The Japanese Sake Bible. Brian Ashcraft
sake) is typically assumed to be made from rice harvested during the current brewing year. Sake shipped by the end of June is technically shinshu. Sake that is then aged over the summer is either aki-agari or hiya-oroshi, depending on the pasteurization.
In years past, when the shinshu was ready, breweries would hang a sugidama (literally “Japanese cedar ball”), also known as a sakabayashi (“sake thicket”) out front. Many breweries now keep a sakabayashi out year-round as a sake-brewing symbol. The Japanese cedar branches are fanned out and painstakingly trimmed to form a perfect sphere. Initially, the needles are green, indicating fresh new sake. Fittingly, the sakabayashi turns brown as the sake ages and mellows over the summer.
The sakabayashi is said to have originated at Ohmiwa Shrine, one of Japan’s oldest, as an offering for the deity. Mount Miwa, home of the shrine, is covered in cedar trees, which traditionally were used to make brewing equipment. It is unclear what the round shape symbolizes.
Sakabayashi are hung wherever sake is made, be it a brewery or the National Research Institute of Brewing in Hiroshima, which makes sake for research purposes. Even bars, restaurants and liquor shops hang a sakabayashi out front as a decoration.
The precincts of Ohmiwa Shrine in Nara. The Japanese cedar in the foreground is sacred, which is denoted by the shimenawa rope tied around it. The shrine sits at the foot of Mt. Miwa, which is also worshipped as a sacred deity.
Shrine maidens carry omiki, which is sake offered to the gods, during the annual Ohmiwa Shrine sake ceremony in November.
Brewers at Nishida Sake Brewery in Aomori Prefecture break up clumps of steamed rice.
CHAPTER 2
THE TEN THOUSAND METHODS: HOW GREAT SAKE IS MADE
SAKE-MAKING STEPS
The steps of sake making appear simple: wash and soak the rice, steam it, inoculate it with the koji-kin fungus, mash the koji with rice and water in multiple stages, press the resulting brew and bottle. But the chemistry is so complex and the skill required is so high that it’s a wonder good sake is made at all. Yet, walk into any liquor store in Japan, pull a bottle of sake off the shelf, and most likely you’ll end up with something that tastes good. How do brewers do it?
The saying sake zukuri banryuu means “ten thousand methods of making sake.” Throughout Japan, sake makers put their own spin on the process. Even within the same region, there are differences that come down to rice polishing ratios, yeasts, or fermentation times—all resulting in varied sakes. Heck, significant variations can be found between breweries on the same street! But the basic brewing framework is largely the same everywhere.
The process of making sake is a seemingly endless series of choices, with many of the steps occurring simultaneously and influencing each other. Some of the decisions are already made for the brewery, such as the climate and water supply. However, with climate-controlled rooms and complex water filtering, even those have become increasingly negligible. The brewery needs to decide what kind of sake it wants to make and then make choices during the production process that move toward that goal.
Polishing the Rice
First, the rice is polished to the desired percentage. Many breweries outsource the polishing process, as rice-polishing machines, which are several stories high, are expensive to buy, run and maintain. The machines also must be housed separately from the brewery so the powder from polished bran doesn’t accidentally mix with the fermenting sake. The outer layers of a rice grain are packed with vitamins, minerals, proteins and fats. While these might make rice taste good, they can adversely affect sake’s flavor. That said, some brewers might want the flavors produced by those outer layers. Outer layers are removed for ginjo and daiginjo, whereas breweries aiming for rich, full-bodied flavors keep the polishing to a minimum.
THE RICE-POLISHING REVOLUTION
“Early brewers were driven by a desire to make better sake, and realized that improving the rice polishing ratio was essential,” says Isao Aramaki, vice president and general manager at Kamotsuru Sake Brewing in Saijo, Hiroshima. Aramaki sits in a leather chair, the tea before him untouched. He’s too busy talking rice polishing.
Images of rice being pounded are among the earliest in Japanese art. Bronze bells from the Yayoi period (300 BC – AD 250) depict stick figures pounding rice to remove the husk and the bran. For the next 2,000 years, Japanese people would gradually develop better technology to polish those grains, taking unpolished brown rice to highly polished white rice, from stone mortar to wood, from foot-powered milling to water-powered milling, which polished the grains like never before.
It was in Hiroshima that rice polishing was revolutionized forever. In the Edo period (1603–1868), the region’s sake simply wasn’t as good as the booze flowing from Kobe’s Nada brewing district, where rice polishing contraptions powered by waterwheels helped produce truly delicious sake. But the Hiroshima town now known as Saijo would become one of Japan’s most famous brewing districts in the 20th century thanks to the advent of high-tech rice polishing machines. While Saijo’s good medium-soft water makes excellent ginjo sake possible, it doesn’t have anything to do with the town’s technological feats. “There is no direct connection between soft water and the development of the rice polishing technique,” says Aramaki. The main reason was the way locals embraced the new machine-driven tech. In Saijo, Riichi Satake started it all.
Riichi Satake, inventor of Japan’s first modern, mechanical rice polisher.
The son of farmers, Satake was born in the Saijo area in 1863. He excelled at school and was hailed as a child prodigy. In his teens, he began thinking there had to be a better way to polish table rice than the exhausting foot-pedal-powered method originally imported from China. During his 20s and early 30s, Satake oversaw public works projects, including the construction of train lines. He met Wahei Kimura, the founder of Kamotsuru Sake Brewery, by chance. The two struck up a friendship, and Kimura became a surrogate father to the younger engineer and inventor, who had lost his dad at a young age. In 1895, Satake began working on what would become Japan’s first power-driven rice-polishing machine. A year later, Satake had developed the “quadruple-mortar machine,” with custom parts he made himself. His first customer was Wahei Kimura.
This Hokusai woodblock print is taken from the series Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji. For sake making, brewers would harness waterwheels like this to achieve previously impossible polishing ratios.
Japan’s first power-driven rice polisher didn’t come out of nowhere. Hiroshima was rapidly industrializing by the late 19th century. In 1877, for example, a massive state-of-the-art textile factory opened in Hiroshima, outfitted with thousands of the latest English-made mechanical looms. By the late 1880s, Hiroshima was home to a large military base, so there were plenty of thirsty troops ready to drink locally brewed sake. In 1894, when war broke out with China, Hiroshima was connected by rail to Tokyo, providing a flow of troops into the city and, as Hiroshima’s sake improved, a way for Hiroshima brewers to reach larger markets; furthermore, the city’s harbor was bustling with boats. That fall, as the military conflict with China continued, Emperor Meiji and the imperial court temporarily relocated to Hiroshima until the following spring so the court could keep a closer eye on the war. Hiroshima was more important than ever.
The power-driven