I have trouble finding one definition of terroir that more than a couple of people agree with. After scouring the bodies of wine knowledge out there (read: I poked around the internet for an hour) the ones that rang the most true were along the lines of “characteristics that are region or even parcel-of-land specific” or even more simply a “sense of somewhere,” or something that ties a wine to a very specific place. In other words, for any one or more of a myriad of reasons, the wine could not be exactly reproduced anywhere else.

The question of whether or not sake has terroir comes up with increasing frequency, with the main – and very valid – argument that it might not have true terroir stemming from the fact that the rice used in brewing can be brought in from regions far from the kura (brewery) itself. Heck, brewers from around the country brag about using Yamada Nishiki from Hyogo, even when they are half a country away from Hyogo. That’s a huge chink in the armor of any terroir or regionality argument.

There are those that say it is in the water. The argument goes that since the water cannot be moved, and since the water is tied to a parcel of land, then it is the water itself that defines the terroir of sake. And since sake is like 80 percent water in the end, the leverage is huge.

But, in fact, water can indeed be brought in from a distance, and while not commonly done, it does happen. Furthermore, any parcel of land can have half a dozen water sources and types, depending on where and how deep the well is dug. Also, the water in any one place is really sourced in mountains far away, and it drifts underground for leagues upon leagues before arriving at one spot, and as such there are many places along the way with very similar sources of water. So while the water-is-sake’s-terroir argument is not totally unfounded, I cannot buy into it fully myself.

So, then, does sake have that sense of can-only-be-done-here and cannot-be-reproduced-anywhere known as terroir? And if so, from whence does it hail?

I espouse that it does, and that said terroir is found in none other than the kura itself.

Yes, the kura is but a brewery building. At least on the surface. But integrated into that are the design elements of the toji, or the kuramoto (the brewery owner or business decision maker), and perhaps not even that of the present generation. But the layout/design they have, be it new or 400 years old, is what it is, and is unique in countless ways.

We need to expound on that a bit further, but also bear in mind that in my larger definition of kura here, I include the intention and personality of the toji and his or her supporting cast. Just how that crew works within the physical environment that constitutes the kura will be unique to that time and place, and be impossible to reproduce anywhere else.

We also need to include the nature of the kuramoto as well. Is the owner one who is willing to buy the best rice, in advance, and pay top yen to secure it, or instead string out the toji by pulling strings in the background to get decent rice at better prices. Both are valid approaches! And both will contribute to aspects of a kura that cannot be reproduced elsewhere, especially after having been factored into the overall permutation of things happening at a particular kura.

Also, when the kuramoto and the toji are the same person, or at least the same family, then one dynamic is eliminated. Or another becomes evident – depending on your viewpoint. (Half-full or half-empty?) As this is now the case for about a fourth of the industry, it is indeed a significant aspect of any conversation on sake terroir.

But back to the physical structure of the kura itself. To me, this is where a mark of indelible character is impressed upon what is brewed here. There are countless little things, the aggregate of which makes a given sake simply impossible to recreate anywhere else.

The task of trying to convey this is so daunting I shudder at the thought of where to begin. Let us start with size.

How big is the kura; what is its capacity? How many tanks? How big are the batches? Are they same size for cheap sake as they are for daiginjo? Do they have enough to start a tank a day, or just three a week, or perhaps only one a week? Do they have enough people to watch all of that closely or do they automate? What about temperature control? Is the kura in a cold or warm region? How thick are the walls?

Do they mill in house? How do they wash and soak their rice? How big is the koji room, f’gad’s sake? This is huge. Just how much they can make at one time, and what the attention to detail can be are massively leveraging.

Even little things like how far the koji room is from where they steam their rice is an issue. What about the foyer outside the koji room where they cool it down before adding it to a batch? How does that affect cooling and drying out the koji? Big, big, big in terms of effects on the sake!

What about the yeast starter room? Big or small, refrigerated or not, tightly sealed off or more open? And what of the layout of the fermentation tanks? How do they press the sake? Do they have more than one apparatus that lets the sake tell them when to press it, or do they need to coax the sake to be ready so as to keep on a schedule? How do they do that pressing – with a new machine or an older, traditional one?

Note, none of these factors is unequivocally better than another. All are just different. All contribute to the final terroir of the sake made there.

How do they pasteurize as a rule? How do they store? Distance, pipes, pumps, filters – all of these things have their say in the end.

Then there is the unexplainable. Some yeasts work better in some kura than others. No one knows why. It just is that way. One tank might make consistently better sake than another, by virtue of what no one really knows.

It’s in the kura

Remember that all this is before we even throw in the sake-making techniques themselves, or the skill and intention of the toji (brew master). What rice do they use, what yeast, how far do they mill, how good is their sanitation? What technical methods do they use for the yeast starter – normal, yamahai, kimoto or some variation unique to them?

This list could go on, and for a long time. But where it all leads is to the fact that in any one given kura, there will be a unique set of countless conditions that ensure that the sake made there cannot be reproduced anywhere else.
And therein lies the terroir of sake.

So yes, sake does indeed have terroir – a sense of place, a set of circumstances that ties a given sake to a single place, and it essentially cannot be reproduced anywhere else. And it’s in the kura.

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The sake-brewing process is fairly idiosyncratic. No other alcoholic beverage in the world is brewed quite like sake is. Perhaps the most obvious difference is that the ingredients are added in stages. The first two to four weeks see the creation of a yeast starter, to secure a high population of yeast cells, and after that, the rest of the ingredients are added, again, in stages.

How many stages? Three. Hence the term sandan-shikomi, or “adding ingredients in three stages.”

Once the yeast starter is ready, more rice, water and koji (the moldy rice within which enzymes develop that chop the starch in the rice into sugar for the yeast) are added to that small tank, which was itself created with the same three ingredients.

But it is not all added at once. After the starter has been prepared, enough rice, water and koji are added to roughly double the size of the batch. After letting that sit two days, the size of the batch is again doubled. And, one day later, more ingredients are added to again double the existing size of the batch. So in the end, the yeast starter is about an eighth or so of the final size of the batch. (This will of course vary a bit from place to place.)

What’s the point? Why not just dump it in there all at once, and be done with it? It comes down to strength and vulnerability of the yeast.

Bear in mind that there are only so many yeast cells in the yeast starter. Sure, it is like 200 million per cc of liquid, but apparently that is not enough. If that mixture is thinned out too much, then the yeast becomes vulnerable to all kinds of things, from wild yeasts in the environment that will not lead to tasty sake, to other micro-organisms that can adversely affect or stop fermentation of the mash.

So one reason to add the rice, water and koji more slowly is to let the yeast catch up. It will reproduce at its own pace and thereby keep its strength in numbers and its ability to fend off less desirable micro-organisms. It helps reduce the vulnerability of the yeast.

Another way to look at it is in terms of strength. If all the rice, water and koji were add at once the yeast would either be overwhelmed by the sugar and eventually peter out before completing its job. Slowly adding it all lets the yeast handle it better. It is a bit like starting a fire: if you take a match and try to start a big log, your chances of success are not nearly as high as if you use some proper kindling, like leaves and small sticks.

Of course, these days, we can indeed light a big log on fire; all we need is something like a blowtorch or a good dose of chemicals. And, the equivalent of a yeast blowtorch exists in the sake world as well! It’s called kobo-jikomi, or yeast infusion (translation mine).

And it is what it sounds like: no yeast starter is used; instead, a comparatively huge amount of pure yeast is added to the batch right away, allowing it to ferment a full tank right off the bat. In truth, very little sake is made this way, and it is usually cheaper sake made in huge batches. It is a perfectly valid way to make sake, and the resulting sake is often quite good.

But it is almost never seen in smaller batches, smaller breweries, or premium sake.

So, the hassle-laden sandan-shikomi process of adding the ingredients in three stages is the traditional way to make sake, and one that is in fact unique to sake, and is done to help keep the yeast safe and active. That’s the point.

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Well, almost…

Every spring – and again every fall – it is tasting season here in Japan. What that means is that those in the industry get to go out to three to five tastings a week of literally hundreds of sake. It is, without a doubt, way too much of a good thing. It’s really about as much fun as an icepick in the forehead. But it is for sure invaluable experience.

However, the countless sake available to taste and re-taste and take notes on are not the primary appeal.

What is far more important is what can be learned by talking to the brewers in attendance.

Sure, the brewers in attendance are the same ones as always. At this tasting, you will see so-and-so and whatsisface, but at that tasting you will see whodoyacallit and that other guy. Sometimes so-and-so will be at both tasting A and B, so I will strategically plan the order of tasting so as to maximize efficiency.

Of course it is fun to greet everyone; for some of the brewers from the boonies, it is the only time I see them. But what is more important and valuable is the information I can gather. Now that is where the real education is to be had!

For example, some of the problems plaguing the industry now include rice shortages and proper labeling. The very first booth at which I stopped is a kura with a famous female toji and that is not a million miles away from Iwate. Her labels all said “Domestic rice,” but nothing more about the variety. So naturally, I had to ask her: are you hiding the rice type?

“Nah, of course not. We’re not hiding it. It’s…” and told me a bit about the rice. So, I pressed onward, why don’t you list the rice on the label, then?

“Because,” she continued in a matter-of-fact manner, “with all these rice shortages these days, if we cannot get all of what we ordered, we would be forced to use another rice to finish it off. That would mean we would have to reprint all of our labels to show that. We, as a small company, cannot absorb that hassle, so we avoid it altogether by just writing “domestic” on the label. But we are not hiding it! Just saving ourselves some trouble.”

Her decision – and that of others kura doing similar things – has been affected by a handful of mislabeling cases over the last two years. A couple of unscrupulous brewers have gotten busted labeling lower grades of sake as ginjo, or added-alcohol sake as junmai-shu. Some said it was an accident; at least one admitted to the wrongdoing.

In truth, it is but a few bad eggs doing that. But the potential loss of trust of an already-hurting industry, not to mention the potential loss of reputation for a good brewery, have made many companies extremely careful about anything that goes on the label. Not impossible to understand, actually.

Another brewer I know well was all smiles. “This year, we got all the rice we ordered, and it dissolved properly for us. All is well in my sake-world this year! Rice shortages are passed on to brewers by the distributors providing less than what was fully ordered ten months previous to harvest. It is the only fair way to handle it – decrease all orders across the board, evenly distributing the pain. But this year, this kura at least got it all.

When the weather is too hot, the rice is too hard and will not dissolve in the tank, which means tight and restrained flavors. But this year, it behaved for him, and the sake flavors were full and expressive.

Yet another brewer that is geographically close to the one above was less ebullient. In fact, we was all gripes.

“Yeah, what we got fermented OK, but we did not get all we ordered. And this rice shortage is not about to end. We have the land, and the government regulations have changed to let us grow more, but we do not have enough seeds, and those farmers that grow it are graying fast – no young people want to get into rice farming now.”

Because the seeds must remain pure and can easily be affected by the rice growing nearby, or by what was growing in the same field the previous year, the seeds must come from the agricultural co-op if they are to be inspected. And if the rice is not inspected, rice cannot be labeled as premium. A racket? Sure, to some degree. But not one without its merits or its logic.

He also explained (but asked me to keep it quiet, which is why I am not mentioning the prefecture name) that the whole prefecture lost ten percent of their sake rice since some dork farmer accidentally mixed two rice types before inspection. That means the brewers cannot legally put the name of the rice on the bottle, and if they have two types mixed up in there, it will not likely behave in any way they have yet experienced. So for all intents and purposes, it was lost, further affecting their shortages.

I also found out, much to my surprise, that the powers that be can in fact analyze the DNA of a rice, to be sure that it is what a brewer says it is.

There were lots of other interesting things as well, beyond rice woes.

I continued to run into new rice types, like Tomo no Kaori from Toyama, and new yeasts such as Yuko no Omoi from Iwate that seemed fairly subdued, rather than bold, which was a very refreshing change (the concept, not the sake; although that was refreshing too). I found many more breweries using kensanmai, or rice sourced within the prefecture. While this is likely a result of attempts to ensure supply, it is also a great thing for many other reasons, and seems to be a fairly positive nascent trend.

Then there were a couple of technical things as well. One brewer, Gassan, had a whole new lineup in terms of flavors and style. The reason, interestingly, was that they changed their water source. The water from their own well is extremely soft water, and does not ferment very vigorously. So for decades they have been blending that with hard water brought in from a nearby source. And their sake has long been very enjoyable.

But they decided to bring it all back home, and from this season all of their sake is made with their own water, and in such a way that makes the most of the soft water. So, yeah, the entire lineup is new. It has led to a fascinating change.

There was much more, a lot of it fairly technical and isolated to the respective breweries.

Kikizake-joko – Official Tasting Glasses

And I tasted some good sake too! But walking around and chatting as we tasted was, as usual, even more interesting than the actual sake itself. And I can’t wait until the fall, where there will more of what is already too much of a good thing.

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Sake Professional Course
To be held at Sunda Restaurant in Chicago Illinois, August 12 – 14, 2014

From Tuesday, August 12 through Thursday, August 14, 2014, I will hold the 15th stateside version of the Sake Professional Course at Sunda restaurant in downtown Chicago. 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 course is geared toward industry professionals wishing to expand their horizons in a thorough manner into the world of sake, and will therefore be somewhat technical in nature, and admittedly somewhat intense. It is likely more than the average consumer needs! But the course is open to anyone with an interest and sake and will certainly be enjoyable. The course lectures and tasting will begin with the utter basics, and will thoroughly progress through and cover everything related to sake. There will be an emphasis on empirical experience, with plenty of exposure to a wide range of sake in the tasting sessions throughout the three days. Each of the three days will provide the environment for a focused, intense and concerted training period.

The goal of this course is that “no sake stone remains left unturned,” and my motto is “exceed expectations for the course.” Every conceivable sake-related topic will be covered, and each lecture will be complimented and augmented by a relevant tasting session. Participants will not simply hear about differences based on rice types or yeast types, they will taste and smell them. Students will not only absorb technical data about yamahai, kimoto, nama genshu, aged sake and regionality, they will absorb the pertinent flavors and aromas within the related sake as well. Participants will taste over 80 sake within five focused tasting exercises across the three days.

Like its counterpart held in Japan each winter, it will be quite simply the most thorough and comprehensive English-language sake education in existence. Participants will also be presented with a certificate of completion at the end of the course.

Also, as mentioned above, an exam is given at the end of the course for those that choose to seek certification. Those that pass receive a   “Level I Sake Specialist” certification from the non-profit organization The Sake Education Council.

The cost for the three-day class, including all materials and sake for tasting, is US$850. Participation is limited and reservations can be made now to secure a seat, with payment due by July 15, 2014. You can read Testimonials from past participants here. (Should that link not work, which is a possibility for technical reasons, I can send you the same by email.) For reservations or further inquiries, please send an email to sakeguy@gol.com. 

 “No Sake Stone Remains Left Unturned!”

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

Syllabus and Daily Schedule

Day I
9:00 – 12:30 Welcome, Orientation, Sake Basics, Sake Types, Terms found on Sake Labels
Tasting I: typical representatives of various grades, milling rates
1:00 – 3:00 Sake Production
3:00 – 4:30  Rice Types, Yeast Types, Water, Koji
Tasting II: Rice types, Yeast types

Day II
9:00 to 12:00 Sake Chemistry: nihonshu-do, acidity, amino acidity.
Yamahai and Kimoto
Tasting III: Yamahai and Kimoto.
12:00 to 1:00 Lunch
1:00 – 5:00 All things nama-zake. Pressing methods. Aging and maturity. Non-standard sake types like nigori, low alcohol sake, sparkling sake, red sake, taruzake etc. Sake competitions. Vessels, temperature, toji guilds.
Tasting IV: Nama-zake, aged sake, various non-standard sake. The same sake in various vessels. Sake suited for warming. Competition sake.

Day III 
9:00 – 12:00 Sake regionality, sake and food, sake competitions, history, the state of the industry.
Tasting V: Sake Regionality
12:00- 1:00 Lunch
1:00 – 3:00 Break
3:00 – 4:30 Exam

The concept of “filtering” in sake can be a slightly confusing one. One reason is that, at least in English, sake is filtered a couple of times.

For example, as most readers surely recall, sake is made by a process in which rice dissolves and its starch gets converted into sugar, and at the same time in the same tank a separate process is also taking place – that of yeast converting that sugar to alcohol. So starch-to-sugar and sugar-to-alcohol happen in parallel. What this also means is that when fermentation is complete, we still have a bunch of rice solids in the tank, components of the rice that could not be converted into sugar-then-alcohol.

So, that has to be filtered out. The mash is passed through a mesh of some sort – there are various methods – to hold back the solids and let the sake go through. So, it’s filtered. However, in the sake-brewing industry, a different word is used; this name for this process is translated as “squeezing” or “pressing.” And, in fact, many sake texts and articles in English also use the word pressing to talk about that first filtration of rice solids.

But there is a second filtration. After the sake has been pressed, and at some time during its maturation period, often it is mixed with a fine charcoal powder and/or diatomaceous earth, and after those particles settle out, it is passed through a series of paper filters to filter out the stuff they just put in.

The good news – and the reason they do this in the first place – is that these porous active charcoal particles absorb several things. These include elements that give a goldenrod color to sake, things that can contribute roughness to the flavor, and even some bacteria that would be detrimental to the stability of the sake.

Sometime about 40 to 50 years ago, some brewers began using this active charcoal, and the resulting clean and clear sake became popular. And as a result, most of the sake adopted the practice too. And it is a good one – it serves a purpose that leads to great sake. Of course, it can be overdone, and it can be done poorly. But when done right and in the proper measure, it is a good thing.

This step, by the way, is also a filtration, and this one is actually called as such by the brewing industry. Roka means filtration, and its opposite, muroka, means unfiltered in the sense that no powdered active charcoal was used.

However, not all sake goes through this process. Not all sake needs to! It depends on the brewer, the method, the style of sake and even the water used. Some brew in a way that the sake comes out clear and clean, and simply do not need to do this step. Others prefer the goldenrod color deliberately avoid the charcoal. And others aim for a big, rougher, almost mineral-laced flavor and therefore omit this process.

There are also other ways to filter: ceramic filtration system and other solid-state mechanical filtration systems can be used. So charcoal is not the only way to go, but it does seem to be the most powerful way to remove color and roughness.

So, muroka refers to sake that does not go through charcoal filtration. Note, though, that this is not a legally-defined term, so that there can be and is some variance on the usage of the term. And we just have to deal with that. But I digress.

Bear in mind, though, this important point: Muroka is not unequivocally better than its charcoal filtered counterpart. It might seem that way to some, right? Natural. Unfiltered. Unsullied. And it is surely marketed that way by some. But it is not true. Sure, there is plenty of great muroka out there. If part of the deliberate design of the product, it often contributes to character and enjoyableness. But the charcoal-filtration process is a very precise, delicate and craftsmanship-laden one that contributes to better sake. So both are great for what they are.

This is one of those things that concerns me in the sense that a misunderstanding could hinder the growth of popularity of sake. It is like the thinking that says nama is better than pasteurized sake, or that aged is more special than young sake, or that junmai is better than non-junmai types (for any one of a myriad of silly reasons). Nama-sake (unpasteurized sake) is great! Aged sake can be fascinating and wonderful! And junmai-shu is without a doubt outstanding sake and an outstanding brewing philosophy! But these types are not at all unequivocally better than their (pasteurized, youthful, or added-alcohol) counterparts. Not at all.

And muroka sake is another one of these. Just because it says muroka on the label does not mean it is going to be … anything. It will not be better simply by virtue of that. It may not even be bigger or rougher. It might be – but nothing is guaranteed simply by virtue of the word muroka being present.

The best principle is of course to gather your own experience – try both and note your observations. You may end up preferring sake made using one method over sake made using the other. But chances are you will find that it depends much more on a dozen other things going on with the sake, and with your own preferences.

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Currently, there are about 1250 sakagura (sake breweries) licensed to brew sake in Japan (although not all of them are brewing actively). And, amongst these 1250 breweries are about 5,000 brand names, or “meigara.” Of course, not all of these are actively being used, but on the average each brewery has the rights to about five brand names.

But it wasn’t always this way. In fact, until about 600 years ago, there were no “meigara.” Sake was probably referred to by the name of the company (although admittedly branding was not such an advanced business concept back then), or even more likely the temple doing the brewing. The average citizen back then might have simply called it the local hooch, or Joe’s sake (or Shinnosuke’s sake, as it were).

Back in 1425 there were in total 342 sake brewers in Kyoto alone, many of these within Kyoto’s numerous temples. One of the most popular brews came from a temple named Nishi no Touin, and after time, its popularity led to a nickname born of affection. Next to the gate at the entrance grew a willow tree, and the locals began to refer to the place as “Yanagi no Sakaya,” or “The Willow Sake Brewer.”

The noren (a short traditional curtain that hangs at the entrance of shops inJapan that customers part and duck under when entering) at the gate of Nishi no Touin bore a crest of six stars. Eventually, the brewing priests there began to emblazon this pattern on their wooden sake casks, along with the name “Yanagi-zake,” or “Willow Sake.” Thus, the first sake “meigara” was born.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, soon everybody had one of these meigara thingies. Taking names from “waka,” (traditional Japanese songs), or requesting aristocrats and priests to decide on a suitable moniker, brewers everywhere began to assign auspicious brand names to their sake. Some of the earliest ones on record include “Sazare-ishi” (Pebbles), “Mitarashi” (Holy Washing of Hands), and “Maitsuru” (Dancing Crane). In those days, obviously there were no enforceable trademark laws, and as such many of these names were copied and used in several places. Some of the more popular copied names included “Wakamidori” (The Green of Youth), “Otoha” (The Sound of Wings), and “Ariake” (Very Early Morning). Names were chosen for good luck and image, and often referred to auspicious entities in nature, like mountains, pine trees, flowers, and turtles.

Today, there are about 5,000 meigara in active usage. The names of these are written in kanji characters, the pictographs that comprise most of the written language. What is the single most common character in use in meigara today? That would be the character for mountain, pronounced either “yama” or “san.” Next on the list is “tsuru,” the character for crane (as in bird. I doubt any sake are named after construction equipment.).

Number three and four on the list are “masa” and “mune,” almost always seen together in the combination “masamune,” and have an interesting origin to them. There are countless sake that have “masamune” as the second half of their brand name, but the very first one is said to have been Sakura Masamune from Nada in Hyogo prefecture. Sakura Masamune is a very old, famous and prestigious brewer, and eons ago their founder visited a friend that was the head priest at a hermitage called Gensei-an. There, he looked up on a bookshelf and saw a book of scripture by the Rinzai sect Zen master Rinzai Masamune. In a moment of inspiration, he realized that the characters for “masamune” could also be read “seishu,” which is a homonym for the legal term for sake. And so, the first of hundreds of meigara bearing the term “masamune” was born.

Note, there is also a theory that the name was taken from a famous sword maker named Masamune, although the homonym reasoning remains the same in this story as well.

Other commonly used characters in the top ten include “kiku” (chrysanthemum), “o-” (big), “kin” (gold), “izumi” or “sen” (spring, as in water), “haku” (white), and “hana” (flower), in that order.

Why, by the way, would a kura have more than one brand name? There are several reasons. They may have merged with another kura at one point in time in one of the several economic and wartime decimations of the sake industry that have occurred. Or, they may have created a new brand with a better image, especially when distribution channels allowed their sake to get to larger national markets, but kept the old brand name for the local fans.

The sake industry seems unique and can often be confusing since the name of the owner, the name of the company, and the brand name of the product are all very different. Confusing though it may be, at least there is a history to it!

The acidity – or rather, the acid content, of a sake is from commonly listed on sake labels in Japan. While this is less common overseas, and that might not change (no great loss, really), it is still worth knowing just what it is and what it reflects. But it is not exactly an intuitive indicator.

The numbers that express the san-do (acidity) are generally between about 1.0 and 2.0 or so. That is not a wide range, and most often the number seems to be about 1.1 or 1.2. The question is, 1.1 or 1.2 what?

Years ago, I began a quest to understand this. In turned out to be a monumental effort. I searched high and low, and asked almost everyone I could (outside of sake brewers themselves). Responses to this question placed to those that “should” know gave rise to whole plethora of silly answers. “Well, ..er, they’re units! Yeah, units.” Percent, tenths of a percent, and parts per million were some other replies, all expressed with sincerity and confidence.

It was truly hard to find anyone that knew in the world outside of sake breweries. Not that it is going to make that much of a difference in the enjoyment of sake, but you think people would be curious. Finally, I went straight to the source, and found out from a brewer.

Momentarily digressing beyond the normal scope of this newsletter and delving into a mercifully short chemistry lesson, here’s the explanation.

The number expressing the san-do of a nihonshu is the number of milliliters of liquid sodium hydroxide needed to neutralize ten milliliters of sake. It is, in other words, measured by titration, just as it is in wine.

So, what does all that mean to the average taster? Basically the acidity (and to a degree, the amino acid content) can give you at least a vague idea of what a sake might taste like just from looking at the label.

In particular, the acidity and the nihonshu-do are very often used together to give a pre-purchase indication of what the flavor profile might be like. A good high acidity may increase the sense of dryness of a sake by lightening and spreading out the flavor. A low acid content, on the other hand, can help a sake to feel fuller and heavier, and increase a sense of sweetness.

There are so many things that affect the fragrance and taste of a sake that to allow the description to depend on two parameters is limiting at best. But you have to try.

Modern Methods of Measurement

To a slight degree, the various grades of sake can be vaguely generalized by typical acid content. For example, ginjo-shu often has slightly lower acidity, being light and fruitier. Junmaishu usually has acidity levels slightly higher on the scale. Sake made with the kimoto or yamahai method of preparing the moto will have even higher amounts of acid present, and can be quite puckering. But as in all things sake, there is great overlap here.

But all this techno-babble is really only moderately useful, and only before you’ve tasted a sake. Once you’ve tasted it, you know all you need to know about acidity, sweet and dry, fullness of body and anything else.

Also, the method of measuring acid in sake is very similar to the methods for measuring acidity in wine: titration. And if one wanted to, one can express the total (almost) acidity of sake in terms of, for example, tartaric acid by multiplying the acidity number by 0.075. For comparison, sake has the equivalent of about 0.1 to 0.2 gms/100ml, comparted to an average of 0.5 to 0.9 gms/100ml in white wine.

The level of acidity will not always match presence of acidic flavor (known as the san-mi) in

Rare shot of rice when flowering (Psst! It’s Yamada Nishiki!)

the sake, due to alcohol, water quality, type of rice and other factors. Some sake will taste sharp and cutting, when in fact the acidity is not that high chemically. The opposite can also be true.

In the end it’s just a number, more useful to brewers than to consumers. At the same time, paying attention to acidity, amino acid content and nihonshu-do can be fun. Doing so can give rise to lively discussion, and help us pay more attention to our perceptions

Listing Rice Varieties on Labels …and the attendant hassles

There are about a hundred different types of sake rice used in making sake. About. But not all sake is made from shuzo-kotekimai, or proper sake rice. Most, in fact is not. But almost all premium sake is. And of that hundred, about a dozen are commonly seen and important. Add to that another several dozen varieties that are not proper sake rice but suffice well enough to be used in brewing decent sake.

However, sake brewers are not obligated to tell you which rice was used in a given sake. No one really hides it. It is just that from a marketing perspective, it had long been considered superfluous information. It is not really that way anymore, especially in top-grade sake. The rice is indeed important!

The other side of that coin is that, although they are not obligated to tell you the rice, if they want to do so there are rules and regulations about what can in fact be listed. As a quick example belying a Pandora’s Box of vagaries and issues, they can use a perfectly good rice grown locally, but if the local agricultural co-op has not agreed to register and inspect that rice for local production, the name cannot be listed on the label. But let’s back gingerly away from that chasm of a diversion, at least for now.

Let us look instead at another aspect of sake labeling. In short, if a producer chooses to list the rice on the label, they must also list what percentage of the total rice in that batch corresponds to that rice. For example, “made using 100% Omachi,” or “75% Miyama Nishiki and 25% Yamada Nishiki.” The point and reasoning is to prevent a brewer from making a tank using some schlock rice and lobbing one grain of superb Yamada Nishiki in there, and then bragging on the label, “made using Yamada Nishiki!” Not that anyone would really do this. But you know…

Also, generally speaking, the blending of rice in a single batch of sake is not common. It is much more commonly seen than it used to be, but still it is not common. Why not? Because different rice types behave differently, they dissolve and break down and make their mark in different ways. If you have two rice types doing their thing together in one batch, predictability suffers. Heck, any one rice type behaves differently each year – and even from batch to batch in a single season! Many brewers feel they are unnecessarily complicating matters if they use more than one type in a given tank. Again; it is not unheard of, just not common.

And when we do come across more than one rice used, it is most common that one (the superior) rice is used for the 25 percent or so of the total rice that is made into koji, and another (lesser) type for the remaining 75 percent that is straight steamed rice added to the batch. So a 25/75 split amongst two rice types is something we do see from time to time on labels.

And that is the point here: that whatever the brewers choose to use, if they choose to tell us, they must document it properly on the label. But then, there are problems related to the fact that rice is an agricultural product subject to the laws of Mother Nature, who does not bother to check with brewers about their plans for the upcoming year. Nor does she seek approval for weather patterns. As such, from time to time shortages exist (for other reasons too, like demand) and brewers do not always get what they ordered, or when they ordered it.

This fact can cause hassles for brewers when they choose to list the rice on the label.

Quickly summarizing the issue, let’s say a brewer makes ten tanks of a given sake, and the very last one of those ten was partially made with a rice different from the rest because “what was ordered did not come in.” When those ten are blended for consistency across that year’s product, the entire batch becomes “tainted” with the one single one made even partially with a different rice.

Will this perceptibly affect quality or flavor? No. Of course not. But the brewer would still be legally obligated to note this on the label, with something like “99.5 percent rice A and 0.5 percent rice B.”

I had this complaint vociferously explained to me by an ornery brewer a few years ago, a conversation I documented here . Yet, I had never once seen a real-life example of such confusing labeling. So, I assumed, the problem exists in theory alone. Until now.

A couple of weeks ago I was visiting a brewer in the historically as well as currently significant Aizu-Wakamatsu region of Fukushima Prefecture. And while tasting their lineup, I spun the bottle to see the gory details on the back label. And there it was.

It read: “Yamada Nishiki: 94%, Gohyakumangoku: 6%”

The natural reaction would be, why would anyone do that? Why would a brewer use 94 percent of one rice, and but 6 of another? The answer was clear: the rice wasn’t available. But it played out a bit differently than I had thought it would.

Upon inquiring, I was told that this particular batch of daiginjo was to be made with 100 percent Yamada Nishiki. However, when the day came to start the batch, the rice was not there. “Well, why not just hold off a week or two to start that batch,” one might ask. Unfortunately, it is not that simple. To delay things would push into disarray the whole flow of the subsequent batches, the timing of the steps of which are put together like a jigsaw puzzle. It could also push the brewing of that particular batch late enough into the season that the higher ambient temperatures would have their say in things as well. Et cetera. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseum. So, no; it is not that simple.

But only six percent? Why? Enquiring minds want to know! And so I enquired. And the answer was simple enough: the moto; i.e. the yeast starter.

In other words, the very first step of making a tank of sake, as readers likely remember, is the yeast starter, called the moto (or shubo). The amount of rice that goes into this mini starter batch is about six percent of the final total. And it takes two weeks to make.

So they had a situation in which the Yamada Nishiki rice they wanted was not in, but they had to get started. So they made the yeast starter with what they did have, a perfectly respectable sake rice called Gohyakumangoku, and two weeks later when the Yamada Nishiki they had ordered came in, they continued on with that. Final tally: Gohyakumangoku 6 percent, Yamada Nishiki 94 percent. And being the up-and-up scrupulous brewer that they are, they duly represented it properly on the label.

In the decade since these rules were put into place, this was the first time I had come across an actual example. So I do not think most folks will need to worry about it. But should you come across a listing of multiple rice types, the ratios of which seem curious, consider the rice supply story behind it. Just don’t consider it for too long.

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January 27 to 31, 2014
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