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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This post is a sample from Issue #57 of Sake Industry News. Each issue of SIN has a handful of current news stories and reports, and one technical article written by John Gauntner. It is published on the 1st and the 15th of each month, and includes an audio version of the content as well. A one-year subscription is US$100, or US$10 a month. Subscribe with no risk, since your first two issues are free, and you can cancel with no obligation. Learn more and subscribe here. 

Doburoku: I don’t get it…

In most issues of Sake Industry News, this column is used for slightly deep dives into technical aspects of sake, and once in a while for observations on trends or industry developments. Once in a while, though, I feel impelled to call out something that does not seem like it will lead anywhere, and does not look like it will be around in a few years,  yet still gets lots of hype. One of those is doburoku.

What is it? First and foremost, doburoku is not a legally defined term. It refers to sake that is basically moonshine, in that it is fermented but the rice solids are not filtered out afterward. Sometimes it has a good dollop of carbon dioxide left in it as well. Long ago it is what people in the countryside made and drank for a buzz. But it was made illegal in the Meiji period because the government wanted to be able to visibly confirm if sake had been made by a proper brewery, and taxes therefore paid. So they changed the laws so that all sake had to have the rice solids filtered away first to be seishu, or legal sake.

Many consider and call nigori-zake “unfiltered,” but in fact it is filtered, just more coarsely to allow some rice solids through to the final product. Alternatively, they can add it back in, but however they do it, it is not unfiltered.

So doburoku can be totally unfiltered, although it does not have to be so. But basically, it is like moromi, i.e. fermented mash without filtering. And for some reason around which I cannot get my head, it appears to be growing in popularity. But I dunno… I cannot see this boom lasting.

In truth, and I admit I am tempering my diction a bit, there is nothing much at all refined about it, and I am having trouble seeing much of an appeal. On top of being rough and unhewn, often the government makes producers flavor it with hops or something else so as to be sure non one confuses it with legally proper sake.

While flavored doburoku can be enjoyable, I cannot see how something so niche could ever grow into a significant sector, or even a worthwhile revenue stream for any enterprise. I wouldn’t even call it a flash in the pan, since there is not much of a flash to begin with.

Currently, there are a handful of sake brewers that are making doburoku, but most interesting among them are two or three that have received actual brewing licenses for the zasshu alcohol classification, under which what we know as doburoku would be legally classified. The National Tax Administration is notoriously against giving out any new seishu (proper sake) brewing licenses, as it does not make sense when the remaining 1150 or so are struggling to survive. But a zasshu brewing license? Yeah, sure, we’ll give you one of those. Just fill out this form…

But why would a sake brewery bother to get a license and build a facility just for something that seems destined to fall by the wayside?

Well, first of all, that part is only my opinion. Others may share it, but it is by no means a foregone conclusion of any doburoku business venture. But beyond that, I think there is another reason that brewers might start specialist breweries like those for doburoku, umeshu (plum sake) and more.

What might that be? In short, backdoor sake brewing licenses. In other words, I think they are betting that the NTA powers-that-be will watch them, and if they can prove they can develop, run and maintain a successful and profitable business making just doburoku et al, then in time, the NTA will eventually say, “Ok, you have proven yourself, you will likely be successful with proper sake too, we will grant you that brewing license.”

In fact, there has been at least one case of which I know, but surely there are others, in which this has in fact happened. Sure, I have heard rumors too, but even more convincing to me is that I cannot see any other reason for entering into the doburoku market, especially investing in a new facility. This is particularly true when once considers the people actually doing this; they all seem quite accomplished and intelligent. So they must have an endgame, and it ain’t doburoku; I am fairly sure about that.

But of course, no one can come out and say this. Those starting such production facilities cannot come out and say, “our plan is to get a sake license in ten years,” nor can the NTA say, “prove your mettle with doburoku, and then we can talk about seishu.” But that goal, however unspoken, seems quite palpable to me. And it has been corroborated by rumors from time to time as well. But once it happens, once there is a precedent, then the floodgates might open and other breweries may try to follow suit

Might I be wrong, and totally off base? Sure I might; that happens all the time. And whether or not I am incorrect is of no consequence to the cosmos.

Regardless, in all sincerity I do think that doburoku is a niche product and do not have serious expectations that it will go anywhere. It will likely remain not much more than a curiosity, in and of itself.

But what it will do is continue to draw much-needed positive attention to sake. So in spite of my reticence, I want to support the movement as much as can. And so, for the time being anyway, kampai with doburoku too, once in a while.

Many people have had the experience of drinking sake from a small wooden box, often with a pinch of salt on one corner. We may hear that this is one traditional way to drink sake. What is behind this custom?

Those small boxes are known as masu, and were long ago used very commonly to drink sake. The wood they are made of is sugi, sometimes called Japanese cedar, but more correctly cryptomeria.

Originally, they were actually a measure of rice (about one meal’s worth), and as they were readily available and cheap, they came into use as drinking vessels as well, especially at the sake pubs of olde. The volume these masu hold eventually came to be the standardized single serving volume: 180 milliliters (just about 5.5 ounces).

Since sake long ago was fermented in wooden tanks, and stored in wooden casks, the woody notes that might be imparted by serving in a masu might not be so noticeable. But having said that, even when wooden tanks were used (or are used, as there is a mini-renaissance of wooden tanks these days), there were aired out and used for water or rice first, to blow off the woody smells. So wooden tanks did not likely overdose the sake with woody essences. But then yet again, sake back 100 years ago was heavier, richer and often sweeter than the sake of today.

Which is why the refined and comparatively delicate sake of today is perhaps better off served in some other vessel, one that is decidedly neutral and that will not impart aromas of any kind to the sake. As modern sake is brewed in porcelain-lined steel tanks, the woody scents of long ago have now been replaced by fruit, flowers, and a whole host of other aromas. It would hardly be fair to the brewers to force these to compete with the woody influence of a masu!

There are, by the way, lacquered masu that allow one to enjoy the traditional feel of drinking from a masu, while enjoying the fruits (no pun intended) of modern sake brewing skills. (Actually, most of them are plastic, i.e. “genuine artificial lacquerware,” but I digress.)

The pinch of salt on the corner is interesting as well. According to one source (there are sure to be many opinions), the salt should not be placed just on the corner, but a bit to the side of it, so that when one drinks, the salt touches the corner of the lips, not dead center. This allows the sake to be the main flavor, with the salt on the side. Note, the salt should not be allowed to fall into the sake.

Why salt? According to the same source (a historian at one of the large breweries in Japan), the salt was more for the proprietor than the consumer. Salt is often used in purification rituals in Japan, as well as for good luck in drawing customers to places of food and drink. Apparently this superstition was one big reason for putting the pinch of salt on the edge of the masu. But again, there are sure to be other interpretations.

Also, as mentioned above, a century ago and earlier sake was bolder and often sweeter, and simple things like salt and miso were often used as snacks while drinking. A bit of salt was also thought to stimulate the appetite and make the sake itself more enjoyable, a sentiment with which I will readily agree.

Also, not all sake today is light and ephemeral. If anything, traditional heavier types, like kimoto, yamahai, and just plain big-ass sake, are making much more visible these days, which is great. It increases the veritable variety of proper sake that available to us all. And on the food side, there are certainly much more enjoyable food and snacks for sake today than just a pinch of salt, although such simplicity certainly has its place.

There is, however, one time and one type of sake for which masu and salt are still commonly used today. Just after New Year’s Day, when people gather for traditional year-opening ceremonies in communities, families and companies, taru-zake is often the sake of choice. Taru-zake is sake that has been stored in the traditional cedar cask, not bottles, deliberately to induce that woody taste and aroma. While it may not be as hoity toity as a fine ginjo, taru-zake has its charm and appeal, and is perfectly enjoyable.

This is precisely when wooden masu are used, with woody sake, and this is when even today we can enjoy a good, strong-flavored sake with a pinch of salt on the corner of the masu.

Should it be available near you, bring in 2021 with a tad of sake tradition, and a prayer for peace and joy on the planet. Prepare for that now by procuring a few masu and some taruzake. The salt? You likely have that on hand already!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The First Tasting of the Season”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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and what they tell you…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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The epitome of it all expressed at Kikuyoi

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

The two largest sake brewing regions in Japan are also the most accessible!

When work, vacation or other travel brings you to Japan, if you are reading this newsletter, chances are you will be interested in checking out something sake related. If you are here during the brewing season in the winter, many if not most sakagura (breweries) are open to tours, although in almost all cases you would need to call ahead and make reservations and arrangements. So if you or someone you are with speaks the language, this should be no problem.

If you do not have the linguistic wherewithal, though, all is not lost. In Kobe and Kyoto there are several museums attached to sake breweries that have plenty of information in English, and have normal business hours that provide flexibility in allowing guests to drop in almost any time with no reservations.

While museums might not seem like the most sake-intensive experience you can have, these are actually quite informative, interesting and fun. So here is a quick rundown of accessible places to visit in Kobe and Kyoto.

The Nada Region of Kobe

The Hakutsuru Sake Brewery Museum

This museum is constructed in one of the old brewery buildings. You need to check in at the main gate. But once that trauma is over, you wander into a beautifully preserved building with a gorgeous garden at the entrance, with the ultra-modern sake brewing plant all around you. Be sure to get an explanatory brochure upon entering (available in several languages). Then, explore the self-guided tour on the first and second floor. There are, at each of perhaps eight stations, television monitors with wonderful two-minute videos showing the major steps in the brewing process, complete with old film footage. Narration is available in either Japanese or English – just select the right button. There are also extremely detailed scenes with manikins and well-preserved traditional old brewing tools that convey quite a realistic feeling of the work load of old. When you are finished, there is a small sake sample of which to partake, along with a video of how to properly taste sake.

Also, the gift shop is great, with both great sake and wonderful accoutrements on sale. All in all an excellently informative tour. If you have time for only one place, this would be it.

4-5-5 Sumiyoshi Minami-machi
Higashi Nada-ku, Kobe
TEL: 078-822-8907.
Open daily 9:30 – 4:30, closed Mondays.
Access: Five-minute walk from Hanshin Sumiyoshi Station. Fifteen-minute walk from JR Sumiyoshi Station.
Admission free.

The Kiku Masamune Sake Brewery Museum
Perhaps a ten-minute walk away, this museum was destroyed in the Great Hanshin Earthquake that devastated Kobe in 1997, and reopened in January of 1999. The gate and entrance way have been well restored to their original rustic beauty. Be sure to grab one of the lovely brochures (in English or Japanese) at the entrance when you sign in, and look for a detailed map of the breweries in Nada if you do not already have one. In the first large room is an excellent video from 1934 showing black and white brewing scenes, to vintage music. The narration is all in Japanese, but the scenery is easy enough to understand, and the accompanying music is classic. Excellent coverage of large-scale brewing back then, with dozens of men at one time mixing moto (yeast starters) or stirring vats. A small model of a Tarukaisen, the ships that went back and forth between Kobe and Edo, doing nothing but delivering casks of sake, sits near the entrance. Here there are less large brewing implements (although there are some), and more small storage vessels, like bottles and tokkuri and red, lacquered “tsuno-daru.” When you are finished, there are several sake to be sampled in the tasting and retail purchase room.

1-9-1 Uozaki Nishimachi,
Higashi Nada-ku, Kobe
TEL: 078-854-1029.
Open daily 10:00 – 4:00, closed Tuesdays.
Access: Five-minute walk from Hanshin Uozaki Station.Two-minute walk from Rokko Liner Minami Uozaki Station.
Admission free.

Sawa no Tsuru Sake Museum
A short taxi ride away is Sawa no Tsuru’s wonderfully charming museum. Originally constructed in 1978, it was totally destroyed in the Great Hanshin Earthquake. It was reconstructed as a replica of the original, and opened in March 1999. Here, you start with a short film as well, half modern reenactments and half cartoons. But it gets the point across visually. You then follow the flow of the original brewing steps in the old kura. Of particular interest are the reconstruction of the kama (rice steamer) area, and the sunken funaba (sake pressing box) area. Dozens of wooden brewing vats, lined up as they might have been long ago, convey a feeling of what it must have been like. A model of a Tarukaisen is on the second floor. Each of these ships could carry about 1000 koku, or 180 kiloliters, in small casks. That is equivalent to the yearly production of many kura today. When finished, there is a tasting room which offers only one sake for tasting, their genshu honjoz-o, but there are plenty of interesting things like pickles and snacks to purchase.

1-29-1 Oishi Minami-machi
Nada-ku, Kobe
TEL: 078-882-6777
Open daily, 10:00 – 4:00, closed Wednesdays.
Access: Fifteen-minute walk from Hanshin Oishi Station.
Admission free.

Kobe Shushinkan

And then there is Fukuju…

The Kobe Shushinkan brewery was damaged severely in the Great Hanshin Earthquake in 1997, but has done a great job of rising from the ashes. The international award-winning sake brewed by this company is called Fukuju, and it is fairly prominent and lively especially compared to other sake from Nada. Tours are available, but not on a walk-in basis. You can learn a lot more about their brewery and facilities here and you can very easily make a reservation via email here to tour the brewery. It is very worth taking the time and planning ahead, and reaching out to set up a tour.

Also, they have an extremely cool shop, with sake, sake-related vessels and really interesting trinkets (like coin purses made from old sake filtration bags), and sake-friendly nibbles. Finally, the restaurant Sakabayashi is top notch, although reservations are necessary here too.

Lastly, if you click on the “Sake Breweries” link at the top of the first link mentioned above, you can see a list of all the breweries in Nada that offer tours, as well as a cool sake-centric map of the area.

Kobe Shushinkan
1-8-17 Mikage-tsukamachi, Higashinada-ku, Kobe, Hyogo 658-0044

TEL 078-841-1121
Open Daily 10-6

There are several other museums and points of interest in Nada, both museums and restaurants. A very useful map, entitled “Sake Breweries of Nada” and shown at left, can be found here. In fact, a proper search will reveal a whole bunch of maps of Nada sake breweries. And, in fact, a plethora of Nada maps can be found here, the result of a simple search.

Fushimi Region of Kyoto

Gekkeikan Okura Memorial Hall

In Fushimi, there are almost 40 sakagura, many in one tight neighborhood worth a walk-through. But perhaps the best museum would be Gekkeikan’s Okura Memorial Hall sake museum. Arguably the most significant brewer across the history of the sake world, many of Gekkeikan’s industry firsts are on display here. There is a partially viewable mini-kura attached, and a restaurant just around the corner. It is in the opposite direction from JR Kyoto station as most of the traditional Kyoto sights, but by no means out of the way. If you go to Kyoto, at least get here.

Also, right around the corner from this is a sake café that where you can try three sake from each of the breweries in Fushimi. Called the Fushimi Yume Hyakushu, it was the original head office of the company making Gekkeikan.

Gekkeikan Okura Sake Museum (Okura Memorial Hall)
A five minute walk from Chushojima station (Keihan line).
Phone No. 075-623-2056 Admission fee 300 yen (but you get a sake gift upon leaving!)
Open 9:00 – 16:30 Closed Mondays

Kizakura Kappa Country

Kizakura, also in the top five or six sake breweries in the country in terms of production, has amped up their tourist facilities with their Kizakura Kappa Country, with a restaurant, tasting room, and more – of both beer and sake.

It is a new-ish facility but it is in fact their original brewery building. You can see the brewing process here in all its largess, as well as lots of other sake-related stuff. Kizakura has always been a prolific advertiser, unlike most sake breweries, and you can see many of the advertisements they have used over the decades going back into the 50s.

And you can of course try (and buy!) their sake here. Furthermore, they also make good craft beer, and this too is available for sampling and sales at Kappa Country. The sake and beer are both more enjoyable with food, and of course there is a restaurant here as well so that you can confirm that for yourself.

By the way, a kappa is a mythical creature of dubious nature that has long been the corporate symbol for Kizakura. Learn more about kappa here.

Kizakura Kappa Country
228 Shioya-machi, Fushimi-ku, Kyoto City
Tel: 075-611-9919
Opening hours: 10am to 5pm
Closed on Mondays (unless Monday is a national holiday)

There are a few more breweries worth knowing about, and a few more sites to check out in Fushimi, and you can learn a bit about here. Of particular note is the place called Fushim Sakagura Koji, which is a indoor labyrinth of perhaps 20 restaurants and sake bars, at one of which you can order a flifght of 17 (count ‘em!) sake from Fushimi. Also of note is the sake retail shop Aburacho, which sells tons of Fushima sake, and where you can taste almost any sake from Fushimi brewers in the bar in the back. See more on that at the bottom of this guide page.

A guide to the sakagura of Fushimi can be found here, within which is a good map of those sakagura, and a veritable plethora of Fushimi maps can be found here.

If you are visiting Japan, even without a fully congealed plan, you simply must avail yourself of visiting at least the most accessible sake related places. Hopefully this guide will get you started. But remember, in many regions around Japan there are breweries open to visits – so be sure to check that out whenever you find yourself in places less accessible than Tokyo, Kobe and Kyoto.

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Koji is perhaps the most enigmatic component of the sake world. The absolute coarsest definition of koji is “moldy rice,” although that does not come close to doing it justice. “Steamed rice onto which the mold aspergillus oryzae has been painstakingly propagated over two days” is a much more eloquently crafted albeit wordy description. But no matter how you define it, without koji there would be no sake.

We are reminded of its importance all the time. “Ichi-koji, ni-moto, san-tsukuri.” First in importance is the koji, second is the yeast starter, and third is the fermenting mash. Indeed, nothing exerts more leverage on how a given batch of sake will turn out than the koji. The way a brewer makes the koji will determine if the sake is sweet, dry, rich or light.

How does it do that? Basically by providing enzymes that convert starch to sugar, allowing the yeast to ferment it, and also by contributing a whole host of other things like amino acids and more that combine and interact to become the backbone of the flavor profile of a given sake. But the process is fraught with peril as well: make the koji less than perfectly and the resulting sake could be thin, stinky in any one of oh-so-many ways, or cloying.

Actually, at least scientifically, sake can be made without koji. Straight enzymes can be used, and rice can be liquified. But there are some legal requirements in place that specify that at least some koji must be used. But legal stipulations notwithstanding, the koji drives everything about how a sake is made, and how it will taste and smell. More attention to detail goes into the koji than any other step of the process.

There is a semi-retired sake consultant I run into all the time at tastings, let’s just call him Dr. T., who used to be a government assessor. Tasting sake was basically what he did – as a career. Folks like that can taste a sake and tell a brewer just what they can do in the process to make it better, and this guy was one of the best.

But lately he seems perpetually disappointed in almost everything he tastes. Surly, almost. When I run into him at tastings, we will great each other cheerfully, after which he launches into a rant something along the lines of “No one here knows how to make koji properly…”

One of the breweries under his care when he was active was Kusumi Shuzo in Niigata, who make the sake Kiyoizumi (among other brands). It’s a sake from Niigata that I do not get to taste often enough. The company is famous in the industry as the brewery that revived the rice Kame-no-o, or at least the first widely-used manifestation of it. (It’s complicated both botanically and legally; but I digress.)

Their sake is perhaps just a bit richer than most sake from Niigata, and Kusumi-san, the owner / president ascribes that to the importance they place on the koji. He insists that they do it he old way, “properly,” and that is what makes their sake what it is. The last time I spoke to him at a yearly distributor’s tasting, he spoke of “ listening to the koji.”

“You have to listen to the koji,” he began. “If you listen to the market, to consumers or to other stuff too much, they’ll tell you what they like and that can take a brewer away from the basics.” He made it seem a bit like populism in sake brewing.

“So, we don’t do that anymore. Instead, we listen to the koji.” What he meant, of course, was that regardless of what other brewers might be doing to please the aroma-loving public, they stuck to their traditional basics, centered as they were around making proper koji. By doing so, he continued, they would stay true to their style and would be able to continue to make the great sake they have always made.

He continued, with conviction and pride, “When people that really understand sake go to the store to buy our sake, they actually go out of their way to look at the date on the bottle and buy the oldest bottle on the shelf.” I dunno; a bit of hyperbole methinks. But his point is not lost on me; in fact, it is well taken.

“Because we listen to the koji as we make the sake, we know it will not only stand the test of time in the bottle, but actually be better because of it. We can’t be leaving it up to the yeast, you know. It’s the koji.”

That last little bomb about “not leaving it up to the yeast” was significant. He was subtly referring to how many modern popular sake are made using yeasts that yield prominent aromatics. While that is of course fine, sake like that does not age well; the compounds that lead to apple and tropical fruit nuances do not age gracefully. Often they become bitter and harsh. Age can do that.

But he was delicately and deftly stating how they do not just jump on the bandwagon of recently popular sake, and restating his commitment to their own way of brewing. “It’s the koji.”

Actually, making great sake is more than the koji. It’s, well, everything. Water, rice, technique, ad infinitum. But koji tops the list of priorities for minute attention to detail for a reason. And while it may be enigmatic to we mortals, that’s fine as long as the brewers understand it.