A Fond Farewell

Uei-san

Under his white cap, Ryosuke Uei’s floppy black hair falls thickly over his ears. He has the tiny wrinkles around his eyes of a young man who laughs a lot. As kashira, the brew master’s right-hand man, he oversees the daily activities around the brewery and performs tests to check the progress of the moromi. This job carries a great deal of responsibility - particularly for a 26 year old - but Uei-san has proven himself to be more than capable.

“Do you ever feel…lonely, being the youngest on staff?” I asked one day. He’d told me earlier that the other brewers were 61, 65, and 75 – quite a big difference.

“Never,” he said. “We have a good time together. Everyone is so fun, Makine-san especially. He’s a cool older guy. And the boss, too.”

Daimon-san had confessed to me that, initially, he’d been hesitant to hire someone in his twenties for such an important position.

“But I felt very strongly something special about him,” he said, “so I said, ‘Okay, let’s try it.’”

It certainly seems that he made the right decision.

Makine-san

Before the last day, Makine-san half-jokingly challenged me to a drink-off.

I found this very cute, and considered taking him up on it. Upon second thought, however, I declined. Based on what he’d told Greg and me during the week, I knew that the man could put it away.

Makine-san is one of those people (like my good friend Tamami, another serious drinker) that I refer to as sasori, or scorpion – small but deadly.

Arai-san

Arai-san has been practicing his English all week. He’s actually rather good, considering that the last time he studied it was in high school. It turns out that he can speak a little Chinese as well.

He tried hard to explain even the most difficult things in English, until at last something caught him completely off guard. While washing the rice one day, we noticed Osakri chomping a mouthful of uncooked rice.

Arai-san’s eyes flew open as rushed over.

“You don’t…” he started, shaking his head and waving his hands repeatedly, “eat rice.”

Then, he turned to me and spoke in Japanese.

“Osakari, he says that if you eat the rice raw like that, you’ll get really bad diarrhea.”

Funny hand motions were made, and the point was taken.

Daimon-san

Daimon-san, who is in charge of the polishing machine, is active and surprisingly strong for a septuagenarian.

“I went to pick takenoko this morning,” Daimon-san told me.

“Oh, really?” I asked, “Where does is grow?”

“On the hill nearby,” he answered, “they’re really coming up now.”

He grinned and made a teepee with his hands, pantomiming the pointy heads of the bamboo shoots as they broke through the ground.

“We’re going to use them at the Mukune-tei restaurant this April.” He grinned again; the gap from two missing bottom teeth made his smile even more endearing.

Later, he showed me a bag of flowers that he’d just picked.

“Peach blossoms,” he said.

Each little pink flower was perfectly intact, with drops of moisture clinging its delicate petals.

“Peach blossoms,” he said, cupping one in his extended right hand.

I smiled.

------------------------------

Well, it's time to get back to real life. No more lifting 10kg bags of rice, scraping kasu (and almost killing my buddy Makine-san), or making koji for me - at least for a while. I'm so glad to return to crazy ol' Tokyo, Hubby, Misha, and wine...but how could I not miss these guys?

Getting a Feel for Rice

I've come to understand what my fellow intern Harris Salat meant when he said that he's enjoying the feeling of working with rice. The tactile range is tremendous, from the cool silkiness of just-washed sakamai to the prickly hardness of rice straight from the cooling machine.

After a couple of days of working with the koji rice, I'm starting to appreciate some of its nuances.

"It's too moist," I said.

"I think so, too," Patricia agreed. A tinge of worry flitted across her brow as she examined a handful.

Uei-san confirmed our suspicions, "There's still too much moisture. We'll have to wait 20 minutes or so before tane-kiri."

"Oh, no," I thought, feeling responsible.

"It's not you," Daimon-san consoled me. "This is caused by the rice steaming. Each time is different, so we must adjust."

"Yes," I said, "I think I'm starting to get a feel for it."

"That's good," he laughed. "Now you can be koji sensei!"

The Koji Kid

It wasn't the first time that I'd set foot in a muro, or koji-making room; nor was it the first time for me to touch koji rice. But I'd never gotten so up close and personal with it before.

Patricia and I had been given the responsibility of "cracking the rice" after it had cooled briefly, a process known as momi-agari. Using our hands, we roughly separated the rice clumps, allowing the grains to cool down and dry out before koji mold is sprinkled over the surface.

"These days, many ladies are in the sake business," Daimon-san told us as he demonstrated the comb-like action our fingers were to perform, "and that's great. You know, before, ladies often performed this kind of koji work."

"Why's that?" Standing on my tip toes, I leaned in to reach the center of the table.

"This job needs patience and care. Sometimes, we men don't have such patience. It is said that taking care of koji is like..."

"Taking care of a child," I said.

Daimon-san stopped for a moment, looked me in the eye, and pointed with his index finger. "Exactly. We must check the koji constantly...Handle the rice gently, like touching a baby."

We repeated this process once every hour. Over the course of the day, the rice changed dramatically, growing firmer, drier, and glossier with each treatment. As we turned the rice for the last time, I could hear the faintly plosive sound of the grains breaking up. It felt hard and a little bit sticky, like tiny pebbles dipped in vinyl.

Daimon-san returned to the koji room carrying a small, round container filled with koji mold powder. A greenish cloud followed him as he moved down the long rice bed, giving him a look that was half beekeeper, half shaman.

Once the koji spores had been adequately distributed, we heaped the rice into a great pile at one end of the table. Then, we wrapped it up in cloth to prevent the moisture from escaping.

"It looks like a baby in swaddling clothes," someone remarked.

Daimon-san glanced at me and nodded briefly, as if to say, "You see?"

Schlemiel, Schlemazel

"Hey, remember that I Love Lucy, when she's working in the chocolate factory?"

"Totally, that's gonna be us. It'll be a Laverne and Shirley moment."

We had on the hairnets, all we were missing were the aprons and gloves. I could do a Milwaukee accent if pressed, and Harris practically had one already.

We'd been sent to man the labeling machine. It's a pretty straightforward business, just loading the bottles onto a short conveyor belt and then placing them in carts once the label has been applied. For most of the morning, Harris and I worked in contemplative silence.

"This is quite peaceful, really," I commented.

"Oh, yeah, it's beautiful here."

"I mean this particular job. It's nice to be doing work that doesn't require tons of thinking for a change, isn't it?"

"Right." It was clear that Harris had gotten into a rhythm and I could hear the sound of his mind wandering softly away.

We were helping Makina-san in the shipping department, in the building behind the brewery. I'd heard that, traditionally, women were assigned the task of bottling and labeling, although I'm not exactly sure why. In addition to Makina-san, there are a few ladies who work in the shipping department - the only women at the brewery - and I suspect that he's rather pleased with the arrangement. Makina-san has a charmingly elfin demeanor and a twinkle in his eye. Fluent in keigo and particularly fond of the word "okay", he's a self-professed heavy drinker who loves to have a laugh. Good fun.

The afternoon was spent making boxes (attach a sticker to the upper right-hand corner, fold up and tape the bottom of the box, assemble the insert, then place inside), along with inserts that go inside of them. Making hundreds of boxes and hundreds of inserts takes a lot of time and a fair amount of patience.

"Glamorous work," Greg joked.

At the risk of sounding naive and bourgeois, I have to say that it really hadn't occurred to me that someone actually sat there for hours making boxes before me, and would continue to do so after I'm gone. Glamorous it is not, but if that stuff doesn't get done, the sake can't go anywhere.

A Mile in Their Shoes

As a freelancer, I wear many hats - writer, sake and wine educator, desperate housewife. And now the time has come to don yet another. Tomorrow, I will trade in my black fur hat and square-toe Mary Janes for a hair net-lined, white cap and white plastic booties, the de rigueur attire of sake brewery workers in Japan. That's right, as part of the first international sake internship program at Daimon Shuzo, I am going to work as a kurabito.


It's only temporary - the program lasts for a week - but it is not without a measure trepidation that I embark on this journey. It's scary and slightly mad, but it's sure to be a great challenge. The days will be hard, involving two things I'm unaccustomed to: physical labor and teamwork. Still, I'm extremely excited.

To think that I'll learn how to brew sake in a week is fatuous, but this experience will most certainly deepen my understanding and appreciation of nihonshu. Wish me luck and check out the Mukune blog here.

Speak My Language

"The place is called Cu-yor-l." I took care to enunciate slowly and deliberately.

"What's that again?" Adam cupped his hand lightly around his right ear and leaned forward.

"Cu-YOOR-l," I repeated, starting to feel foolish.

"I'm sorry, I just can't understand what you're saying." He shook his head.

I wrote it down.

Try as I might, I never seem to pronounce Cujorl correctly. The funny thing is that Japanese people have no problem with it. Oddly enough, the juxtaposition of the letters 'r' and 'l' - famously treacherous phonetic pitfalls for, let's face it, most Japanese - is precisely what trips me up. For some reason, whenever I say it, I end up sounding like an Albanian farmer declaring a blood feud.

Luckily, pronouncing the name is the only difficulty I have in recommending this restaurant. I certainly can't complain about the food. With her dimples and pixie cut hairstyle, Cujorl's head chef, Masayo Funakoshi, could easily be mistaken for a student, but her youthful appearance belies formidable experience. Chef Funakoshi has worked her way around the world in some serious kitchens – Union Square and WD50 in New York City, Astrance in Paris, and Flavors Of in Jakarta. Here, she finds inspiration in fresh, local ingredients and draws upon her diverse background to create dishes with international flair.

Already, much has been made of the Mushroom Cappuccino with Milk and Sugar?, and I'm happy to report that it's as tasty as it is witty. The earthy mushroom soup was served in a coffee cup, alongside airy cubes of porcini meringue and a small pot of milk. The dark intensity of the broth was keenly tempered by the delicate sweetness of the meringue. In the Fluffy Venison Ragu, a neat mound of deer meat tartare was crowned with a quail’s egg yolk, accompanied by weightless shika senbei crackers and a dab of vibrant shiso pesto. Although the venison lacked the gamey depth we’d been expecting, the dish as a whole was thoughtfully composed and offered a pleasant balance of contrasting textures.

The pasta dishes made clever use of Japanese ingredients and were equally delicious. Perfectly chewy orechiette was tossed with sun dried tomatoes and a mélange of mildly bitter mountain vegetables. Spaghetti in a tomato-based horse ragu was a delightful surprise - the horsemeat was remarkably tender and subtly flavored.


Like the pastas, the simply plated mains veered more toward the traditional in style, but small touches lent a contemporary feel. A maitake mushroom tapenade accented with smoky hacho miso complemented the Japanese beef, grilled over grape vines, perched atop a smooth celeriac puree. The Five Minutes Smoked Pigeon – smoked, literally, for five minutes before grilling – was juicy and infused with flavor.

The wines, too, were no shabby affair. The list well chosen and fairly priced. Both our pasta dishes paired nicely with a bottle of Rubino Rosso (sorry to be imprecise, but it's actually made by the sommelier's cousin and not listed on the menu), a robust organic Sangiovese blend from Tuscany. The wine was earthy with firm acidity, offering hints of dried flowers and a dusty finish. With our mains, we enjoyed the Fattoria La Rivolta Terra di Rivolta ’03, an unusual organic Aglianico with bright acidity and intriguing notes of red berries and Maraschino cherry, ending in a smoky finish. The rich, fruity, but slightly herbaceous Tanca Farra Sella & Mosca Alghero '04 was great with our cheese plate. A blend of Cannonau and Cabernet Sauvignon, the wine was solidly structured with all the ripe, convivial charm of the wines from Sardinia.

Rumor has it that, in a Sigur-Ross fit of inspiration, the owners of Cujorl came up with the name. Everyone wonders what it's supposed to mean, but I'm not really bothered: the terrific food and wine speak for themselves.

Cujorl
22-8 Sakuragaoka-cho, Shibuya-ku
03-5784-5818

Eat, Drink, and Do Good Deeds

We all drink for various reasons, some more legitimate than others. I'm always thankful when an opportunity to drink for a good cause presents itself. On Saturday, March 21st, the SOS Foundation will host a special sake event at Birth in Nishi Azabu. featuring 12 rare limited-edition sakes from around the country. Sake makers from Hakurei, Kamikokoro, and Haurshika, along with dashing young sake sommelier Masa Yamamoto, will be there to speak with guests and answer questions. All proceeds will go to the SOS Miracle Foundation, an organization providing aid and education to underprivileged children in the Philippines. So go ahead, do your part, and pick up that o-chokko.

To reserve a ticket (Y6500), contact Janica Sims at janicamarie@yahoo.com, or call 090-9386-7446.

Fear of a Japanese Kitchen

I have a shocking confession to make. Despite the number of years I’ve lived in Japan, I rarely cook Japanese food at home. Of course, I eat it all the time, but my culinary soul feels most at home in Italy, between frequent trips to China and the Middle East. To tell the truth, I became acquainted with Japanese food late in life; as a consequence of growing up in Louisiana, I didn’t discover sushi until college. Once I did, though, I ate it frequently, and frequently to excess. In keeping with the fashion of the times, my friends and I had sushi parties on an almost weekly basis. I shudder to recall the time my friend Gigi persuaded me to smuggle slices of raw salmon and tuna, vinegared rice, and sheets of nori (along with a water bottle full of vodka) into a club one night in San Francisco. The idea of surreptitiously rolling sushi in a dark corner was clearly ridiculous and possibly illegal. Though I tried my best to stay firm, when Gigi pulled out those tiny plastic bottles of soy sauce from her kitchen drawer, I folded like a house of cards. We’d already had a few drinks, and it was just too funny.

“C’mon, giiiiirl, live a little,” she smiled her signature cajoling smile and dangled a packet of picked ginger over her purse. I collapsed in giggles.

Beyond sushi and sashimi, however, I was unsure of what constituted Japanese cuisine. Sure, I tossed around words like “soba” and harbored vague notions of robata-yaki, but I didn’t have my first proper washoku meal until my working holiday stint in London, after befriending a group of Japanese students. Unfortunately, the only memories I have of that experience are of raw egg in my rice and the bill: then, as now, the price of food in London was devastatingly high. When I came back to the states, I made a point of picking up various Japanese ingredients, which, despite having no idea how to use them, I threw together with characteristically American insouciance. Needless to say, some of my experiments were more successful than others.


These days, I’ve been learning my way around the Japanese kitchen, thanks to Elizabeth Andoh, who never fails to send me home with a head full of new information and a basket of delectable goodies – soy-simmered kabocha topped with ground chicken, chrysanthemum greens in toasted black sesame dressing, miso-marinated fish, eel finished with a brine-edged soy concentrate and a sprinkle of aromatic Japanese sansho pepper.

“Nothing goes to waste in the Japanese kitchen,” Andoh-sensei is fond of saying. It’s like a mantra, one that I find myself adopting more and more.

It started with small things, like “impatient pickles” made with daikon radish peels, tossed with zesty shiso leaves. Gradually, I made my way up to dishes like spicy kinpira and chikuzen-ni - soy-stewed chicken with burdock root, carrots, dried shiitake mushrooms, and lotus root. Although it was scary at first (“The chicken is sticking!”), I’m getting used to it. The chikuzen-ni turned out pretty well and we enjoyed it with a bottle of Ama no To Umashine Tokubetsu Junmai-shu. The sake’s firm acidity and fleshy sweetness complemented the dark flavors of the stew nicely.

Later, during one of the cold snaps a few weeks ago, I tried my hand at sukiyaki, a one-pot dish of sliced beef, tofu, and Japanese leeks simmered in soy and sugar that you cook on the table. This, too, was mildly frightening (“How long should we leave the suet in?”) but the result was delicious, pairing beautifully with a rich, full-bodied limited edition Tokubetsu Honjozo from Tsuki no Wa.

I’m happy to report that my fear is, if not completely gone, greatly abated. In fact, dishes like buri no yuan yaki – fatty yellowtail in a vibrant citrus and soy glaze – are now almost second nature. Last time we had this with a bold, vivacious just-pressed Yamahai from Tamagawa. The Yamahai was a surprise, expressing a range of fruit flavors with chest-beating intensity.

I won’t lie; the last 2 weeks have been spent deep in an Italian wine and food phase (I’ve been feeling the need for comfort food), but my next project will likely be chirashi-zushi, made in my very own handai, or wooden rice tub. Just in time for the cherry blossoms.

A Few Good Years

Robert-Gilles Martineau has penchant for the word “extravagant,” an expression he uses frequently and with great flair. But the doyen of Shizuoka sake does not spend his days merely sipping sake and popping bon bons. No, he’s out there on the mean streets and gravelly back roads of Shizuoka gathering information and unearthing the secrets of the sake world.

It seems that the sake sleuth has been at it again. When I voiced interest in a specially blended, aged Daiginjo from Sogatsuru Hagi no Kura, he promptly (and generously) sent me a bottle, along with an email containing an eyeful of information.


My mind’s eye could picture Robert-Gilles whispering, hand cupped over an imaginary mouthpiece, as I read through the drama surrounding this particular brewery.

“Sogatsuru-Hagi no Kura Brewery in Kakegawa City was created in 2004 after one of the cousins running Haginishiki Brewery in Shizuoka City decided to start a brewery of his own after an ‘argument.’ The only way to get a new [brewer’s] license is either to take over a brewery or buy the license of an inactive one. So a partnership agreement was struck, and the brewery was revived under the name Sogatsuru-Hagi No Kura.

“This is brand new information - The Haginishiki cousin has decided to separate himself completely from Sogatsuru this very week and will relocate in Kakegawa City under the name of Hagi no Kura Brewery…Hagi No Kura Brewery bought Yoshiya Brewery’s (Chuumasa) license and will re-locate in Kakegawa City.”

At this point, R-G started dishing up the dirt, and I envisioned him casting furtive glances around his computer.

“Yoshiya Brewery in Shizuoka City will close in March. The "official/tatemae" reason is that Mr. Nakashima, the Nanbu Masterbrewer had to retire for health reasons, and that the owner does not want someone to produce a different sake... The "real/honne" reason is that no one among his daughters or sons-in-law wants to take over. Instead they are all, especially the wife (how do I know?...), in a hurry to sell the whole. The land alone is worth a fortune as it is located on prime land (incidentally, the owner is more interested in golf and his Merceds Benz than preserving 250 years of history!)!

“As for Sogatsuru Brewery, they keep their license, which means three licenses are still for grabs in Shizuoka Prefecture. It's only half a joke, but if I had the money I would buy one and invite all my foreign friends to create a new Brewery (I even have Japanese brewers on hand!)!”

Family feuds, shifting fortunes - perhaps Shizuoka is not the sleepy town it appears to be. Now, the real question is whether or not the Kura Colombo will trade his fedora for a jaunty cap and start brewing his own nihon-shu. Half a joke…I wonder.

All gossip aside, the special cuvee - a blend of sake from 1996 (50%), 1994 (38%), and 1991 (12%) - sake was delicious. Although aged sake has become more readily available at retailers, it still represents only a tiny fraction of the market, and blended versions are rare indeed. The Sogatsuru came in an elegant clear glass bottle, encased in a satin-lined wooden box.

We brought it with us to dinner at Cujorl, a fantastic new restaurant in Shibuya. I (wisely) asked everyone to try the sake as an apretif, before the 4 bottles of wine and rounds of grappa came out. There were eight of us in all, and everyone agreed that the sake was superb. The color was a lovely amber. The nose was somewhat restrained for a Daiginjo, “reminiscent of the cellar or wine barrel,” as one taster noted. It had a surprisingly fresh impact, offering flavors of green banana and even berry-like notes. One person detected a touch of orange peel; another taster caught a hint of white truffle. Though dry, it was soft and smooth on the palate, revealing a gentle sweetness and ending with rich flavors suggestive of condensed milk and caramel or toffee.

Sadly, I was only able to hold onto my glass through the first three appetizers, but I’m happy to report that the Sogatsuru paired beautifully with all three. The dark, intense Mushroom Cappuccino w/Milk and Sugar? – a coffee cup of deeply flavored mushroom broth accented with porcini mushroom meringue – brought the sake’s toasty, earthy notes to the fore. It also fared nicely with a dish of grilled white asparagus, Halumi cheese, and arugula, much better than our bottle of Gavi (my fault, but how could I have foreseen the slightly sweet vinaigrette?), which ended up accentuating the bitterness of the greens. But the best match was probably with the concentrated tomato jelly, topped with a golden morsel of sea urchin and finished with a foam of ao-nori and Parmesan cheese. The combination of briny sea urchin, savory Parmesean, and umami-rich tomato focused the sake’s sweetness; all of the flavors were in harmony, locked in gustatory embrace.


Thank you, Robert-Gilles, for another enlightening experience!