How big is ideal?

There are countless factors that determine how good a batch of sake will end up being. Some are directly controllable by brewers; others less so. And there are, nor surprisingly, countless opinions amongst brewers about each and every one of those factors. There are methods or practices that some brewers consider indispensable or key, yet other brewers will downplay or even outright contradict them with diametrically opposed philosophies. Like, 180 degrees. It can be odd, actually. Depending on your threshold for vagueness, it can either be frustrating or fascinating.

One of these factors is the size of the batch. Big batches behave differently than small batches, not surprisingly. A batch is called a “shikomi,” and its size is measured in kilos of dry, milled rice that went into a given tank to create that batch of sake. While there are of course myriad other ways a batch could be measured, the weight of the dry rice is how it is done in the sake world.

Off on a bit of tangent, why is that? Because just how much water the rice is allowed to

absorb, or how much water is added, or what the yields are will vary based on many things as well. Basing size on the weight of the dry milled rice presents one parameter that can be used as a point of comparison for all tanks, all batches, and all brewers.

Perhaps the most commonly encountered size of a typical shikomi is a ton to a ton-and-a-half (a metric ton, mind you, so 1000 kg or 2200 pounds) of all the rice that went into the tank, be it sraight steamed rice or koji rice (the rice that has had koji mold propagated upon it). But there are many brewers of the opinion that much smaller shikomi, say 600 kg or so, are infinitely better for super premium sake.

Perhaps the smallest size I have seen is 500kg on a practical level. (Experimental batches notwithstanding, of course. I have seen batches of sake in a desktop Pyrex jar.) But done at this scale, yields are quite low. The economics of sake brewing are, of course, important, and brewers need to ask themselves, from that point of view, are tiny batches worth it in the end?

When considering the time required to do each of the many steps, then have it take up tank space, press it and filter it when fermentation is complete, bottle it and care for it and more – it would be so much more economical to double, triple or quadruple one’s yields; yea, verily I say unto thee multiply them by ten-fold for true efficiency. And, of course, many breweries function at such large economies of scale.

Naturally, though, as economically sound as larger batches can be at some point the law of diminishing returns kicks in with a vicious vengeance and quality begins to noticeably suffer. But just where that occurs, and how each brewery factors that into their lineup varies hugely.

For example, some brewers not think that smaller batches are always better, citing the truth that it is much harder to control parameters such as temperature in those smaller tanks over the long run. To achieve a given flavor and aromatic profile, brewers guide the moromi (fermenting mash) along a very tight temperature curve. Smaller batches are more subject to various factors that might send them out of spec, so to speak. For a really small tank, a warm day outside might let the moromi get too warm, adversely affecting the final product.

Conversely, a largish tank would lumber along much more sluggishly so that wild swings in temperature et al would not likely happen. A warm day outside is nothing to a ton-and-a-half of fermenting rice. Such a tank would look askance at the weather outside, secure in its sheer mass.

But of course the other side of this coin is that if the temperature and other parameters stray from the fold of the ideal, it is easy to bring them back into alignment with small batches, back to where they should be, whereas in big batches, there is nothing to little that a brewer can do once things have gotten too out of spec.

Yet more dissention abounds. One hugely famous toji of almost unmatched accomplishment insists that larger batches of about 1.5 tons are ideal. He also insists on slightly customizing the shape of the fermentation tanks he uses, so that the sake in his brewery circulates natural as it ferments. This means that they do not have to mess with using long poles to mix it up. It all occurs naturally in his kura as, inside the tanks, carbon dioxide bubbles stick to dissolving rice particles and the countless yeast cells, rising to the top, where the gas is released and the now-dense glob sinks again. And if your shikomi size is right, it all circulates perfectly, around and around and around…

Having said all this, though, it is a fact that almost always the more premium grades of sake are indeed made in comparatively smaller batches, compared that is to the shikomi size of the lower grades of sake for a given brewer. And contest sake, too, is almost without exception made in smaller batches. Certainly this is due to the aforementioned ability to tightly control key parameters.

Admittedly, this information is more than most of us need or want to know. Most folks are more into tasting sake than the under-the-hood workings of the brewing process. But lately I have come across this information on the back labels of one or two sake bottles: they actually tell us the size of the shikomi!

In truth, I think such information is superfluous and even intimidating. I mean, really; who cares? In the end, the flavors and aromas of a sake before us are either appealing, or they are not. Biasing our minds with such information before tasting could actually encumber our enjoyment by unnecessarily prejudicing it.

But as always, there are a myriad of opinions. One big gun of a distributor in the Tokyo/Yokohama metropolis insists that sake must be made in 600 kg or smaller batches to even be decent. He cites his ten-year convincing effort focused on one famous kura to lower their shikomi size from a ton to 600 kg, and when they did, they won a major international award. True, the smaller shikomi size might have had something to do with it, but so might a gazillion other things. But hey, what do I know.

So enjoy your sake for its flavors and aromas. Should you come across the shikomi size on a label or in a kura, bear in mind its significance, and its potential liabilities.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sake Professional Course in Chicago
April 23 ~ 25, 2019

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

The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

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

Testimonials from past graduates can be perused here as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~  ~  ~

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sake Professional Course in Chicago
April 23 ~ 25, 2019

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

The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

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

Testimonials from past graduates can be perused here as well.

To open the last year of the second decade of the still-new millennium, I want to offer a somewhat bold suggestion. It may go against much you have learned about sake, but here it is: from here on out, drink more futsu-shu and honjozo. Not exclusively, mind you; just more.

I’m not issuing a challenge; it’s not like that. It is nothing more than an idea, a suggestion for this year, for those that have the willingness, and the means – as dictated by availability. Starting in 2019, drink more honjozo and futsu-shu.

As a quick, new-year’s review, amongst the handful of ways to “divide all sake into two groups,” one is tokutei meishoshu, or “special designation sake,” and the rest is, well, everything else, i.e. sake that does not qualify for a special designation. And since it does not qualify for one of eight special terms, it’s kind of just regular sake.

That “regular sake” is called futsu-shu, which means – not surprisingly – regular sake, and comprises between 60 and 65 percent of the market. As the sake market continues its rapid shift toward more premium products, futsu-shu consumption is dropping fast. Tokutei Meishoshu, or “special designation” sake, is “special” by virtue of how much the rice was milled before brewing, and further divided up by whether or not distilled alcohol was used. You can learn a bit more about the grades here, and with an at-a-glance version here.

Very often Tokutei Meishoshu is called premium sake. This is fine, and technically speaking it is basically true. This line has been drawn by the industry, and we need to make sake easily understandable and approachable the world. But such nomenclature automatically implies that anything not in the Tokutei Meishoshu club is non-premium, which implies it is not so good – and that is simply a misperception. Or at least, it’s just not that simple.

To cut to the chase, let’s just state it: there is plenty of good, very enjoyable futsu-shu out there. Lots. Sure, there are some dodgy ones in the market as well. But many kura brew simple, straightforward, unassuming, not ostentatious futsu-shu that is easy to drink and very reasonably priced.

Also, as we go up the arbitrarily ascending scale of Special Designation sake, the first one we come to is honjozo. Like futsu-shu, distilled alcohol has been added, but the allowed limits are much lower. However, honjozo also has a minimum milling rate that must be observed (70 percent), usually rendering it more refined and delicate. And like futsu-shu, there is a lot of really good honjozo out there. Tons of it. Lakes of it.

Honjozo is currently only about nine percent of the market now, but that market share is lamentably contracting very quickly, even more so than futsu-shu. Why is this? What is behind this rapid decline?

In my opinion, honjozo – which is, by the way, a full-fledged Tokutei Meishoshu – just has a bad rep. People misunderstand how enjoyable it can be, and miss its outstanding price performance. Consumers like things simple, and therefore tend to polarize things. So if someone wants to drink cheap sake, honjozo is passed over for futsu-shu. If someone wants to drink premium, just a few more coins will get them into the ginjo realm. So honjozo tends to get overlooked.

Regardless, what is important to bear in mind is that there are plenty of very good sake in each of these classifications, even though they are not the glitterati of the sake industry.
Often, we all tend to go right for the ginjo – and that includes this guy. And again, there’s nothing wrong with that. It is certainly closer to a safe bet, and it is the fastest way to get someone interested in sake – if not instantly hooked. But the truth, especially with sake, is never that simple. There is really just so much great futsu-shu and honjozo out there that is well worth exploring. And that is what I want to encourage in 2019.

But really, why bother? Ginjo is a safe bet, more easily available overseas, and the word is easier to remember, even. Why put out actual effort to drink less expensive, less ostentatious sake? Here are five reasons.

One, it will help you expand your sake horizons. The more variety you include in the repertoire of sake that you drink, the more you will learn about sake in general. If you drink only ginjo, or only junmai styles, you’ll not learn nearly as much as if you include a good dollop of honjozo and futsu-shu into the mix.

Two, by trying a wide range of styles, when you find the types and grades of sake you enjoy the most, you’ll enjoy them even more after having made the rounds and come back to them. Worded less romantically, your ginjo will taste better if you drink futsuu-shu and honjozo from time to time.

Three, there are tons of great honjozo and futsu-shu out there. Oodles and oodles of ‘em. Certainly they are not as ostentatious as much ginjo-shu – they’re not supposed to be. But they can be extremely enjoyable, quite tasty, and very well suited to simple, unfettered drinking sessions. I cannot emphasize this point enough!

And four, if you want to learn about a particularly brewery and what their sake-brewing philosophy is all about, drink their futsu-shu. Sure, ginjo is good. But ginjo flavor profiles tend to converge; futsu-shu maintains much more of the character of the individual brewery. So by tasting a brewery’s futsu-shu, you’ll learn much more about their approach to sake brewing.

There is that fifth reason too, albeit a less appealing one: you’ll help the industry. The overall industry is in decline, and that decline is led by futsu-shu and honjozo: they drop every year. Drinking more of them will help bolster the industry and help make it easier for us to enjoy our Tokubei Meishoshu from amongst the currently active 1200 or so brewers. The more of them we lose, the less we have to choose from. So we can help keep things interesting by enjoying more futsu-shu and honjozo from time to time.

So next time, at least for 2019, resist the urge to go straight for the ginjo. Tokutei Meishoshu is great; junmai and the four ginjo types are of course wonderful sake, and they deserve to be in the spotlight as they are. But bear in mind that sake that do not qualify for those grades are no less wonderful sake, and drinking a bit more of them – in particular futsu-shu and honjozo – can be enjoyable and worthwhile in so many ways.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sake Professional Course in Chicago
April 23 ~ 25, 2019

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

The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

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

Testimonials from past graduates can be perused here as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　～～～～～～～～～～～～

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

No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!

I have been hanging out with a lot of toji (master brewer) lately. No particular reason, just one tasting and event after another, interacting and listening to what they have to say. Here are a couple interesting anecdotes from a couple of interesting toji.

In June, at the Iida Sake Brewing Seminar about which I wrote last month, Philip Harper, the toji at Kinoshita Shuzo on Kyoto – brewers of Tamagawa sake – talked about his take on how to make good sake. Naturally enough, there was much talk of toji. While the term translates loosely as “master brewer,” there is a lot more to it. And what is “to it” has changed over the decades.

Long ago, the toji was responsible for not only brewing the sake, but hiring, firing, and buying the rice as well. The kuramoto, or brewery owner, gave him a chunk of change and left everything in his fine hands. These days, he or she might not do all of that, but in exchange has to keep in mind the larger picture of marketing, pricing, and product differentiation.

Limiting it just to technical stuff, though, the toji of today have all kinds of modern measurement equipment at their disposal. Scales, thermometers, sensors of all kinds, and computers to combine it into a useful form from which brewers can make decisions to precisely target what they want. It’s all pretty neat, really.

But long ago, there was none of that. Fingertips were thermometers, noses and tongues were hydrometers and alcohol sensors, and brushes and ink were the computers. Sounds pretty primitive, doesn’t it?

As a point in passing, Mr. Harper mentioned something that astounded me to hear. Curious researchers noted the measurements made within the brewing process, such as temperature and moisture and many other factors, by older toji who brewed without depending on modern tools, but instead their own five senses. And these were compared to those made with modern technology.

And guess what? Lo and behold, the measurements made by the tool-less toji relying o their senses were found to be within one percent of those made by modern technological tools. Within. One. Percent. And that shows the power of experience and intuition.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last month at a Hiroshima sake lecture and tasting, Tatsuya Ishikawa, the toji at the brewery making Taketsuru sake, presented his take on being a toji, and brewing local sake in Hiroshima.

He is a strong-willed yet light-hearted individual with well formed opinions on how sake should be brewed and the importance of regionality and terroir in sake brewing. And as one point in evidence, I was surprised to hear that he applies almost no temperature control at all to his fermenting tanks of sake.

While many – if not most – brewers will chill down tanks of fermenting ginjo to minimize bacterial havoc and promote cleaner flavors, Ishikawa Toji is having none of that. He lets it run at whatever the ambient temperature in the kura is, leading to his unique sake.
“If we are going to manipulate the environment and negate the effects of the climate,” he explains, “what is the point of making local Hiroshima sake?” Indeed, his strong feelings for tradition and it significance are clear. He continued by explaining that he cannot really get behind the concept of a toji that takes too much direction from the brewery owner. Long ago, the owner did not even enter into the brewery, much less suggest to the toji what sake to brew.

But these days, it is of course normal for the owner and the toji (when they are not the same person, which they often are these days) to discuss with each other what kind of sake to brew. Not this guy. It was part of his arrangement with his employer when he took over as toji. “I brew what I want, with no well-meaning direction or influence from you or anyone else.”

As I wrote about in this newsletter a few months ago, the old guilds’ significance is waning, and their influence is not at all what it used to be. Not that this is a completely negative thing; it is just the way things have become in response to the changes of modern times. But Ishikawa-san has his opinions.

“If the boss is going to direct everything about how the sake is brewed, what is the point of having a toji? Allowing such a situation to exist defeats the purpose of having a toji in the first place, and detracts from what terroir the sake might have.”

Certainly, both philosophies have their points. Much has changed, especially market realities and environments. And adapting to these is of utmost importance. But then again, so is maintaining the important and useful aspects of tradition.

In the end, the toji of olde and the toji of today each have had their unique set of circumstances and attendant challenges. It is not really fair or even possible to directly compare them. But it sure can be interesting to try!

Sake Professional Course

The next Sake Professional Course will be held in Las Vegas, Nevada on November 27 to 29. Learn more here, and if you are interested in reserving a spot, please send me an email.

The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan. The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

Learn more about the course here. You can read Testimonials from past participants here.

If you would like to make a reservation or to be placed on the notification list, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy@gol.com.

(Note, this is a re-post of a post that was lost in some kind of digital mishap.)

At the very beginning of July, torrential rains ravaged western Japan, in particular (but not limited to) Hiroshima Prefecture and Okayama Prefecture. Over 120 people lost their lives. The damage was close to unimaginable, and pictures and video footage of entire towns under water were commonly seen via all media. Our thoughts and prayers are with the deceased, injured, and the displaced. Recovery and cleanup will take a long, long time.

The sake industry was of course affected. While a handful of breweries in the western half of Japan were affected to varying degrees, several notable examples were widely covered.

Asahi Shuzo, the brewers of well-known Dassai, suffered a lot of damage in several ways. One of the two brewery buildings flooded, the other lost all power. Not only could no work be done, but the loss of electricity meant that all temperature control was lost, and at each stage of the process. Fortunately, though, there were no injuries to any personnel.

Initial reports mentioned a loss of a massive amount of sake that was in production, as well as huge costs and a long, long time to get back to normal. However, the company began production again 21 days later!

Also, some of the sake that was considered to be lost was actually perfectly good and tasty sake, but “just not Dassai.” So the clever company teamed up with a manga-ka (somehow “cartoonist” does not do that word true justice) to create a new, one time brand called Shima Kousaku, which Dassai will sell, and a portion of the proceeds will be used to benefit those affected by the rains. The name refers to a famous 70’s comic book (again, that translation does no real justice done to the concept of “manga”) character that excelled at making the most of difficult situations and turning them around.

Another well publicized brewery that suffered great damage was Ishii Shuzo in Takehara, Hiroshima, which brews the sake Ryusei and the sake Houju. They are fairly small, but in a well-known sake area with a well-established, wonderful and traditional style.

The kura flooded with about a meter of water, which stood in the kura for days before receding. During that time, huge empty brewing tanks floated haphazardly around the kura, and all the machinery took on water damage. When the floodwater did recede, it left slime and a layer of mud on everything – and this obviously will be extremely challenging to clean well. In a craft where sanitation is like 99 percent of everything, that will be a significant endeavor.

Several other breweries in Hiroshima were damaged, including those making Hakuko, Kansai Ichi, and Hanahato. Other breweries in other area prefectures were also affected.

In Okayama, an area in which entire towns were under deep water, Marumoto Shuzo, brewers of Chikurin sake, did not suffer much damage to the kura building itself. However, they have about 30 rice fields near the brewery in which they grow their own rice. Many of these are for organic rice, the rules and regulations of which are very, very strict. Nothing that is not approved and recorded can be brought into the rice paddy. Any person physically entering the paddy must sign in, and equipment and even boots worn must not be used for any non-organic field work.

But with the flooding, because outside water came into the paddies, the rice grown in them can no longer qualify for certified organic. Not only that, but a field has to be free of all outside influences for a full three years before the rice grown there can be certified as organic. So he has to wait three years before making organic sake with organic rice – at least from those fields. (He has some access to others.)

Interestingly enough, the rice plants themselves survived the flood to some degree.

Naturally, sake breweries were far, far from being the only enterprises affected. The damage was widespread and really hard to comprehend, even when seeing it. Let us hope for as quickly a recovery as possible for everyone affected, and support the region in any and all ways.

Should you want to provide monetary support, a bit of poking around on the internet will reveal ways to do that.

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

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

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

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

Concretely, what changes? For example…

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

Precision Soaking

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extreme Method of Pressing: by drip

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

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

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

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

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

Gentle Pasteurization

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sake Professional Course

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

The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan. The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

You can read Testimonials from past participants here.

If you would like to make a reservation or to be placed on the notification list, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy@gol.com.

Men at Work at Rihaku Brewery

Certainly, change pretty much defines our world today, and the sake brewing world is not excepted from that truth. In particular, the changes within the sake world over the last 30 years in who actually does the brewing are pretty astounding.

There is one master brewer per brewery, and that person is called the toji. Almost always this was – and is – man, but currently perhaps 40 or 50 out of the 1100 or 1200 active kura have a toji that is a woman.

But long ago – and not so long ago – the toji in any given brewery was dispatched from his guild in the countryside. There were about 30 to 35 toji guilds across Japan long ago, although many of them are now defunct as their membership declined along with the number of breweries.

But back in the day, the toji was a seasonal employee. He may have worked at the same brewery every year for decades and decades, but each year was a new, one-year contract. Originally, the toji would receive a chunk of money from the brewery owner, and he would hire and pay everyone else, buy the rice, and just get the job done. That was not really a hard and fast rule, but even as recently as 30 years ago, most breweries in the industry were run by seasonally employed toji.

Slowly things changed. The need for year-round employment led to changes that included toji and brewing staff more commonly becoming year-round employees of the brewing company, replete with the benefits, like a paycheck in twelve rather than only six months of the year. When not brewing, other tasks could be handled, or hours could be seasonally juggled.

Another change included members of the brewery-owning family to take over the brewing themselves. Sometimes this was out of interest and passion, other times out of necessity. It is hard to run a small family business when all of the technical skill for creating your product is in the hands of someone that is but a seasonal hire, and not even a member of the family.

So what this led to is basically three genre of toji: those there are only seasonally employed toji from one of the guilds, toji that are year-round company employees, and toji that are family members. Note, too, that there is some overlap. Toji coming in from the countryside can be from the traditional guilds, but still be full-time employees (not just seasonal employees). And conversely, family members and local hires can be associated with one of the guilds in the boonies, for educational and informational exchange and support.

With that as the background, let us look at some very interesting numbers.

Thirty-two years ago, in 1986, 74 percent of the toji in the (then, much larger) industry were seasonal hires, not full-time employees. In 1996, a scant 10 years hence, that number had dropped to 62 percent. In 2006 it had dropped to 35.5 percent, and in 2016 it was down to only 16 percent of all breweries in the industry that had seasonally employed toji from the traditional guilds. Wow.

Note that this is not necessarily a bad thing; it is just … different. The industry is half the size of what it was back then, and the percentage of toji that are seasonal employees is a quarter of what it used to be. And whether or not a toji is seasonally hired or not has no direct influence on his or her skills, nor the quality of the sake. I’m just sayin’.

Looking at the other side of the toji coin, in 1986 only 12 percent of the toji in the industry had secure, year-round employment with the company. Sparing you the gory details of the decades in between, toji that are year-round full time employees went from that to 38 percent in 2016. And toji that are a member of the owning family went from a mere 14 percent in ’86 to a whopping 47 percent in 2016.

What this means, at a glance, is that almost half of the 1100 to 1200 sake breweries active today have family members in charge of the brewing operations.

Again, bear in mind there are several dynamics at work simultaneously, and that looking at the above number alone will not lead to any firm conclusion. One thing that has led to this is a very positive thing: the availability of reference material, education opportunities, and the infrastructure that allows almost instant communication. No longer does a brewery-owning family need to rely on an old codger from the boonies with a thick country accent. Just send the kids to brewing school, and keep in touch with friends running other breweries. That flow of information, and lots of patience and experience, is very commonly how sake is brewed in this modern era.

Nevertheless, it is interesting, and surely, there are at least a few out there that will feel a nostalgic pang at the decline and loss of the tradition-laden historical guilds, myself included.

Learn much, much more about toji guilds here.

For those that are interested, the brewery workers under the toji are called kurabito, the brewery-owning family and family members are called kuramoto, and the brewery itself is a kura or sakagura.

~~~   ~~~   ~~~

The Sake Professional Course scheduled for April 23 to 25 in Brooklyn New York is full. Thanks to all those that signed up! The next one will be in Miami in September. If interested, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy @ gol.com. Learn more about the Sake Professional Course here.

Bad puns notwithstanding, readers may recall that when making sake, after the typically three-to-five week long fermentation period during which rice is dissolving in the tank, and the resulting sugar is converted to alcohol, the sake at that point will be a white liquid, basically pure sake and rice solids remaining from the process. The remaining rice solids, lees as it were, need to be filtered out before the sake is bottled.

This is, clearly, a filtration. But since there are other filtration steps later that remove color and rough flavors, many refer to this step as “pressing.” So the just fermented mash is pressed through a mesh to yield clear, fresh sake.

There are basically three methods of pressing: by modern machine, by traditional box press, and by dripping out of cloth bags. You can learn much more about these three methods here, here and here.

But in short, the machine does a great job, and easily more than 99 percent of all sake made is pressed using a machine. The box press takes more time and effort, and the drip press takes even more.

In short, as one goes from machine to box to drip, the intensity and expressiveness of flavors and aromas of the resulting sake increase. So does cost, appropriately so. But yields, however, decrease, which is also hardly surprising.

So going from machine to box to drip, the whole thing gets more extravagant. Based on this, one would naturally think that box pressed sake will in general be better than machine pressed sake, and drip pressed sake would in general be better than box pressed sake. So one would think that going from machine to box to drip is always better. But it ain’t.

Why not? Because things are never that simple in the sake world. Never.

In spite of the above caveat, yes, most of the time drip-pressed sake – called shizuku – is the best stuff available. Wastefully extravagant and quite impactful (sometimes even downright intense) in flavors and aromas. This is usually what is sent to contests.

And the box-pressed stuff, pressed by laying meter-long tubular bags of filled with fermented mash into a wooden box and pressing the lid into that box, is next best. But this method too takes a lot of effort. Machine pressed sake is by far the most efficient to make – just plug and play. And while this is simplest, it tends to be the most staid.

The two “better” methods take longer than the machine. And that means that oxygen has more time to interact with the sake.

However, in recent years, the use of modern yeasts that create highly volatile aromatics have skewed this logic, at least in the opinion of some brewers. One such brewer is the energetic and animated (read: study-in-contstant-motion) Kosuke Kuji of Nanbu Bijin in Iwate Prefecture.

Kuji-san uses a wide range of yeasts, but many of his sake make the most out of families of yeast that yield sake that are full of prominent apple, pineapple and licorice notes. These “modern yeasts” lead to sake that is full of esters which are quite volatile, in other words, they evaporate and disappear quickly in the presence of oxygen.

As Kuji-san puts it, “If you are going to use a modern yeast, sake like that is as good as it is going to get right out of the press. From that moment on, it begins to degrade in a long, slow downhill slide. So for sake like that, a machine is best, as it gets the job done quickly and with a minimum of oxidation. One can get it into a bottle quickly, and lock all that great aroma inside.”

He continues on to explain that more traditional yeasts, like No. 7 and No. 9, have less capricious and more placid aromatic compositions. They are less sensitive to oxidation, but at the same time extravagant methods like box or drip pressing sharpen and brighten the flavors and aromas created by the those more traditional yeasts.

“The more classic yeasts,” he expounds, “lead to sake that has fewer ostentatious aromas to lose initially, and unlike sake made using modern yeasts, they get better after just a little time has passed. So for those, the box and drip offer something tangible.”

Certainly this is just one brewer’s opinion. A very accomplished and experienced brewer to be sure! But of course there are those in the industry, just as accomplished and experienced, that may completely disagree. Who knows?

There is a bit of a spin-doctor inside every good sake brewer. And any given spin-sensei may simply not want to bother with a hassle-laden method, and so spins a reason why it is not as good as the easy method. Happens all the time. In truth, it isprobably not the case in this particulr case here, but even in a 1000 year-old craft like sake brewing, there are marketers and spin doctors.

More importantly, though, among the three main methods of separating the sake lees from the completed ambrosia, dripping is usually the best, box-pressing next, and the machine press does a fine, fine job as well. But there are various opinions. Pressing matters, indeed.

~~~   ~~~   ~~~

The Sake Professional Course scheduled for April 23 to 25 in Brooklyn New York is full. Thanks to all those that signed up! The next one will be in Miami in September. If interested, please send an email to that purport to sakeguy @ gol.com. Learn more about the Sake Professional Course here.

No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!

Tatenokawa Shuzo in Yamagata Prefecture has produced a sake with a one percent seimai buai. One. Percent.

The product is named Komyo. Only 1500 bottles (720ml) were made, and they went on sale for 100,000 yen (circa US$960) each on Sake Day, October 1. See the Tatenokawa website for information on the retail outlets handling it.

They used a Yamagata rice called Dewa Sansan, which is known to be harder than most i.e. will stand up to more milling without cracking or breaking. Still, they must have done something to specifically select the grains that went into this, since they would need to be relative large to begin with. In order to achieve the one percent, the milling machines ran for two and a half months straight, for a total of about 1800 hours. For a daiginjo milled to 35 percent, this usually takes about 72 hours.

I do not currently have any more detailed information than the above. If that comes my way I will share it in time. Also, I do not expect to be able to taste it, with only 150 bottles made. I’m OK with that.

As a quick review that may be superfluous, the seimai buai refers to how much the rice was milled before brewing. The number expressed refers to the percentage of the rice grain by weight that remains after milling. So a 70 percent seimai buai means that the outer 30 percent was milled away, leaving the inner 70 percent remaining. A 40 percent seimai buai means that after milling only 40 percent of the original grain remains. And, of course, a one percent seimai buai means that a ridiculously whopping 99 percent of the grain was milled away, leaving only the inner one percent of each grain of rice remaining.

Why is the rice milled? Because fat and protein that can inhibit fermentation and lead to rough flavors resides in the outer portion of the grains of rice, and milling more and more removes those offending compounds. Of course, this can go too far in the opinion of many, and milling too much can potentially strip the resulting sake of character. Not necessarily, mind you; just potentially.

While surely most readers recall, to qualify for daiginjo the rice must be milled to a seimai buai of 50 percent. It can be taken further, of course. The erstwhile maximum was 35 percent, but from a several years ago a few producers pushed that envelope. We saw sake made with a 23 percent seimai buai, then 18 percent seimai buai. Until October 1, though, the maximum on the market was seven percent, of which there were three (Tatenokawa, Raifuku of Ibaraki, and Hakurakusei of Miyagi).

Keep in mind more milling is not better. Sure, it makes the sake lighter and more refined. But that might not be what one wants to drink. And even if your preference is lighter, more refined sake, more milling will lead to that to a certain degree. But once a certain threshold is crossed, milling beyond that will not make the sake any lighter or more refined.

While plenty of 35 percent sake exist, many folks in the industry say going beyond 40 percent is meaningless. Furthermore, if a brewer uses a method of milling rice in such a way that it maintains the original oblong shape of each grain (rather than rounding them out), then a higher percentage of fat is removed with less milling. In that case, going much beyond 60 is moot, say some. (Such methods are called henpei seimai, or cho-henpai seimai, and were made well-known by Daishichi.)

Regardless, going to one percent seimai buai has no real technical merit. So, why do it?

Because it’s something to talk about. It is newsworthy. It is good marketing. People will remember your brand. In that sense, it is brilliant.

And, at one percent, you cannot be outdone. Or so you’d think. But never say never in the sake world.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

Interested in learning much MUCH more about sake? Enroll in the Sake Professional Course in Las Vegas, December 4 – 6

I will run the last Sake Professional Course of 2017 in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand Hotel from Monday, December 4, through Wednesday December 6.

The content of this intensive sake course will be identical to that of the Sake Professional Course held each January in Japan, with the exception of visiting sake breweries. The course is recognized by the Sake Education Council, and those that complete it will be qualified to take the exam for Certified Sake Specialist, which will be offered on the evening of the last day of the course.

The cost for the three-day class, including all materials and sake for tasting, is US$899. Participation is limited and reservations can be made now to secure a seat; full payment is requested by November 15. You can read Testimonials from past participants here. You can see this information online here, and download it here. For reservations or inquiries, please send an email to sakeguy@gol.com.

“No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!”