Cafes & Wineries

One of the fascinating and attractive things about sake breweries are their (usually) much longer and storied histories than the wineries of the western world. While there are a few wineries that have been in existence for a few hundred years, there are many more sake breweries that have been doing their thing for many hundreds, some continuously operated by a single family.

Kamotsuru Shuzo may not be one of the oldest breweries in Japan, as it can only trace its history back to 1623, and really only began production under the Kamotsuru name in 1873, but it is one of the most respected.

The company’s name, like so many in Japanese, benefits from a clever double meaning. Kamo is both a reference to a chain of mountains from which the brewery gets its water, and Kamo(su) is also the verb to make sake. The second half of the company’s name, Tsuru, means “crane,” a noble and very auspicious bird for the Japanese culture.

When it comes to kamosu, Kamotsuru represents an odd dichotomy between technological innovation and strict tradition. In many ways Kamotsuru can be considered one of the most pioneering sake breweries in Japan. They claim many firsts in the world of sake including being one of the first Japanese breweries to export sake to the United States in the year 1896. Don′t ask me who might have been drinking sake in the U.S. at that time. Perhaps more notably, Kamotsuru brewery can claim to be the co-inventor of the modern rice polishing mill in 1898, along with another company. In 1905 were among the first breweries in Japan to produce ginjo class sakes, whose rice had been polished to at least 60% of its former mass, and in 1958 they claim to be the first brewery to produce a daiginjo class sake (made from rice polished to less than 50% of its former mass).

Today, despite such a history of innovation, a visitor to Kamotsuru might be struck by the seemingly traditional approach taken towards sake brewing. Kamotsuru still makes use of wood where many have switched to stainless steel, and continues many of the labor intensive manual processes of sake making that have been automated by other breweries. And, of course, the brewery insists on producing incredibly high quality sake, of which this sake, named “Sokaku” is their second most premium product, and the highest quality sake that they export to the United States.

Sokaku is a daiginjo sake. This means that the rice has been polished past the 50% point. In fact, as a mark of its premium quality, the rice used to make Sokaku has been polished to 38% of its former mass, a delicate and expensive feat, and one that the brewery feels makes for a more refined and delicate brew. It is made in the dead of winter in Hiroshima prefecture as the snow blows in cold from the sea of Japan.

While it’s easy to buy sake by the label (many of them are quite attractive, and when you don’t have any idea what they’re saying — I don’t — it can be an interesting aesthetic gamble) it’s generally best to know what you′re getting yourself into. However, it is worth noting that this sake rates pretty high up on the aesthetic scale. Anyone who could receive this individually gold boxed, hand tied, handmade-paper-labeled bottle and not be impressed probably isn’t worth having as a friend anyway.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless in the glass, this sake has a nose of white flowers, dried orange rind, tropical fruits, and wet stones. In the mouth it is ever-so-smooth, with clear stony, rainwater and floral qualities wrapped in a slightly creamy, melted vanilla ice cream jacket with hints of wet cedar on the finish. The sake conveys a purity that marks the best daiginjo sakes along with a silky weight on the tongue that entices sipping again and again. World class.

Food Pairing:
This sake seems like it would do beautifully with butter poached fish of any kind, but especially…butter fish! A nice filet, a splash of lemon and a glass of Sokaku could make any evening spectacular.

Overall Score: around 9.5

How Much?: $80

This sake is available for purchase on the Internet.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

It is deep winter. The snows lay heavy on the mountains of northern Japan. Cedar trees hang sparkling, dusted with ice, over frozen rivers and streams. The air is crisp, even crystalline in its stillness, and the white landscape yields only the slightest muffled sounds.

In the heart of this winter landscape a strange sight emerges every winter. A huge igloo, constructed entirely of ice, filled with rotund canvas bags. From these somewhat alien shapes that hang suspended from the ceiling at minus 2 degrees Centigrade, drip solitary drops of a sake unlike any other in the world.

This strange midwinter landscape on Hokkaido, Japan’s northernmost island, is the result of one of the more esoteric and regimented sake brewing processes found in Japan, and is constructed each year by the Takasago brewery to make their most precious product, a sake which they have appropriately named “Divine Droplets.”

Much like winemaking, the sake making process involves fermenting a big tank of liquidy mushy stuff that gradually turns into alcohol as the fermentation process progresses. Once fermentation is complete, that liquid mash — the alcohol plus the solids that are called “lees” are generally pressed in a big mechanical device to extract the liquid and leave the solids behind.

In winemaking, however, there tends to be quite a difference between the wine that simply runs trickling out of this mush (known as “free run juice”) and the wine that is extracted through pressing. The former is usually more balanced, less tannic and bitter, and generally higher quality wine than the pressed wine, which tends to contain such flavors because they are extracted from the skins and seeds as they are compressed. There is such a marked difference between the two “juices” that many top wineries only use the free run juice, and simply discard or sell off their press juice in bulk.

The sake making process is quite similar in that at a certain point most sakes are pressed off their lees, however the press juice in sake making is the most common source of juice for even the most premium sakes. Rice, of course, lacks the skin and seeds which contribute to the difference in flavors between free run and press juice in wine, so the juice pressed off the sake is not particularly undesirable.

Having said as much, however, there are those in the sake world like Takasago Shuzo who take pains (and great expense) to produce their own version of “free run juice” through the slow, painstaking, and very low-yielding process of drip pressing their sake. The brewers who believe that letting only the action of gravity on the lees extract their sake suggest that the resulting sake is the most delicate, and my limited experience with such sakes makes me inclined to agree. Perhaps just like Pinot Noir, which is famous for its delicacy and tendency to react poorly to rough treatment in the winery, top quality rice mash produces different results if it is babied through the process.

Takasago Shuzo was founded in 1899 in the town of Asahikawa City in Hokkaido, making it one of Northern Japan’s oldest operating breweries. This area of Japan is home to many sake breweries, as it offers two things essential to brewing premium sake: cold temperatures and pure mountain spring water. Temperatures in the area regularly fall to minus twenty degrees centigrade and the mountains of the area offer a bounty of springs, some of which have been used by sake brewers for centuries.

The importance of temperature in brewing sake has to do with the minimization of contamination by airborne yeasts and bacteria. Even a small amount of foreign biological agents can significantly affect the flavors of a sake as it ferments. The still, cold winter temperatures in the unheated sake brewing buildings of most breweries tends to minimize such contamination, but if you really want to eliminate all foreign agents, one of the things you might do would be to build a giant igloo in which to make your sake.

A lot of sake, especially the most refined junmai daiginjo sakes like this one, in which more than 50% of the mass of each grain of rice have been polished away before brewing, tend to evoke winter landscapes for me. I suppose that part of this quality I project into the sake, knowing how and where it is made. But the clean, crisp qualities of some sake really do evoke the heart of winter, with aromas and flavors that are instantly familiar to those who grew up in the snowy mountains, as I did.

The way Divine Droplets is made makes it a special sake. But it’s beauty is revealed only through its tasting. This is one of the most exceptional sakes made in the world, and one of my personal gold standards for the magical qualities that daiginjo sakes can possess.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless in the glass, this sake smells of rainwater, wet cedar, and flowers, with a hint of malted milk. In the mouth it is effortlessly clean, beautifully balanced, and sexy-slippery as it moves across the palate. The delicate flavors swirl between jasmine, melon, and a quartz-like mineral quality that is hard to describe. As with some of the finest white wines, this sake is so aromatic that there is the illusion of sweetness in the flavor that is completely disarming, as any concentrated effort to actually taste sweetness is impossible — the sake is bone dry. The finish is marked by a pleasant, malted milk-ball quality that lingers for a long time and then slowly fades.

Food Pairing:
Classically delicate in nature, this sake is a beautiful accompaniment to sashimi (how about albacore or yellowtail?) or lightly seared fish in the tataki style. Its subtlety will be overwhelmed by strong flavors, so it is best paired with milder foods.

Overall Score: between 9.5 and 10

How Much?: $45 for 720ml bottle (also available in 300ml bottles).

This sake is available for purchase on the Internet.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

There is no real reason to attempt a comparison between sake and wine. Each are their own universe and deserve to be evaluated on their own terms. Leaving aside for a moment the radically different methods of their making, sake and wine are different enough that comparisons tend to introduce more confusion than clarity to any particular effort to make a point.

Nonetheless, I continue to draw parallels between wine and sake if only to explain sake in terms that most wine lovers can understand. My latest angle at helping wine lovers make sense of sake comes in the form of a comparison with non-vintage Champagne.

When the big champagne houses make their non-vintage cuvees, their goal, which many admirably achieve, is perfect consistency from year to year. With a great deal of care, painstaking blending of base wines with reserve wines, and consistent maturation processes, the top champagne houses manage to churn out millions of bottles of wine that are unmistakable in their individuality and highly predictable in their quality.

Sake breweries are in a remarkably similar position. They seek to achieve consistency in flavor from year to year, even when producing very high volumes of sake. In the service of such a dedication they employ carefully home grown strains of the koji mold, genetically consistent rice varieties and yeasts, and very specific sources of spring water, not to mention brewing techniques.

If sake can be said to resemble non-vintage champagne then perhaps this particular sake might be considered the equivalent of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame. It is made in large quantities by a huge commercial producer, but it is nonetheless extremely good.

Those used to consuming things that come in bottles from Japan might quickly recognize the name of the company that produces this sake. Don’t let the use of the word shuzo (Japanese for “brewery″) confuse you. This sake is produced by none other than the massive Asahi brewery, the second largest brewery in Japan and a soft drinks conglomerate of immense proportions.

But just as we cannot simply dismiss Veuve Clicquot, Krug, Cristal (Roederer), or any of the huge champagne houses for their size and success, it would be a serious mistake to underestimate Asahi. Under the Dassai brand it produces several excellent sakes, of which this is their top production.

In the wine world, producers take pains to develop points of differentiation which they believe signify the quality of their product. Some might brag about the length of aging that their wines undergo, others might mention the incredibly low crop yields of their vineyards, while still others might talk about their meticulous processes. In the extremely complex process of sake brewing, there is a lot one might brag about, but perhaps one of the key points of differentiation among some of the top sakes of the world has to do with one of the most expensive and easily quantifiable aspects of making sake: the milling of rice.

Readers who are more familiar with sake will remember that the degree of milling or polishing of the rice kernels used to make sake is the primary way of distinguishing between different quality grades of sake. The higher the degree of polishing, the higher the quality of sake, and broadly speaking, the more expensive it is. To qualify for ginjo status, a sake must have been made from rice polished down to at least 60% of its original mass. To qualify for daiginjo status, the highest standard quality designation, the rice used must have been polished down to at least 50% of its original mass.

Beyond these basic quality level requirements, the actual degree of polishing is left up to the brewery, and as one might expect, there are those who take the process to its logical extreme. The complexities and expense of polishing rice grains (already small to begin with) to consistently smaller sizes than required has become the luxury (or the fanatacism of some breweries).

As a measure of its quality, the refinement of its production, and its pedigree, I ask you to marvel at the fact that this sake is made from rice polished to the point that each grain is a mere 23% of its original size. In purely practical terms, this means that millions of rice kernels have been “sanded” consistently across their entire surfaces until all that is left is the tiniest center of the rice kernel — a bit of pure starch smaller than the head of a pin.

To a certain extent, this is nearly insane. I know of only one other sake in the world whose rice is milled to a greater extent (to a mere 14% of its original mass). On the other hand, I can say that the producers of all the best things I have put in my mouth have each posessed their own special breed of insanity.

The brand name Dassai means “Otter Festival,” a moniker chosen for its clever double meaning. Made in Yamaguchi prefecture, known for its rivers where otters used to frolick, the sake’s name references an occasional theme in ancient poems that would refer to these congregations of creatures as “otter festivals.” Additionally, however, a famous 19th century poet named Masaoka Shiki adopted the name Dassai because of his propensity to scatter his reading material all over the floor, just as otters are famous for scattering fish parts everywhere as they feed. Masaoka is respected for both his playful nature, but also his role in transforming modern Japanese literature and poetry. He is also widely acknowledged to have invented the term haiku that we now use to describe the traditional Japanese poetic form.

So this sake attempts to embody a poetic ideal, not of perfection, but of some combination of the playful and the profound. Whether it achieves such a balance is for you to judge.

Tasting Notes:
Clear and viscous in the glass, this sake smells of sweet cucumber, green melon, and rainwater. In the mouth it is beautifully silky and smooth with flavors of honeydew, jasmine, with hints of alpine strawberry and cedar on its clean, airy finish. This sake manages to offer two often contradictory elements - delicate flavors and aromas and big bodied texture and presence on the palate. It is both distinctive and arresting, and incredibly easy to drink.

Food Pairing:
I had this tonight with a fresh steamed fish with ginger, soy sauce, and scallions, and it was a lovely companion.

Overall Score: 9.5

How Much?: $78

This sake is available for purchase on the internet.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

In the world of sake, perhaps even more so than the world of wine, just when you think you’ve figured out that things work a certain way, you stumble across an exception that completely destroys whatever sense of predictability you might have been cultivating.

It’s fairly safe to say that most fine sakes should be served chilled, to preserve and highlight their subtleties and delicate qualities. However, there are a specific class of higher end sakes that not only can be served at room temperature, but actually benefit from a little warmth.

These sakes bear no resemblance in style (or price for that matter) to the hot sakes served in most American sushi restaurants. Instead, such sakes represent a relatively unknown segment of the fine sake world known as yamahai sake. Sake continues to gain in popularity every year in America, but the range and variety of sake poured in restaurants and purchased by consumers continues to be somewhat narrowly focused, and most definitely does not tend to include Yamahai sakes like this one, which represent less than 1% of the sakes brewed in the world.

The easiest way to explain yamahai sakes to wine lovers would be to suggest that yamahai sakes are the equivalent of wines fermented with native yeasts. But this analogy doesn’t quite illustrate the full extent to which yamahai sakes differ from more conventionally brewed sakes.

Like in traditional winemaking, sanitary conditions are paramount to the production of high quality sake, but in sake brewing, this is taken to a much greater extreme. Any contamination by outside agents of any kind, be they yeasts, other bacteria, or any other biological elements, can result in a sake that tastes like a burning heap of trash, if you get my meaning. This is the primary reason that sake is traditionally brewed in the dead of winter, when the air and the spring water used for brewing are the most free from living contaminants.

Sake is made from two “fermentations.” The first is the koji mold, which attacks and begins to break down the starches in a small batch of rice kernels mixed with spring water. This small batch of rice, known as the “starter″ is later added to a big batch of rice to make the sake. After the koji has had a chance to get started, one of several commercial sake brewing yeasts (sake never really undergoes a full natural yeast fermentation) is added to the starter mash and allowed to grow until this starter is highly concentrated with yeast cells. This is the second fermentation.

So why is Yamahai sake the equivalent of a natural yeast fermentation? Well, for the 99% of the world’s sake that is not yamahai, in between the koji inoculation and the yeast fermentation, the rice mash is treated with a bit of lactic acid to make extra sure that any stray yeasts or other organisms that might be present in the rice are dead. When the commercial yeast is added in traditional sake brewing it is added to a biologically sterile rice mash. Yamahai sake is simply sake that is missing this basic sterilization process. The rice is allowed to ferment with the combination of brewers yeast and whatever natural yeasts and enzymes might be present.

Brewing sake in this fashion is a bit like walking a tightrope without a safety net, or playing Russian roulette. Take your pick of metaphors. There’s a fine line between a sake with character and that burning pile of trash I referenced earlier. The wild yeasts that can and do infect the koji and yeast mixture for the sake starter can add a wide range of flavors and aromas to the final sake. They can also ruin it. For this reason, the brewing of yamahai sake is either a total crapshoot, or a delicate art, depending on your point of view.

Kamoizumi Shuzo, was founded in 1912 in Hiroshima prefecture in Western Japan by Hazime Hitoshi, the first son of a famous rice merchant. For three generations, the family run brewery has been working to perfect its brewing process, including their careful brewing of what is one of the best best yamahai sakes in the world under the name Shusen or “three dots.” It is a testament to the skill of their master brewer Yukio Masuda that they are able to turn out this sake year after year with a consistent flavor profile and personality.

Personality is the reason to drink yamahai sakes like this one, and their particular character traits are no more expressive than when they are served warm. Yamahai sakes tend to be fuller bodied, pungently earthy, and just slightly sweet in character. While not for everyone, especially those who don’t like the smell of mushrooms, these sakes can be fantastic accompaniments to richer foods that would overpower their more floral daiginjo cousins.

Tasting Notes:
Pale blonde in color, this sake smells of shitake mushrooms and wet leaves baking in the sun. In the mouth the sake is smooth and velvety on the tongue with pungent flavors of cooked mushrooms, wet earth, Chinese medicines, and hint of sweet tropical fruit on the finish. This is perhaps a sake for the more adventurous, but those willing to stray from the mainstream may find it richly rewarding. Serve warmed, but not hot, or at room temperature.

Food Pairing:
This sake goes particularly well with meat dishes in my opinion, especially those that have a light sweetness to them, as well as anything that has an earthy element such as potatoes and squash.

Overall Score: between 9 and 9.5

How Much?: $27

This sake is available for purchase on the Internet.

Original post by Alfonso Cevola

Sake brewing has a long and storied history in Japan, and because of the island nation’s relative isolation, many breweries can trace their origins back several centuries. Such timelines make it possible to suggest with only the smallest hint of jest, that having only been founded in 1885, Obata Shuzo is a relatively new kid on the sake brewing block.

Yososaku Obata opened his brewery in 1885 on an island off the western coast of Japan’s Niigata prefecture. A vintage photograph of the founder shows him dressed in a western suit, with a handlebar mustache that most Italian’s would be proud to own. Whatever Obata′s affection for western culture, his brewery stuck to tried and true methods of making sake that have made Niigata prefecture home to many of Japan’s best sakes for as long as anyone has known how to ferment rice.

The anvil shaped Sado Island, with its northern mountains and rocky coastlines is not the most hospitable place in Japan between November and February. Buffeted by storms that roll in off the sea of Japan, which also blanket the island with snow, Sado was a favorite place to exile political dissidents for many centuries until gold was discovered in the 1700’s and the island then became what was essentially one large forced labor camp.

Even today Sado remains fairly rural, and has become known, among other things for the very fine sake made by several local producers including Obata Shuzo. Making use of the pure natural spring water the flows out of the islands mountains, Sado’s winter months are now a flurry of activity as the sake brewers practice their craft and the snow drifts down.

The local population is extremely proud of their sake making heritage, so much so that the small town of Mano, which houses several breweries, has apparently declared itself an independent state of the Alcohol Republic. Whatever that means.

Obata Shuzo makes several sakes in their modest brewery on Sado, including this, their top bottling, which they affectionately name after the founder.

Unless you are a regular drinker of fine sake, you might not know that most sakes are made from only a few different types of rice, most of which are grown in a rather small area of eastern Japan. While the variety of rice doesn′t affect the flavor of the sake quite as much as the variety of grape determines the flavor of wine, rice variety does indeed play a big role in the flavor of sake, especially when the rice strain falls outside the ordinary. Yososaku Junmai Daiginjo is made from a variety of sake rice known as Gohyaku-mangoku cultivated and used primarily in the Niigata prefecture. This delicate rice produces some of the most famous of Niigata prefecture′s sakes, despite being notoriously difficult to mill down during the sake making process.

As a junmai daiginjo sake, this brew is made from rice grains that have been polished down to 40% of their original mass before brewing begins. Additionally, this sake has been made without the addition of alcohol during the brewing process (a technique which can enhance aromatics, though doesn′t change the overall alcohol content). Junmai sakes, which lack this addition of alcohol, tend to be more delicate in their aromas.

After fermentation, this sake is filtered at 5 degrees below zero, and is stored at this temperature until its release.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless and slightly viscous in the glass, this sake smells of green melon and rainwater. In the mouth it is crystalline in quality, its texture glassy, with exquisitely crisp flavors of wet stones, melon, pear, and hints of cream that hang in the periphery of the palate. It finishes beautifully, lingering long after I swallow, conjuring memories of deep snowdrifts on a moonlit night.

Food Pairing:
I enjoyed this sake with bincho sashimi, a rich albacore laden with winter fat. The two went beautifully together.

Overall Score: 9.5

How Much?: approximately $80 for 720ml

Unfortunately, I have no idea whether this sake is available in the United States. I know, I know. Why write a sake review about something you can’t get? Well, partially I’m hoping that someone will tell us where we CAN get this one, as it is one of the better sakes I’ve had in some time. Let’s see how powerful this Internet thing is.

Original post by Italian Wine Guy®

Many of us drink wine as a portal to a sense of place and time — to be transported through flavor and aroma to a patch of land and the cumulative effects of a season under the sun in our glasses. No matter what your definition or personal religious stance on the concept of terroir, it cannot be denied that the best wines convey some sense of locality.

Sake, on the other hand, tends to defy our traditional notions of terroir. Of course, there’s certainly an analogue to wine’s sense of place — the specific spring water, the particular strain of the koji mold used for the second fermentation, the particular climate where the brewery is situated — but no matter how you try to apply it (or market it) the concept that the flavor of sake conveys a sense of place just doesn’t quite work.

As an aside, one of the many reasons for this includes the fact that many high-end sakes from all over Japan are made from genetically identical rice grown in exactly the same region and conditions.

So if sake does not conjure up a specific place, if the flavors don′t evoke the soil and the fruit and the hands that work them, what does it do? I’ve asked myself this question many times, and I’ve settled on an answer for myself.

The best sakes do not convey a sense of place, as much as they evoke a certain atmosphere, or mood. When I drink fine sake I find myself drinking a moment in time, the crystallization of a feeling that hangs in the air at certain moments.

My favorite sakes are the ethereal, subtle daiginjo sakes that represent the highest quality designation of sake. These sakes, made from rice kernels that have been milled down to at least 50% of their former mass, can capture any number of exquisite sensibilities: the crisp, glass-like quality of a sunny day below zero after a blizzard the moments after a tropical summer rainstorm; a clear night lit by the full moon high in the mountains.

The best sakes I’ve ever had convey such feelings in a striking instant, that either prompts wide-eyed surprise or a closed-eye sigh of wonder at the clarity of their flavors and aromas.

All of which brings me to this phenomenal sake that I drank on my last day in Japan over our Christmas holiday. The brewery known as Masuda Shuzo was founded in 1893 in the far north of snowy Hokkaido prefecture. Twelve years after its founding, however, it moved to Toyama prefecture on the eastern seaboard near the center of Japan’s largest island, so that its founder Kamejiro Masuda could be closer to his wife’s hometown. The move proved fortuitous, as a nearby bustling port had a large population of sailors and Geisha, all of whom needed something to drink. Masuda was a savvy marketer, and apparently knew the value of a brand name, and therefore chose to sell his sake under the name “Masuizumi″ which translates roughly to “fountain of happiness.” The brewery has lived up to this name ever since.

Masuizumi is a smaller brewery in terms of the volume of its production, putting out only about 300 kiloliters of sake each year, which is roughly equivalent to about 35,000 cases of wine. Its product lineup is consequently quite small compared to some of its competitors, and it makes only two top premium sakes, this junmai daiginjo, and a more exclusive gold label version of the same brew.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless in the glass, this sake has a gorgeously fresh nose of white flowers and rainwater. In the mouth it is stunningly crisp with perfect acidity and a perfect silky texture that wraps around the essence of snowfall on a stand of cedar trees. You are there, standing amongst the fragrant wood, breathing in the cold air and you can tastes last night’s snowfall on the ground. And then all of a sudden, white flowers and ghosts of green melon bloom and fall from the sky, and you realize this is not a dream, this is just sublime sake. The flavors of this sake resonate like a chime struck in the still air, evoking a clarity and purity that only the best of their kind can achieve. Made me use four letter words.

Food Pairing:
Like most junmai daiginjo sakes, this is a sublime pairing with raw, or slightly cooked fish. I recommend it especially with fresh saba mackerel dipped lightly in ponzu sauce.

Overall Score: 10

How Much?: $75 for a 720ml bottle.

This sake is quite difficult to find for sale online. It is imported by the New York Mutual Trading Company.

Original post by Italian Wine Guy&Acirc®

I’ll admit it right off the bat: I’m a serious sake snob. I don’t mean that in the sense that I believe my taste in Sake is superior to anyone else’s, only that I’m extremely picky when it comes to sake. In particular, I tend to discriminate on the basis of the class of sake. I tend to prefer ginjo and daiginjo sakes, and most often the junmai versions of these. Ginjo and daiginjo are the two top classes of sake, as measured by the degree to which the rice kernels used to make them has been milled or polished down to a fraction of their former size. Junmai refers to a sake making process that does not involve the addition of alcohol during the fermentation process (which tends to increase the aromatics of the final product, rather than increase its alcoholic strength).

My preference for these brews lies in my appreciation and preference for a particular set of qualities possessed by sake: light, ethereal, floral qualities that evoke a flower garden after a rainstorm. My attraction to such flavors, and the types of sake that most often deliver them tends to steer me away from several other types of sake, including the lowest grade of “quality designated” sakes classified under the designation honzojo Honzojo sakes are typically made from rice that has been polished down to at least 70% of its original mass, though technically there is no strict requirement on how much it is milled.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong at all with honzojo sakes (or the ordinary, non-designated sakes which make up more than 75% of the total volume of sake production in Japan), which can have every bit as much personality and appeal as their more “refined” ginjo and daiginjo cousins. Still, it’s rare that I come across an example of a honzojo sake that makes me sit up and take notice, which is why I was quite astonished when, at a recent dinner in Tokyo at a tiny restaurant with some friends, I was told the sake I was enjoying so much was a simple honzojo.

At least, that’s the easiest way to briefly describe this sake from a brewery called Kikusui. The true story of the sake is a bit more complicated. While most certainly a classic honzojo sake, this sake is also a namazake, which means that it is not pasteurized before bottling. Wine lovers can think of namazake like they might wine made from “free run juice,” the wine which pours off of the newly fermented grapes without the aid of a press. Also known as “draft″ sake, this type of sake is quite delicate in disposition, and easily affected by age, sunlight, and other environmental factors.

Indeed, the commercial sale of such sake on a broad scale was not possible until Kikusui figured out how to stabilize these sakes enough to get them into a bottle, or as is common these days, a can. At least according to the brewery, Kikusui was the first to commercially package and sell namazake.

The instability and mutability of namazake is part of the appeal for many people. Soon after bottling and release, draft sake has a freshness of acidity and purity of flavor that makes it extra appealing to folks like me that seek more subtlety from our sake. After six months, the flavor begins to incorporate more woody, creamy, and herbal components, and at a year or more, the sake can taste downright mushroomy. Such variation and the affinity for it among sake lovers in Japan has led Kikusui to also release an “aged” version of this sake.

The Kikusui Brewery was established in 1881 after the 16-year-old Setsugoro Takasawa was given a liquor license by his uncle so that he might start his own business. With no knowledge of what was a poorly documented and poorly understood process at the time, it took years for Takasawa to produce a commercially viable product, but in 1896 the brewery was granted the more official designation of an approved sake producer. Three generations later, after relocating to Niigata prefecture, the brewery is still managed by the descendants of its founder.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless in the glass, this sake has a nose that hints at pink bubblegum, rainwater, and pastry cream. In the mouth it is slippery and slightly thick on the tongue, with bright acidity enveloping flavors of rainwater, white flowers, and linalool (think: the smell of fruit loops), with a tiny bit of alcoholic heat on the finish. The overall impression is fresh and bouncy, like an enthusiastic two year old just out of the bath.

Food Pairing:
I had this sake with a chawan mushi — a savory steamed egg custard filled with crab, and it was a delightful pairing — though it also stood up to grilled Kobe beef later in the meal.

Overall Score: 8.5

How Much?: $5 for a can, or about $10 for a 720ml bottle.

This wine is available for purchase on the internet.

Original post by Italian Wine Guy®

I’ll admit it right off the bat: I’m a serious sake snob. I don’t mean that in the sense that I believe my taste in aake is superior to anyone else’s, only that I’m extremely picky when it comes to sake. In particular, I tend to discriminate on the basis of the class of sake. I tend to prefer ginjo and daiginjo sakes, and most often the junmai versions of these. Ginjo and daiginjo are the two top classes of sake, as measured by the degree to which the rice kernels used to make them have been milled or polished down to a fraction of their former size. Junmai refers to a sake making process that does not involve the addition of alcohol during the fermentation process (which tends to increase the aromatics of the final product, rather than increase its alcoholic strength).

My preference for these brews lies in my appreciation and preference for a particular set of qualities possessed by sake: light, ethereal, floral qualities that evoke a flower garden after a rainstorm. My attraction to such flavors, and the types of sake that most often deliver them tends to steer me away from several other types of sake, including the lowest grade of “quality designated″ sakes classified under the designation honzojo Honzojo sakes are typically made from rice that has been polished down to at least 70% of its original mass, though technically there is no strict requirement on how much it is milled.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong at all with honzojo sakes (or the ordinary, non-designated sakes which make up more than 75% of the total volume of sake production in Japan), which can have every bit as much personality and appeal as their more “refined” ginjo and daiginjo cousins. Still, it’s rare that I come across an example of a honzojo sake that makes me sit up and take notice, which is why I was quite astonished when, at a recent dinner in Tokyo at a tiny restaurant with some friends, I was told the sake I was enjoying so much was a simple honzojo.

At least, that’s the easiest way to briefly describe this sake from a brewery called Kikusui. The true story of the sake is a bit more complicated. While most certainly a classic honzojo sake, this sake is also a namazake, which means that it is not pasteurized before bottling. Wine lovers can think of namazake like they might wine made from “free run juice,” the wine which pours off of the newly fermented grapes without the aid of a press. Also known as “draft” sake, this type of sake is quite delicate in disposition, and easily affected by age, sunlight, and other environmental factors.

Indeed, the commercial sale of such sake on a broad scale was not possible until Kikusui figured out how to stabilize these sakes enough to get them into a bottle, or as is common these days, a can. At least according to the brewery, Kikusui was the first to commercially package and sell namazake.

The instability and mutability of namazake is part of the appeal for many people. Soon after bottling and release, draft sake has a freshness of acidity and purity of flavor that makes it extra appealing to folks like me that seek more subtlety from our sake. After six months, the flavor begins to incorporate more woody, creamy, and herbal components, and at a year or more, the sake can taste downright mushroomy. Such variation and the affinity for it among sake lovers in Japan has led Kikusui to also release an “aged” version of this sake.

The Kikusui Brewery was established in 1881 after the 16-year-old Setsugoro Takasawa was given a liquor license by his uncle so that he might start his own business. With no knowledge of what was a poorly documented and poorly understood process at the time, it took years for Takasawa to produce a commercially viable product, but in 1896 the brewery was granted the more official designation of an approved sake producer. Three generations later, after relocating to Niigata prefecture, the brewery is still managed by the descendants of its founder.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless in the glass, this sake has a nose that hints at pink bubblegum, rainwater, and pastry cream. In the mouth it is slippery and slightly thick on the tongue, with bright acidity enveloping flavors of rainwater, white flowers, and linalool (think: the smell of fruit loops), with a tiny bit of alcoholic heat on the finish. The overall impression is fresh and bouncy, like an enthusiastic two year old just out of the bath.

Food Pairing:
I had this sake with a chawan mushi — a savory steamed egg custard filled with crab, and it was a delightful pairing — though it also stood up to grilled Kobe beef later in the meal.

Overall Score: 8.5

How Much?: $5 for a can, or about $10 for a 720ml bottle.

This wine is available for purchase on the internet.

Original post by Italian Wine Guy®

I go to Japan to do three primary things. See beautiful crafts and architecture, eat amazing food, and drink sake. One of the tricky parts of the latter is that unlike anywhere else in the (Western Alphabet) world I can′t read the sake list if there is one, which most of the time there isn′t. Nor can I look at the label of the bottle that has been brought to me and understand what it is, who made it, or where it comes from. And because my spoken Japanese is somewhat limited, there’s only so much I can pry out of our server about the bottle before she starts to look bored, uncomfortable, frustrated or all three.

All of which means that it’s a bit of an adventure whenever I go into a restaurant or a sake store in Japan. I typically ask for ginjo or daiginjo sake (sakes made from rice that has been polished down to less than 60% or less than 50% of its former mass, respectively) and then see what happens.

To add another layer of complexity to the whole thing, which can be even more frustrating — once I actually come across a sake that I like, and should I actually be able to figure out its name, producer, and geographic origin, most of the time it’s a bottle that doesn’t get exported. You see, most sake breweries make a wide variety of different sakes, sometimes scores of different bottlings, and included among those are their “export″ bottlings, which may or may not bear any resemblance to those sakes that end up being sold in Japan.

Can you imagine if, in addition to their top wine, Chateau Latour made a special “American” blend of their wine (no sniggering about fruit bombs, and micro-oxidation please) and that was the only wine from that producer that was allowed to be sold in the USA? That’s the sort of world that sake lovers have to contend with as they tromp around Japan. Crazy eh?

All of which means that I was pleasantly surprised last night when I was served a sake that I not only recognized (and had tasted before), but that was made just a few kilometers away from me, and is actually available in the United States (at least, there is an export version of the same sake, which I believe is from the same batch).

Last night, Ruth and I sat down to a meal of cha-kaiseki, a formal multi-course dining experience that many believe is the pinnacle of Japanese cuisine. It was pouring rain, and the narrow back streets of Kyoto were lit by rectangular splashes of light coming from the many entryways to traditional ryotei restaurants that lined the dark alleys. We ducked into one and were met by our waiting host who guided us through the warren of tiny hallways of the old teahouse to our private tatami room where we drank our green tea and watched the rain fall on the garden as our nine-course meal was being prepared.

This meal, as usual for kaiseki dinners, featured local, extremely seasonal ingredients, and so I was very pleased when I was told that the daiginjo sake I was going to be served was this special brew from Tamanohikari, which was about 30 kilometers from where I was sitting.

Tamanohikari has been brewing sake in the Fushimi district of southeastern Kyoto off and on (wars, warehouse fires, and changes in family ownership notwithstanding) since approximately 1673. Fushimi is one of Japan’s original sake making localities. Tucked against the base of Mount Inari, the many Fushimi breweries have access to cold, pure mountain water, and were a short cart-ride from the imperial palace in Kyoto to do a brisk business.

Tamanohikari, which roughly translates to ‘Brilliant, Prosperous Jade’ is somewhat unusual among sake breweries these days in that it produces only two grades of sake (ginjo and daiginjo, which, again, is determined by the amount of milling that the rice receives) and every sake that they produce is made using the junmai method, which means that it is produced without using any added alcohol.

A lot of people think that adding alcohol to sake is equivalent to taking a 13% alcohol Chardonnay and spiking it up to 14.5%, which couldn′t be further from the truth. Only a small amount of alcohol is added in the non-junmai sake making process, and it is added during a point in the process where it aids in the development of aromatic compounds by the koji mold as it attacks the rice. This is not the place to attempt to settle the finer points of junmai versus non-junmai sake making, but suffice it to say that some people believe that, like “natural yeast″ fermentation for wine, junmai sake is more “natural″ or “pure″ than the alternative. This may or may not be true, but one thing is for certain, it’s more difficult to make a really amazing junmai sake, and that’s what Tamanohikari has dedicated itself to doing since the invention of the form several decades ago (remember, readers, that highly refined sake like junmai daiginjo is a relatively recent invention).

In addition to its dedication to the most strenuous and refined form of sake making, Tamanohikari is also famous for having revived a strain of sake rice that was long thought to be lost forever, after it stopped being popular with farmers who had trouble harvesting its long stalks with newer more mechanical methods of harvesting. The Omachi rice strain was grown primarily in the Okayama prefecture of Japan and was popular in the Meiji era of Japan (the latter half of the 1800s) as a table rice variety. The rice strain itself was discovered in 1859, and appears to be the oldest rice variety in Japan. Also, unlike all other sake rice varieties, it is a pure strain of rice, rather than a crossbreed.

So Tamanohikari was one of the first producers to start making sake from this rice, and while the rice used in Sake does not have quite as much influence on the final flavor as say, the variety of grapes used in wine, it is certainly a factor, which makes this bottle of sake, made from 100% Omachi rice, a bit more special than it otherwise might be.

Tasting Notes:
Colorless and viscous in the glass, this sake has a sweet, earthy aroma with a hint of alcohol. In the mouth it is smooth, with a pleasing weight on the tongue, and primary flavors of wet wood, nuts, and hints of malted chocolate milk. It finishes clean and long with hints of citrus and floral aromas, but much fainter than would ordinarily be expected in a junmai daiginjo such as this. The earthy, almost herbal aspect of this brew is attributed to the rice.

Food Pairing:
This sent beautifully with many aspects of our kaiseki meal, but perhaps my favorite pairing was with goma tofu (a tofu made with black sesame instead of soybeans) topped with fresh uni (sea urchin) and wasabi.

Overall Score: 9

How Much?: $40 for $720ml

This sake is available for purchase on the internet.

Original post by Italian Wine GuyÂ&reg

By W. Blake Gray

Winemakers generally have more interesting stories to tell than sake master brewers (”toji”). Naturally, I’m here today to tell you about an exception.

You get spoiled interviewing winemakers, some of whom discovered an innate ability after half a lifetime spent doing something else entirely, and many of whom have time left over for hobbies. So Sean Thackrey can talk about being an art dealer, or Robert Foley can talk about his guitar heroics.

For the most part, sake toji choose that profession at an early age. They generally have boring personal lives (and they have difficulty finding wives) because the job of being a toji is so demanding. They’re dedicated craftsmen, but they can’t talk about a whole lot other than sake.

Hananomai toji Kazuhito Tsuchida grew up with a family of itinerant bee farmers. He was born one summer in Hokkaido, where his family took their hives during the short warm season every year. But he went to school mostly in Shizuoka prefecture, a seaside resort area where the bees spent the winter months.

Tsuchida didn’t believe he was destined for much more than taking over the hives, so he wasn’t interested in college. Instead, he liked to surf, when the bees allowed.

In 1979, at the time of Tsuchida′s fateful beach encounter (that’s what they call foreshadowing), Shizuoka prefecture was well known as a vacation spot for Tokyo residents because of its location, bordered on the north by Mount Fuji and the south by the Pacific Ocean. It was well known for green tea. But its sake was considered pedestrian.

One weekday in 1979, he was surfing off Enshuhama beach when he met a worker from the Hananomai brewery. Amazed, Tsuchida asked how the guy could get away from work while the sun was still out (and the waves were breaking). The brewery employee told him he was allowed to leave when his tasks were finished. Impressed, Tsuchida applied for a part-time job at Hananomai.

The brewery wasn’t one of Japan’s most famous: it started making sake in 1864, but only started using its own brand name in 1949. It had only 20 workers. Tsuchida was put on the bottling line, and also had to deliver some sake.

In 1981, at age 22, he was offered fulltime work and accepted. The toji took an interest in him and asked if he wanted to learn to make sake. At first he said no — the job required waking up early in the morning, with no days off.

But he started hanging around the sake-making part of the facility and drinking sake after work with the production team, and he was seduced. Within three years, he started apprenticing to become a toji.

When he became toji in 1992 at age 33, he was the youngest fulltime toji in Japan. And Shizuoka prefecture’s sake reputation was about to change. The local government had pumped money into agricultural research, which was beginning to pay off. Wakatake, one of the best-known sake brands in the U.S., is also from Shizuoka and began attracting attention in the early ’90s.

Hananomai, which began exporting to the U.S. in 1999, opened a new daiginjo-only facility in 2003. Tsuchida doesn’t have much time to surf now. But at least he got the chance when he was young, and if you want to ask a toji about the best waves near Japan, he’d be your guy. He claims he doesn’t miss the bees either.

Tasting notes:
Do you like corn? The aromas are of fresh corn creamed with milk, along with some vanilla and popcorn. Did I say corn again? On the palate, though, I tasted golden apples initially, then that creamed corn, along with caramelized polenta and Bahri dates.

Food pairing:
I didn’t try it myself, but I have to wonder how a sake that tastes this much like corn pairs with corn. Failing that, because of the slight sweetness I might enjoy this with something slightly spicy, perhaps ma-po tofu.

Music pairing:
Try it with traditional jazz, or perhaps a rollicking blues number. What the hell am I talking about? Click here.

Overall score: I′ll give it an 8.5.

How much?: $17.99 for 720 ml.

This sake is available for purchase on the internet.

About W. Blake Gray: W. Blake Gray’s favorite surf-rock song is Yuzo Kayama’s “Yozora no hoshi,” which pairs best with a salty honjozo sake. E-mail him at wblakegray at gmail dot com.

Original post by Arthur Krea