold medals.

As has been the case for the past several years, the Tohoku region (the six prefectures on the northern extreme of Japan’s main island, Honshu) kicked butt again. In particular, Fukushima Prefecture won 24 gold medals, far away from the next-most of 15 won by Yamagata (also in Tohoku) and Niigata. The dominance of the region continues.

One interesting idiosyncrasy of the event, evident in the photos here, is that the sake is all tasted from simple amber-colored tumblers. Why amber? Because that hides any color in the sake, which is done, it is said, to prevent tasters from imposing a prejudice on sake based on any semblance of amber color which might skew their opinion. Are such glasses, with their simple shape, the best for sake like this? Not likely, in the opinion of many. But at least all the sake are tasted under the same conditions. I am also not sure that the colored glass solution is the most appropriate solution to misplaced perceptions. But this is the way it has long been done.

In the end, the Zenkoku Shinshu Kampyoukai has a long and storied history, complete with false starts and offshoots. And it is a brilliant yearly event that has maintained its significance in the sake industry. Furthermore, the NRIB is reaching out to the world with the event, and it is important to the sake industry to support that.

As evidence of that reaching out, you can learn more about the NRIB in English here. Also, you can learn more about the particulars of the contest here. And finally, you can see the results in English here.

Should the contest and the NRIB interest you, by all means, please check out all three.

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Sake Professional Course in Florida, August 17-19

Thanks to everyone’s support and the current popularity of sake, the Sake Professional Course in Las Vegas, June 1-3, is full. The next Sake Professional Course is scheduled for Miami Beach Florida, August 17-19, at the Shelborne Wyndham Grand Hotel, within which sits the South Beach Morimoto Restaurant. This is the first Sake Professional Course to be held in this part of the country and promises to be a particularly enjoyable running of the course.

More information is available here, and testimonials from graduates can be perused here as well. The three-day course wraps up with Sake Education Council supported testing for the Certified Sake Professional (CSP) certification. If you are interested in making a reservation, or if you have any questions not answered via the link above, by all means please feel free to contact me.

Following that, the next one is tentatively scheduled for the fall in the northeast part of the US. If you are interested, feel free to send me an email to that purport now; I will keep track of your interest!