Nectar of the Gods - Wining and Dining
According to legend, Susano no Mikoto, brother of the sun goddess, first brewed sake as part of a cunning plan to rescue a beautiful princess from the eight-headed serpent of Lake Yamagata. Lured by the delicious liquor, the serpent left its lair and drank, whereupon Mikoto slew the intoxicated beast and freed the young maiden. His supernatural brewing techniques were passed on to the Japanese people, who have been producing heavenly sake ever since.
Originally published in Inflight magazine
A more plausible explanation has it that sake-brewing methods were introduced to Japan from China in the Heian era (794-1185). This somewhat less romantic, though more historically correct, view sees alcohol as having been produced in Japan for nearly a thousand years prior to this, mostly as a crude porridge of fermented rice reserved for religious ceremonies, but it was the Heian era’s period of Chinese influence that gave us sake as it is known today. Clearly, the outcome was the same, but if it is eight-headed serpents you are after, go with Susano no Mikoto.
Chinese brewing techniques were not only more refined than their contemporary Japanese counterparts, but they were also accompanied by a raft of drinking etiquette and occasions. Flower viewing, moon viewing, poetry reading and all the attendant ceremonies of T’ang dynasty China were eagerly adopted in Japan and soon gave birth to a concept of connoisseurship, called furyu in Japanese. As stately court life flourished, higher-grade sakes were produced for the nobles’ developing palates and these brews were gradually made available to commoners hoping for a taste of the high life. Within a hundred years the Chinese techniques had been adopted, adapted, refined - and transformed into something altogether different and unmistakenly Japanese.
Japan’s love affair with sake, or more correctly nihonshu (sake is a generic term for alcoholic beverages) continued virtually unabated from that time until the early 1960s when foreign interlopers such as beer and whiskey became popular and nihonshu consumption dropped to records levels. By the mid-1970s, beer consumption had far outstripped nihonshu and many people had come to see the domestic brew as an unsophisticated product of a bygone age.
What lies beneath; raw mash bubbles away in the vat room at the Tokun Shizo brewery in Sawara
All that has now changed as a whole new generation of drinkers has come to reconsider nihonshu and recognize its subtle charms. Consumption is increasing once more and, as the rest of the world learns something the Japanese have known all along, so too are exports. Last year alone an incredible ten million litres of nihonshu were shipped to bars and restaurants in places as far-flung as New York and New Zealand, Paris and Peking.
John Gautner, a Tokyo-based writer and nihonshu consultant, also operates a website dedicated to his favourite drink. For him, the rise in its popularity is clear: “The infrastructure has developed a great deal so that people have better access to sake. But primarily, it is because people everywhere are reaching out to embrace gourmet products, whether they be nihonshu, fine wines, or cigars.” Gautner, having just returned from a promotional tour in the United States that included a tasting at Grand Central Station’s Oyster Bar, is convinced that the popularity of nihonshu outside of Japan will only increase. ” It’s largely a fashionable thing right now, but it will become more rooted over the coming years as people have more exposure to nihonshu. Then you will see the big explosion.”
Whatever the reason for nihonshu’s newfound popularity, one thing is sure: whether as a perfect compliment to Japanese food or a smooth and sophisticated tipple to enjoy with friends, a drink that was once considered something of a novelty is now being taken seriously the world over.
Kana Amemiya is someone who takes her nihonshu very seriously indeed. She is not only an accredited wine sommelier, but also one of the world’s few female nihonshu sommeliers, and in many ways represents the changing face of the nihonshu consumer both in Japan and abroad. Gone are the days when the drink was a rough and ready brew marketed to middle-aged salarymen and consumed in smoky bars after a gruelling day at the office. The nihonshu drinker today is not only younger, but much more discerning, and this is something that brewers have been quick to respond to. “There has been a tremendous shift towards lighter, less dry styles in recent years,” Amemiya says, “as these tend to be favoured by younger drinkers who don’t like the heavy alcohol smell and stronger rice taste of the older styles. The lighter nihonshu are also seen as healthier.”
An antique nihonshu flask; the symbol for matsu, or pine, means this nihonshu was aged in oak barrels, something of a rarity today
The average drinker today is also likely to be much more knowledgeable about what she or he is imbibing. “Until quite recently, most people, even in Japan, knew only the very basics about nihonshu,” Amemiya notes. “But now people are learning more, and this means they can enjoy nihonshu a lot more. Like wine, if you know the basic varieties and methods of production, you know what to ask for and what to expect.”
Production methods have, in fact, changed very little since they arrived in Japan. Modern measurement and monitoring techniques have crept in over the years, but essentially, brewing nihonshu remains a mixture of time-consuming labour and good old-fashioned know-how. The Tokun Shizo brewery in Sawara is a perfect example. Though you are quite likely to see Tsuneo Oikawa, the brewmaster, wandering the halls wearing a lab coat and with a Baume meter in hand, huge containers of fermenting rice are bubbling away beneath the teak floor of the vat room just as they have for generations. In the final analysis, Oikawa relies on his intuition - not to mention his taste buds - in deciding when the current batch is ready.
It is a deceptively simple process, with very basic ingredients, according to brewmaster Oikawa. “In the first stage the rice is polished and washed, soaked, and then steamed. The steamed rice is cooled on matting and mould spores are added to convert the starch to sugar. This koji rice is added to more steamed rice and water, and this mash is left to ferment for about 20 days in the vat room before it is filtered and pressed. The result is raw sake, which has only to be left to settle before pasteurization, aging, and bottling.”
Ceremonial bowls like these only come out for special occasions like weddings; the simple o-choko, or nihonshu cup, is far more common but comes in a bewildering variety of shapes and sizes, from delicate cut crystal to rustic pottery
As simple as it sounds, the variation in raw materials, temperatures, and timing all combine to give the final product one of a myriad of different flavours. Water purity is of prime importance and several brewers, like those in the Nigata region, are favoured largely because of the high-quality water used. Nihonshu is, however, produced from a single type of grain, so the differences between brews are not as marked as those of wines, and the main distinctions are due to the degree to which the rice grains are polished. Most table rice in Japan is milled down about 15 percent, but rice used for sake production can have up to 50 percent of its outer layers polished away. This process removes fats and proteins, which produce heavier flavours but also add a few unwanted “rough edges” to the mix.
Junmaishu, or “pure rice sake”, contains rice polished down to only 70 percent of its original size, and has a rich, full-bodied flavour that many consider to be the epitome of “real” nihonshu. Honjozo-shu, meanwhile, also uses rice milled to 70 percent, but in the final stages of production a small amount of brewer’s alcohol is added to preserve the original flavour while actually producing a milder brew. Ginjo-shu is gaining a growing reputation as the ultimate in nihonshu brewing and uses rice polished to at least 60 percent of its original size with a particularly long and cooler fermentation process to give it a tangy flavour and almost fruity aroma. Other varieties worth noting are genshu, an undiluted high-alcohol rocket-fuel, and namazake, a milky, unpasteurized brew with a unique, tart flavour.
One special grouping is jizake - any nihonshu produced by a small, local brewery. Jizake have enjoyed considerable success recently in much the same way as boutique wineries have in Europe and America. Though they are often less predictable than the larger producers, they also tend to have more character, and have been instrumental in nihonshu’s resurgence, particularly among younger people both in Japan and abroad.
“People all over the world are drinking nihonshu now,” says Kana Amemiya, “and as this trend continues, better brands are becoming available outside Japan. Many people are a little afraid or confused about learning about it however, as it seems a very complex and daunting field.” One thing that often confuses people is the best temperature at which to drink nihonshu. Many an armchair expert will espouse on the “correct” method of imbibing, but Amemiya is more practical. “Some people prefer reishi (cold) and some prefer atsukan (hot), but I’ve found that, to many newcomers, the heavy aroma of heated nihonshu is a little overpowering. And at a more basic level, warm nihonshu is wonderful in winter, but not so in summer; it’s a matter of personal taste - there is no right or wrong way to drink nihonshu!”
Except, perhaps, to excess. A noted writer on all things alcoholic once said that the clearer the tipple, the lighter the retribution the morning after, implying that one should eschew dark rums and Guinness for the likes of triple-filtered vodkas. Clearly, he had never endured the consequences of overindulging in the crystal-clear and divine ministrations of Susano no Mikoto’s heavenly creation.