60 : 35 : 5

60 to 35 to 5

Any idea what these numbers represent?

60 : 35 : 5 is the ratio of heavy to moderate to light drinkers in Japan. In other words, 60% of Japanese are said to be heavy drinkers (酒豪, shugō), 35% moderate drinkers, and 5% are people who either drink very little or cannot drink alcohol at all (下戸, geko).

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げこ 【下戸】 geko

▸ 私はまったくの下戸です｟まったく酒が飲めない｠

I can't drink (alcohol) at all.

しゅごう 【酒豪】 shugō

a heavy [a hard] drinker

のんべえ ―べゑ【飲ん兵衛・吞ん兵衛】nobē

酒をたくさん飲む人を人名めかして呼んだ語。のみすけ。

Someone who is well-known for drinking a lot, a drunk

のんだくれ 【飲んだくれ】 〖大酒飲み〗〘けなして〙

a drunkard ; 〖酔っ払い〗a drunken person, ｟話｠ a drunk

のみすけ【飲み助・吞助】酒が好きでたくさん飲む人を人名めかしていう語。のんべえ。

Satsuma Imo Motogusare Disease

An epidemic known as “Satsumaimo Motogusare Disease” (サツマイモ基腐病) is causing problems for shōchū makers in Kagoshima Prefecture. Despite being better than the disastrous 2021 production, securing enough sweet potatoes for raw materials remains a challenge, leading to suspended sales and lower production volumes.

In 2022, around 3,500 hectares of fields were affected by root rot symptoms, a significant decrease from the previous year’s 7,686 hectares, but still resulting in an expected incidence rate of 35%.

Tomoya Hiraishi, communication manager at Hamada Distillery (濵田酒造) of Ichiki-Kushikino City, expressed his disappointment, saying, “It’s a pity that we couldn’t resolve the suspension of sales. We have no choice but to apologize to our customers.”

The previous season forced Hamada to reduce preparation amounts, and since April of this year, they have suspended sales of seven items, including large-capacity products of their main brand “Kaidō” (海童). This season, they have managed to secure approximately 80% of the average year’s sweet potato supply. The popularity of baked satsumaimo and other sweets has also intensified demand.

Despite advancing the harvest period, Taikai Distillery (大海酒造) of Kanoya City (鹿屋市) was unable to secure the planned amount of sweet potatoes. Hiroki Kuragasaki, head of the planning and development office, noted that more farmers are giving up satsumaimo cultivation due to frustration with the root rot. The price of the potatoes is rising as a result of competition among manufacturers.

Satsuma Distillery (薩摩酒造) of Makurazaki City (枕崎市), maker of “Shiranami” (白波) and other best-selling sweet potato shōchūs has also struggled to obtain enough raw material and may not achieve their intended production volume this season. While there are no plans to limit shipments, Naoya Honbo, director general of the marketing department, acknowledged the rising prices of various items, stating, “There is a limit to self-help efforts.” All stocks were raised in October, and efforts will continue to ensure a stable supply.

Seifuku's Imugé

Seifuku’s Imugé. What exactly is it?

Well, to answer that, we will need to travel back in time about 150 years.

During the Ryūkyū Kingdom (1429-1879), as you may remember from a previous post, the making of awamori was only permitted in what was known as the Shurisanka (首里三箇), three villages just south and southeast of Shuri (or “Shui”), the capital of the kingdom—Torihori (鳥堀), Sakiyama (崎山) and Akata (赤田). Today, you can still find a handful of distilleries in the area, including Zuisen and Shikina. Another awamori maker, Sakimoto (咲元), has since moved out of the area. All that remains of that former distillery is a simple, easy-to-miss stela. The 40 people licensed to engage in the making of awamori were given the raw materials (namely long-grained indica rice from Thailand) from the ōfu (王府), or royal administration. When the awamori was ready, they offered it to the ōfu as a form of tax. They were allowed to keep some of their product to be traded on the market.

Awamori produced outside of the Shurisanka generally began as moonshine. From the Meiji Period on (1868-), however, regulations on the brewing and distillation of alcohol were lifted. Production at local distilleries remained small and was for the most part consumed locally. Today there is a deep attachment and loyalty among Uchinānchu (Okinawans) to their shimā, or hometown’s hooch.

Because awamori made with imported rice was out of the reach for ordinary Okinawans, they made spirits of their own out of sweet potatoes and unrefined cane sugar—kokutō (黒糖) in Japanese, or muscovado. This home-brewed alcohol was known as imugé (芋下, note the Okinawan pronunciation of imo → imu).

You might think—and I must confess I did, too—that because imugé is made from sweet potatoes, it’s just another form imo jōchū, but no. Your standard otsu-rui imo shōchū is singly distilled, using sweet potatoes, kōji (a mold grown on rice that is used as a fermentation starter), rice, and yeast. With imugé, the sweet potatoes are distilled twice and then kokutō is added for a third distillation.

Although imugé was widely consumed by ordinary people in Okinawa, laws enacted which on the one hand encouraged the production of awamori outside of the original Shurisanka area also had the effect of banning home-brewing. (I will look into the reason why the laws changed in a future post.)

Seifuku (請福酒造) of Ishigaki-jima teamed up with Taragawa (多良川) of Miyako-jima and Kumesen (久米仙) of Kume-jima to bring imugé back in 2019. Produced with locally grown sugar cane and sweet potatoes, each distillery’s imugé has its own distinct flavor. All imugé, however, have the rich fragrance of sweet potato and the conspicuous sweetness of cane sugar.

Imugé can be enjoyed, neat, on the rocks, with water, hot water or soda. My father-in-law said he preferred it mixed with hot water.

25% ABV

Kachaashii

Kachāshī (カチャーシー) is a form of festive Okinawan folk dance. In Okinawa, it is often a feature of celebrations such as weddings and victory festivities after Okinawan wrestling matches and, yes, even public elections. The dance is usually accompanied by the sanshin and drum, and punctuated with finger whistling known as yubi-bue (指笛).

The next time I get stinking drunk, I’ll try to dance with a 1.8ℓ bottle of Sakimoto awamori on my head.

Destine

This should do the trick.

Ten years ago I started really traveling Japan rather than just living here. On my first visit to Tokyo in a decade I happened to pass by a Uighur restaurant. It then occurred to me that if Tōkyō had Uighur, they might have Lebanese, too, and, hey presto, they did. As I drank an Almaza beer, I got a strong hankerin’ fer a narghile. Another GoogleMap search and I learned that there was a shisha cafe in a place I’d never heard of before called Shimokitazawa. So, I popped over there and, boy, what a discovery. I had been smoking at home on my own narghile for over five years, but had never come across any places that had it in Japan. The place in Shimokita was Japan’s very first and I would be dropping by there regularly over the next decade.

I quickly learned that that if I did a search of ‘“mizu tabako”, I’d find an interesting place with cool people, but not as cool as the ones I met in Shimokita. Still, cool ‘nuff.

An’ so, that’s how I found Jajouka in Kyōto and Destine in Ōsaka. Now, 10 years later, I am still coming. Staff have become friends in the meantime. Love this place!

Destiny!

Moriawaro

More a list of awamori distilleries than a song, “Moriawarō” is, I believe, the first tune Kiiyama Shōten did at the request of the Okinawa Prefecture Union of Distillers (沖縄県酒造組合). (Their second (?) was Kampai Shanshan, which I have also translated.) The title is a play on awamori (泡盛), with the characters inverted to sound like moriagarō (盛り上がろう) which can be loosely translated as “Let’s party!”

I will be working on the translation over the next few weeks, so drop by every now and then. Also, I have added links to each shuzō when possible.

A quick note about awamori is helpful before jumping into the lyrics of the song.

During the Ryūkyū Kingdom (1429-1879), the making of awamori was only permitted in Shurisanka (首里三箇), three villages just south and southeast of Shuri (or “Shui”), the capital of the kingdom—Torihori (鳥堀), Sakiyama (崎山) and Akata (赤田). Today, you can still find a handful of distilleries in the area, including Zuisen and Shikina. Another awamori maker, Sakimoto (咲元), has since moved out of the area. All that remains of that former distillery is a simple, easy-to-miss stela. The 40 people licensed to engage in the making of awamori were given the raw materials from the ōfu (王府), or royal administration, and delivered the awamori they then produced to the ōfu as a form of tax.

Awamori produced outside of the Shurisanka generally began as moonshine. From the Meiji Period on (1868-), however, regulations on the brewing and distillation of alcohol were lifted. Production at local distilleries remained small and was for the most part consumed locally. Today there is a deep attachment and loyalty among Uchinānchu (Okinawans) to their shimā, or hometown’s hooch.

Today there are, I believe, 48 distilleries in Okinawa prefecture with more than 500 different brands and over 2000 individual products. That’s a lot of booze. By comparison, there are about 2000 whiskey distilleries in the whole of the US today. The song lists 46 distilleries. I suspect that there may have been consolidation, which may explain why Takazato, is now known as Yambaru Shuzō. I could be wrong. (Will look into this later.)

I should note that awamori enjoys a lower tax rate, compared to shōchū makers in other parts of Japan, so a typical bottle of awamori will cost less than ten bucks locally. Part of the reasoning, is that in the ritō (離島), or outlying islands of Okinawa prefecture, awamori production is one of the few industries that provides steady employment. Although 3.4% of manufacturing jobs on the main island of Okinawa are in awamori production, on Kumé-jima, that number is 26.2%. On Yonaguni-jima, it’s 23.1%; Izena-jima, 17.3%; and, Miyako-jima, 14.3%. Orion beer, Uchinā’s favorite suds also benefit from lower taxation.

And so, on we go to that “song”. The verses are a list of awamori distilleries followed by their signature product. Distilleries are given for the most part in geographical order, from the westernmost islands of Yonaguni and Hateruma, through the Yae Archipelago, then on to the southern part of the Okinawan mainland and on up in a northerly direction, then back down. I will add more information regarding the location later, so come back in a few weeks.

波照間 (泡波)、国泉 (どなん)、崎元 (与那国)、入波平 (舞富名)

Hateruma (Awanami), Kokusen (Donan), Sakimoto (Yonaguni), Irinamihira (Maifuna)

Note: Distillery name followed by its brand of awamori in parenthesis. All of these with the exception of Hateruma (of Hateruma Island) are located on the island of Yonaguni. I haven’t been there myself, but I have heard (and read) that the island of Formosa (Taiwan) can be see on clear days from Yonaguni.

仲間 (宮之鶴)、請福 (請福)、高嶺 (於茂登)、玉那覇 (玉の露)

Nakama (Miyanotsuru), Seifuku (Seifuku), Takamine (Omoto), Tamanaha (Tamanotsuyu)

Note: Most of these can be found on Ishigaki-jima.

池原 (白百合)、八重泉 (八重泉)、多良川 (王朝)、宮の華 (宮の華)

Ikehara (Shirayuri), Yaesen (Yaesen), Taragawa (Ōchō), Miyanohana (Miyanohana)

Note: Ikehara and Yaesen can be found on Ishigaki; Taragawa on Miyako-jima and Miyanohana on the neighboring island of Irabu.

沖之光 (沖之光)、池間 (太郎)、菊之露 (菊之露)、渡久山 (豊年)

Okinohikari (Okinohikari), Ikema (Tarō), Kikunotsuyu (Kikunotsuyu), Tokuyama (Hōnen)

Note: I believe all of these are located on Miyako-jima, home of the otōri binge-drinking session culture.

Chorus

色んな泡盛飲みましょう　泡盛飲んで踊りましょう
ひやさっさっ　みんなで笑いましょう　泡盛飲んで　盛り泡ろう！
かんぱーい！

Let’s drink all kinds of awamori. Let’s drink awamori and dance.

Hiyasassa! Let’s laugh together. Drink awamori and “moriawarō” (party)

Cheers!

Note: Listen to enough Okinawan music and you are bound to hear the “hiyasasa” or “iyasasa” call. This is shouted during the eisa drumming and dancing performed during the Bon festival honoring the spirits of one’s ancestors. Eisa and hiyasasa are said to originate in an exclamation in Mamauya Ninbuchi (継親念仏, Gishin Nenbutsu), a nenbutsu song of Pure Land Buddhism: Eisa, eisa, hiyarugaeisa (エイサー、エイサー、ヒヤルガエイサー). You can hear the this chanted in the song I have linked to below.

まさひろ (まさひろ)、久米仙 (久米仙)、宮里 (春雨)、津波古 (太平)

Masahiro (Masahiro), Kümesen (Kumesen), Miyazato (Harusame), Tsuhako, (Taihei)

神谷 (南光)、忠孝 (忠孝)、上原 (神泉)、米島 (久米島)、沖酒協 (海乃邦)

Kamiya (Nankō), Chūko (Chūko), Uehara (Shinsen), Yoneshima (Kumesen), Okishukyō (Umi no kuni)

久米島の (久米仙)、瑞泉 (瑞泉)、咲元 (咲元)、瑞穂 (瑞穂)、識名 (時雨)、石川 (甕仕込)、神村 (暖流)

Kumejima’s (Kumesen), Zuisen (Zuisen), Sakimoto (Sakimoto), Mizuho (Mizuho), Shikina (Shigure), Ishikawa (Kameshikomi), Kamimura (Danryū)

Chorus

色んな泡盛飲みましょう　泡盛飲んで踊りましょう
ひやさっさっ　みんなで笑いましょう　泡盛飲んで　盛り泡ろう！
かんぱーい！

Let’s drink all kinds of awamori. Let’s drink awamori and dance.

Hiyasassa! Let’s laugh together. Drink awamori and “moriawarō” (party)

Cheers!

新里 (琉球)、比嘉 (残波)、北谷長老 (長老)、ヘリオス (くら)

Shinzato (Ryūkyū), Higa (Zampa), Chattan Chōrō (Chōrō), Heriosu (Kura)

伊平屋 (照島)、伊是名 (常盤)、山川 (珊瑚礁)、今帰仁 (古里)

Iheya (Terushima), Izena (Tokiwa), Yamakawa (Sangoshō), Nakijin (Furusato)

Note: Iheya is an island northwest of the main island of Okinawa and the northernmost point of Okinawa prefecture. It has a population of only 1,200 people. Izena is just south of Iheya. It has a population of about 1,500. Yamakawa is located on the Motobu Peninsula (near Nago) back on the main island. Nakijin can also be found on the Motobu Peninsula.

龍泉 (龍泉)、田嘉里 (まるた)、崎山 (松藤)、金武 (龍)、 恩納 (萬座)、津嘉山 (國華)

Ryūsen (Ryūsen), Takazato (Maruta), Sakiyama (Matsufuji), Kin (Tatsu), Onna (Manza), Tsukayama (Kokka)

Note: Ryūsen is in Nago City, in the center of Okinawa Island. Takazato, also known as Yambaru Shuzō, is in the northern part of Okinawa Island, near the Yambaru National Park, which I believe was just registered as a UNESCO World Heritage along with parts of the Amami Ōshima archipelago. To give you an idea of how remote the area is, it took me longer to drive there from Naha than it did to fly to Naha from Fukuoka. Sakiyama is located further south, closer to the towns of Kin and Onna.

ゴーヤー (かちゃーしー)

Gōyā (Kachāshī)

Note: Gōyā is also known as nigauri (苦瓜) in Japanese and a variety of names in English, including bitter gourd and balsam pear. Originating in Africa, it was introduced to Okinawa via China some four hundred years ago. On Miyako-jima, it is known as gōra (ゴーラ); in the Yaeyama archipelago, gōya (ゴーヤ) with a short “a”. In Kyūshū, it is known as nigagori or nigagōri. In Amami it is called nigyaguri (ニギャグリ ) or tōguri (トーグリ). In the rest of Kagoshima prefecture, it is nigagoi (ニガゴイ), dropping the “r” as is common in Kagoshima.

Kachāshī is the distinctive folk dance that people in Okinawa do. See it demonstrated here.

おしまい (むるまーさん！)

That’s all for now, Mr. Muromā!

Chorus

色んな泡盛飲みましょう　泡盛飲んで踊りましょう
ひやさっさっ　みんなで笑いましょう　泡盛飲んで　盛り泡ろう！
かんぱーい！

Let’s drink all kinds of awamori. Let’s drink awamori and dance.

Hiyasassa! Let’s laugh together. Drink awamori and “moriawarō” (party)

Cheers!

嫌な事飲んで　忘れましょう　明日の仕事も頑張りましょう
ひやさっさっ　みんなで笑いましょう　泡盛飲んで　盛り泡ろう！
かんぱーい！

Let’s drink and forget unpleasant things; Let’s do our best at work tomorrow

Hiyasassa! Let’s laugh together. Drink awamori and “moriawarō” (party)

Cheers!

Phew. This post took much more time than I originally intended to spend on it, and it’s still a work in progress. I need a drink!

Kampai Shanshan

A few months ago when I was on a flight to Okinawa, I caught a wild, hyperactive music video with the sound off and wondered what the heck was going on. The credits at the end of the video mentioned the Okinawa Shuzō Kumiai (沖縄酒造組合, Union of Okinawa Distilleries). Later, I googled it and eventually found the music video I had seen during the flight.

The song was written and performed by Kiyama Shōten (きいやま商店), a trio of brothers hailing from the island of Ishigaki where one of my favorite awamori, Seifuku (請福泡盛) is produced. According to Wiki, the three were living in the Kantō area, but returned to their hometown the wedding of a relative, where they played a number of songs. So popular was their performance, the guests encouraged them to continue recording and pursue music as a career.

Kampai Shanshan (乾杯しゃんしゃん) is, I believe, the second song they have written for the awamori industry in Okinawa. It’s quite a fun little ditty that will surely have you singing along. I will translate the lyrics in coming days, so stay tuned!

歌/Song：きいやま商店/Kiiyama Shōten

作詞/Lyrics：きいやま商店/Kiiyama Shōten

作曲/Composed by：きいやま商店//Kiiyama Shōten

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嬉しい時には集まって

At happy times, we gather

みんなで泡盛飲みましょう

And let’s drink awamori together

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー

Yuga yuga fūfū yuga yuga fū
Note: ゆがふ（世果報）とは、沖縄の方言で豊年満作「世の中が豊かで平和でみんなが幸せでありますように」という意味. Yugafu is Okinawan for hōnenmansaku (豊年万作) which literally means an abundant year, bumper crop, but in a general sense means that times are peaceful, everyone has enough and is happy.

あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

Note: 八重山地方では、美しいとか綺麗の事を「あっぱりしゃん！」といいます。他は、可愛い、美しい、素晴らしいという意味。 沖縄本島地方では「美らさん」といいますね. In the Yaeyama archipelago, something or someone that is beautiful is apparishan. Similarly on the Okinawan mainland, they say churasan. So, they are singing “How wonderful! Cheers!”

ボトルを開けたらうさげましょう
まずは先祖にありがとう

After opening the bottle, let’s drink. (I need to check this. I think usagemashō is omeshiagarimashō, but I need to double check this .)

But first we give thanks to our ancestors.

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

銘柄たくさん迷っちゃうだけど
やっぱり地元の酒がいい

There are so many brands, you can’t decide,

Still, the best alcohol is local

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

とぅじにワジられ家を出て
したたか飲んでまたワジられた

Note: とぅじは奥さん、妻という意味。日本の古語で言う「刀自」（とじ）がなまったもの。沖縄の言葉には古墳期から江戸時代までの古い日本語がベースになっているものが非常に多い。意外に格調高い言葉である。Tuji means one’s wife. Many Okinawan words have their roots in the ancient Japanese of the Kofun Period (3rd to 7th century).

ワジられた means to make someone angry. おばーに怒られた時に、「おばーにワジられたさー」という使いかたもできます。When your grandmother is angry with you, you can say “Obā-ni wajirareta sā.”

My wife got angry with me, so I left the house,

Drank hard and she got angry again.

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

おじーがちぶるー擦りむいた
クースー(古酒)かけたら毛が生えた

Note: ちぶるー means 頭 or head and can be used for both people and animals. チブルワッサン　means 頭がわるい; someone is stupid. Kūsū (クースー) written 古酒 is awamori that has been aged for more than three years.

Grandpa scraped his head,

When he put kūsū on it, his hair began to grow.

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

世界の国からめんそーれ
飲んで歌って踊りましょう

Note: めんそーれ (mensōre) is one of the most commonly known regionalism. When you arrive at Naha Airport, there is a sign that welcomes you with a big Mensōre!. Okinawans tell me, though, that they don’t really say it. In standard Japanese, it means irasshaimase (いらっしゃいませ). You can also say, んじめんそーれ which means いってらっしゃい or まったん　めんそーれ (Please come again.) んじちゃーびら means 行ってきます or さようなら.

Welcome people from all over the world,

Let’s drink and dance together.

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

朝から一日お疲れさん
家族が待つ家帰りましょう

It's been a long tiring day, thanks

Let’s go home where our family is waiting.

ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん
ゆがゆがふーふー　ゆがゆがふー
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

でーじ泡盛ちゃーだ泡盛
なーてぃちたーちみーち乾杯しゃんしゃん

Note: でーじ means 大変 which can mean a lot of things from really, extremely, awful, serious, tough to a lot, a great deal. ちゃーだ, I believe, means どうだ which also has a lot of different meanings such as How about . . ? or What’s with . . . ? How was . . . ? and so on. なーてぃちたーちみーち in the second line, is one, two, three . . . So, . . .

A lot of awamori, how ‘bout some awamori?

One, two, three, cheers!

でーじ泡盛ちゃーだ泡盛
なーてぃちたーちみーち乾杯しゃんしゃん
でーじ泡盛ちゃーだ泡盛
なーてぃちたーちみーち乾杯しゃんしゃん
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん
あっぱりしゃんしゃん　乾杯しゃんしゃん

Mitake Genshu

Mitake’s genshu from Yakushima.

Mitake Shuzō was originally based in Aira in the north of Kagoshima prefecture where it was known as Kurino Shuzō. In 1958 it moved to its present location.

三岳 (Mitake) means “three peaks”. One peek caused Peeping Tom to go blind. At 39% ABV, may go blind, too.

Kokubu Kikoji Kura

No sooner do I grumble about not getting summer gifts anymore than a student comes through and presents me not only with a gourmet selection of mentaiko-flavored[1] cheeses, but with a fine bottle of imo shōchū.

One of the most difficult aspects in writing about shōchū is that differences in taste can be very subtle. I suppose that is to be expected, considering that the ingredients vary little from imo shōchū to imo jōchū: they are, namely, water, sweet potato, and kōji (malted rice). Granted, there are all kinds of sweet potatoes, as a visit to any shōchū shuzō (distillery) will quickly impress upon you. There are also different kinds of kōji which greatly influence the taste of a shōchū.

The three types of kōji used in the production of shōchū are black kōji, white kōji, and yellow kōji, so named for the color of the bacterial spores. The type of kōji-kin (aspergillus) bacteria used affect not only the distillation process but also the flavor of the end product.

Yeast and kōji-kin are indispensable for the distillation of shōchū. Starch from the potatoes are broken down into glucides (sugars), a process known as saccharification, by the kōji-kin and then yeast metabolizes the sugar, producing alcohol (ethanol).

Kuro Koji (黒麹)

Kuro Kōji, or black kōji was originally introduced to Kyūshū from the Ryūkyū Kingdom (present-day Okinawa). It is very good at producing citric acid which protects against both the propagation of bacteria and the spoiling of unrefined sake. It is perfect for the subtropical climate of Okinawa. For that reason, it is used in the production of awamori. Generally speaking, imo shôchû made with kuro kôji pack a punch. They are fuller bodied and have a conspicuous flavor.

Shiro Koji (白麹)

Shiro kōji, or white kōji, is a mutation of the kuro kōji bacterium that is cultured and used mainly in Kyūshū. Because it has greater enzymatic power than kuro kōji, and does not release spores like kuro kōji which can soil both the clothes of the workers and the distillery, the use of shiro kōji has spread widely and quickly. It produces a mellow-tasting, mild shôchû bringing out the flavor of sweet potatoes.

Kikoji (黄麹)

 Kikōji, or yellow kōji, is usually employed in the production of seishu (清酒, refined saké) and saké. Because it lacks citric acid which protects against spoilage, it was not considered suitable for shōchū. In recent years, however, the use of yellow kōji has grown in popularity. With its fruity nose, imo jōchū made with yellow kōji, such as Tomi no Hōzan are changing the way people think about imo jōchū.

---

I originally wrote this piece in 2012. Time flies! At the time I had been drinking shochu for over fifteen years, but was only just starting to dig into it and other Japanese spirits to try to learn more about why it made me feel so good.

---

Kampai!

国分 黄麹蔵 (Kokubu Kikôji Kura)

25% Alc/Vol

   Made from kogane sengan sweet potato and yellow kôji.

Nose: ★★★

   The fragrance belies somewhat how flavorful this shōchū is.

Palate: ★★★★

   Strong alcohol flavor, with unique after taste that fills the nose to the rafters when swallowed.

Recommended: on the rocks

Overall: ★★★☆

 Website: https://kokubu-imo.com

Kokubu Shuzō was established by ten different distilleries in 1970 and in 1986, it was moved to a new facility located in the middle of the mountains of Kokubu, just east of Kirishima City.

[1] Mentaiko (明太子) is a local delicacy in Fukuoka City, made of cod roe marinated in red chili pepper powder and other seasonings. Well-known throughout Japan today as a souvenir from Hakata, mentaiko was first introduced to Japan after the Pacific War by Toshio Kawahara, the founder of Fukuya. Born in Busan, Korea, Kawahara returned to Fukuoka after the war where he adapted the flavor of Korean myeongran jeot such that it better suited Japanese tastes. He called his product Aji no Mentaiko (味の明太子) and started selling to bars and izakaya (pubs) from a shop he had in the entertainment district of Nakasu. Because Kawahara failed to patent the recipe, there are now hundreds of companies producing mentaiko today, including Fukutarô, Chikae, Kubota, and so on. That said, I am not crazy about the stuff.

Hakaio

My “Shōchū of the Day” is Hakaiō (破壊王) a genshu produced by Kami Shuzō (神酒造) of Izumi, Kagoshima. Made from kogane sengan sweet taters and black kōji, it has an ABV of 43%. 破壊王 means God of Destruction and with one sip I can understand. POW Be kind, Shiva!

Very musty, potent stuff, not for the faint of heart, by any means. Kami Shuzō’s website claims Hakaiō is “fruity”, but it isn’t. Best put this heavy-hitting sparring partner into your freezer and drink him straight, one slug at a time to prevent getting punch drunk

The Corner Liquor Store

Located in Gokusho Machi. For more on this neighborhood, go here.

Autumn Brews

Note: this is repost of an 8-year-old blog post.i

Nippon Beer's Shironigori

The Shironigori is such a good "Weißbier" I was tempted to go back to my local Lawson's convenience store and buy their entire stock. The can says this beer is shipped directly from Belgium. I'm not sure if that is a marketing gimmick or fact. Anyways, get it while supplies last.

Suntory's The Royal Bitter

  Not bad. Tastes like something you might find in a British pub, only with more of a head on it.

Asahi's Aki Yoi

Much cheaper than Aki Aji, this happôsei (see Happôshu) from Asahi called Aki Yoi (an early evening in autumn) also has none of the charm of Kirin's seasonal beer. Treat yourself to a Suntory Kaku High Ball, instead.

Yona Yona Ale

A very hoppy beer that reminds me of a good microbrew you might find in Oregon. A real keeper.

Price: ¥260

Sapporo's Nihon no Irodori

"The Color or Spice of Autumn", made with "some" barley harvested in Hokkaidô, is a remarkably unremarkable beer. Glad I bought the smaller can. 

By the way, why is everything called "Premium" these days? Perhaps I can get a t-shirt with that written boldly on the chest.

Price: ¥224

Kirin's Ichiban Shibori Stout

Lessee.

First off, the can states, "Just taste 'Ichibanshibori Stout.' The first wort gives a marvelously deep taste. The aroma of roasted malt and smooth creamy from enrich your precious time." That was either written by a fiendish drunk, or was meant as a kind of Buddhist kôan to meditate over while you enjoyed your brewsky. Whichever the case, this stout just doesn't quite live up to the advertised hype. A marvelously deep taste? Not really. A deep-ish taste, perhaps. Smooth and creamy? Nah. It does have have a good aroma, though, one which reminds me of my home-brewing days. Now that I think about it, I could have made this beer myself, and Kirin could have done much better. 

Want a good stout? Treat yourself to a Guinness.

Alc./Vol 5%

Price: ¥217

Kirin's Tanrei Draft

This was disappointing. I was hoping for the poor man's version of Kirin's Aki Aji. What I got was Kirin's Tanrei happôshu (low malt beer), the same old crap in a colorful, autumny can.

Live and learn. Fortunately, this lesson was cheap: only ¥141.

Alc./Vol 5.5%

Helios Goya Dry

Helios Goya Dry from Uchinaa (Okinawa) is made with goya (nigauri, a bitter gourd native to the island). Because of its novel recipe Goya Dry can't legally be called a beer. I found a beer from Karuizawa that was also classified as a hôpposhu because it had contained coriander/cilantro. 

A sticker on the can says Goya Dry has been crowned gold medal winner at a number of beer contests in Japan. Is it really that good? You'll have to find that out for yourself. I will say, though, that it is certainly both bitter and dry.

Reikyo

This nihonshu (sake) sells for ¥800,000 a bottle in the super box at the Dome, something I find outrageous. Why, I would never pay more than ¥650,000 for it . . .

Joking aside, the 800-grand price is no lie. I checked online to see what the actual price of the sake was and found it retailing for ¥350,000, which is still eye-wateringly expensive. I suspect the price is high for promotional reasons rather than taste. The box Reikyō comes in, though, is rather nice.

The most expensive thing I have drunk so far, I believe, was a tequila that was the equivalent to 50 bucks a shot. I ended up spilling half of it in my lap when I sneezed. Bad form!

A hundred dollars for a good bottle of champagne. A hundred fifty for Ron Zacapa XO or Reserva de la Familia Cuervo . . . Yes. But 350,000 yen for a bottle of sake that will probably give you a headache the next day? Nope!

Apparently only 300 bottles of Nizawa’s sake are produced.

Cocktail Rankings

One of my favorite publications of late has been the Saturday edition of the Nikkei Shimbun called Nikkei Plus. Every week the paper has a feature called Nandemo Rankingu (Ranking Everything) and this Saturday they rolled a ball right up my alley with their ranking of cocktailspeople can make at home this summer.

Nikkei Plus first had Akihiro Sakô of the Nihon Bartenders Association select 32 popular cocktails. From these, ten bartenders working at bars in Japan, including Masashi Ôishi of Bar Marvelous in Fukuoka, were asked to choose ten they recommened.

1. Gin Tonic (580 points)

One of my all time favorites, as well. I enjoy G&Ts with a sprig of rosemary. Gin of choice includes Bombay Sapphire or Tangeray 10.

2. Mojito (550)

 I happen to be enjoying one at this very moment. (Hic!)

3. Whiskey High Ball (400)

A few years ago Suntory introduced the Kaku Haibôru as a cheap alternative to beer and, boy, has it ever been successful. Go into any izakaya these days and you'll surely find the Kaku High Ball on the menu. It has even got me drinking whiskey again after an unfortunate encounter with the whiskey and cokes when I was sixteen. 

4. Caipirinha (390)

I had never heard of this before, but after reading up on this Brazilian cocktail made with Cachaça, which I have had, I'm quite eager to try it. Add cut limes to a rock glass and muddle. Add one part Pinga rum, 0.2 parts syrup, and top glass with crushed ice. Caipirinha, which means a country girl, is said to be Brazil's national drink.

 5. Frozen Daiquiri (380)

  Ho hum.

6. Sol Cubano (260)

 Here's another one I'm not familiar with, but am willing to learn. Bartender!

 Fill a tumbler with ice. Add one part rum, 1.5 parts grapefruit juice. Lastly, add tonic water. Stir lightly.

7. Shandy Gaff (250)

 One of my summer favorites, I have already written about..

7. Moscow Mule (250)

Tied for seventh is the perrenial favorite in Japan, Moscow Mule. It wasn't until I had come to Japan that I heard about this cocktail.  

Fill a mug or tumbler with ice and add one part vodka, 0.3 parts lime juice, and 2 parts ginger ale. The name comes from the fact the cocktail packs such a punch that it makes you feel as if you've been kicked in the head by an ass. 

9. Watermelon Cocktail (230)

Rub the rim of the glass with watermelon and salt (a la margarita). Add ice, and one part vodka, 4 parts juice from grated watermellon. Mix.

10. Salty Dog (220)

 Another favorite in Japan. Salt rim of glass. Add ice, one part chilled vodka and three parts grapefruit juice. Meh.

This ranking is fairly old. Will try to update it soonish.

Verano del Mojito

This has definitely been el Verano del Mojito (the summer of the mojito) for me. I'd never been a fan of the drink before, but for some reason this year the cocktail has taken a hold of me. Hardly a week has gone by that I haven't had at least one mojito. (It is usually quite a few more than one.) I even started to make the drink at home, and after a bit of trial and error, have gotten the deceptively easy cocktail down. Even my wife, who hardly ever drinks, says it's pretty good.

As I wrote last week, the minty cocktail has enjoyed quite a surge in popularity in Japan this summer. My suspicion is that the trend can most likely be traced back to a boardroom meeting at the Bacardi headquarters. Their drive to push more Bacardi onto unsuspecting consumers has surely succeeded beyond their wildest imagination. So popular is the mojito today that spearmint has become a scarce commodity. Before ordering the cocktail, I usually ask, "Can you make a mojito today?" The waiter will usually run back to the kitchen to check whether they still have the mint. More often than not, I learn, they do not.

Anyways, a few weeks ago Shûsuke mentioned that he hadn't been to the beach yet. 

"An outrage!" I replied. "When's your next day off?"

"Tuesday."

"Let's go to the beach, then."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

So, when Tuesday came, Shûsuke popped by my place and the two of us went to Momochi Hama. It isn't my favorite beach, but it's close (I can walk there in 20 minutes) and there's a decent restaurant call Mama Mia, of all things, which has awamori and fairly decent cocktails, including el mojito. 

Incidentally, it was the very mojito that was on my mind when I extended the invitation to Shûsuke. I was jonesing for one ever since the week before when I was at Mama Mia drank the restaurant dry of spearmint.

Well, when we got to Momochi, Mama Mia was closed. Naturally. The slackers that run the place have got the worst work ethic. And they call themselves Japanese. Hah! Across the boardwalk, another restaurant called The Beach was open for business. A smart operation with nice tables and parasols on the terrace, cute college co-eds waiting on tables, it’s got truly awful food.

 Shûsuke and I sat down at a table on the terrace and ordered our drinks, two unremarkable G&Ts. (Now, how on earth can you fuck up a gin and tonic?)

No sooner than our drinks were served than a boat that crosses Hakata Bay once every hour or so arrived.

I suggested jumping on the boat and going to Luigans, a resort hotel located across the bay on Umi-no-naka-Michi. He was up for it, so we downed the drinks and skedaddled.

The trip from Momochi Hama to Umi-no-naka-Michi took about twenty minutes and dropped us off just a short walk from Luigans where we found seats at a poolside bar. 

Looking over the menu, I was heartened to find "Mojito Original" and ordered two. Unfortunately, what came was a far cry from the mojito I had been hoping for.

The VK Mojito Original, produced by the UK-based Global Brands, is a ready-to-drink (RTD) cocktail. According to the company, the "VK Mojito is an award-winning brand, and was recognised by the Drinks International Pre Mixed Drinks Challenge." Well, it wasn't a winner with me. 

VK Mojito Original

4% Alc/Vol

Rate: ★★ (I'm feeling generous, today)

 Frustrated, I asked the waiter whether the bar was open. Hearing that it was, I asked if they could make a proper mojito. The waiter said he'd go and ask. When he returned a few minutes, he replied in the affirmative, so Shûsuke and I ordered two. 

Bingo! As I suspected, the bartender knew how to make a cocktail. Not only did it look great, but it tasted pretty damn good, too.

Next, I ordered a Mai Tai, another drink which I had been jonesing for ever since Hau Nalu, a Hawaiian restaurant and bar in my neighborhood, closed.

Another winner.

All in all, I was impressed with Luigans and I promised myself that I would be making the trip more often. In addition to great drinks, they've also got barbecues for rent, as well as movies shown on an outdoor screen. Depending on availability, rooms can sometimes be rented for six hours during the day, providing a place to relax and clean up after sunning on the beach or next to the pool.

Kampai and Ke aloha!

Luigans Resort & Spa

Rate: ★★★★

After Luigans, Shûsuke and I caught a train and traveled to JR Hakata City, where we had a light dinner and more drinks at Mexican Cantina El Borracho, easily Japan's best place for authentic Mexican food and drinks. All in all, it was a great day. Thanks, Shûsuke! またやりましょう！

Kampai and Salud!

El Borracho/La Borracha (three locations in Fukuoka city)

Rate: ★★★★★

(This was originally posted in 2011. Time flies!)

Alsterwasser

 My alcoholic journey through life began with tottering steps when at the age of sixteen I traveled to West Germany. I would spend the next twelve months in one state of inebriation or another as an exchange student there. Until then, I had been a model student, a decent athlete with straight As, on course to receiving a full-ride athletic scholarship, believe it or not.

Eventually, I’ll have to write about that year, about all the successes and failures, but for now permit me to tell you about my very first day with my host family, the Schwartzes.

It was the summer of 1982 and our group of some twenty or thirty Americans from the west coast had just arrived in Frankfurt. After checking into a youth hostel, the more energetic of us headed promptly into town to do some sightseeing and exercise the new and inalienable right to consume alcohol. Before long, we found a kneipe in the old town with outdoor seating that served huge bierkrugs of alts and lagers and pilsners.

Let me tell you, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.

But things just got better and better: a German man sitting at the neighboring table started to chat us up and as we talked he offered us our first shots of korn, a colorless spirit usually made from fermented rye (32% alc/vol). When in Rome . . .

It is only by the grace of God that I did not vomit all the way back to the youth hostel like some of my fellow overachievers did.

On the following day, we traveled by train to Hamburg, at the time Germany’s biggest city--West Berlin was still under the administration of the Allies--and were introduced to the families who would be hosting us during our month-long orientation and crash-course in the German language.

The Schwartzes, a dowdy couple in their fifties, met me and took me to a restaurant where we waited for their “children”.

“Children?” I said.

“Yes, we have two daughters,” Frau Schwartz replied.

Images of my two younger sisters--five and seven years my junior and still in elementary school--filled my mind, so it came as a quite a pleasant surprise when two beautiful young women walked through the door of the restaurant and sat down at our table.

“These are our children,” Frau Schwartz said. “Sylvia and Regina.”

“Es freut mich,” I said, using one of the few phrases I had learned from the man at the kneipe the night before.

Sylvia was a beautiful, lithe seventeen-year-old with golden blonde hair that was pulled back into a long ponytail. Her sister was slightly shorter, somewhat chubby, but in all the right places, a wholesome girl with long brown hair, fifteen years of age.

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” I said again in English for good measure, a devilish smile spreading across my face. I think I'm going to like this homestay.

Now that the girls had arrived, we walked to their home, which was only a few blocks away. It was a pleasant home in a leafy suburb north of downtown Hamburg.

Sitting in the backyard, Herr Schwartz prepared a drink for me which he said was called “Alsterwasser”, or “Water of the Alster”. I knew that the Alster was a tributary of the River Elbe, which had been dammed nearly eight hundred years earlier such that it formed the two iconic lakes in the center of Hamburg, but I didn’t quite understand what it was that I was drinking.

Alsterwasser, Herr Schwartz kindly explained by pouring me a second glass, was beer mixed with what the Germans called Limonade, a fizzy lemon-flavored drink similar to 7-UP. It would be years before I would know Alsterwasser by its more common name: shandy or shandygaff. Incidentally, Alsterwasser is better known in Germany by another name: Radler (cyclist).

Every now and then, when it’s too hot to drink beer straight, I make myself an Alsterwasser. Most recipes call for half-and-half, but I prefer to fill the glass only a third of the way with 7-UP (if I can ever find it) or Sprite and top the glass off with a lighter, less bitter Japanese beer, such as Asahi Super Dry or Orion Beer from Okinawa.

As Herr Schwartz and I drank our Alsters, Sylvia said excitedly, “Look, look! There’s an ‘eagle’ in the garden!”

I looked up at the trees and the sky above, but saw nothing.

“An eagle? Where?”

“There! There!” she said, pointing at the ground.

Following her finger to the bottom of the wooden fence surrounding their garden, rather than finding a large bird of prey, I caught glimpse of a humble little hedgehog waddling among the roots of a tree. Hedgehogs, I learned, were known as igels in Germany.

Drinking Alsterwasser in the garden with the Schwartz's lovely daughters, I knew I was in heaven. 

Kampaii! Und Prost!

Biggest Shochu Producers

10. Takahashi Shuzō (高橋酒造) ¥6.6 billion, Kumamoto

https://www.hakutake.co.jp

Located in Hitoyoshi in southern Kumamoto Prefecture on the border of Kagoshima and Miyazaki, in the heart of the Kuma Jōchū (球磨焼酎) producing region, Takahashi’s main product is, not surprisingly, kome (rice) jōchū, with Hakutake (白岳) and Hakutake Shiro (白岳白) being their best-selling products.

9. Hombō Shuzō (本坊酒造) ¥7.0 billion, Kagoshima

https://www.hombo.co.jp

One of the first of Kagoshima’s shuzō, I believe, to try its hand at the production of “western liquors”, such as whiskey and wine, Hombō of Kagoshima City produces imo jōchū, mugi jōchū, and kome jōchū. Their extensive product line also includes brandy, a very nice gin, and liqueurs.

8. Wakamatsu Shuzō (若松酒造) ¥7.4 billion, Kagoshima

https://www.wakamatsusyuzo.co.jp

Located in the tongue-twisting Ichiki-kushikino-shi (いちき串木野市)[1], Wakamatsu was founded in 1719, making it Kagoshima’s oldest distillery. Main products included Satsuma Ichi (薩摩一) imo jōchū and Sasshū Mugi (薩州麦) mugi jōchū.

7. Satsuma Shuzō (薩摩酒造) ¥10.4 billion, Kagoshima

https://www.satsuma.co.jp

Founded in 1936, Satsuma is part of the Hombō Group (本坊グループ). It is located in the very southern part of the Satsuma Peninsula in the town of Makurazaki, which is famous for its katsuo-bushi processing plants.[2] The distilleries best-selling products are Satsuma Shiranami (さつま白波) imo jōchū and Kannoko (神の河) mugi jōchū.

6. Hamada Shuzō (濵田酒造) ¥12.9 billion, Kagoshima

https://www.hamadasyuzou.co.jp

Hamada Shuzō, also located in my wife’s birthplace of Ichiki-Kushikino, produces not only imo, mugi and komé jōchū, but also liqueurs and “Japanese spirits” (e.g. gin). They have in recent years also began brewing nihonshu, becoming, I have been told, the first and currently only brewer of saké in Kagoshima Prefecture. Hamada Shuzō’s best-selling brands include Kaito (海童), Kakushi Gura (隠し蔵), Den (伝), and Sekitoba (赤兎馬).

It’s funny, but I didn’t realize until today that Hamada also produces Daimaō (大魔王), which is an imo jōchū that I used to buy as a novelty gift because the celebrated Mao (魔王) was often difficult to find and too expensive when I could Hamada Shuzō also owns Kinzan Gura, located in a mountain setting, where the shōchū is fermented, stored, and aged in the former gold mine. Apparently, my wife’s grandfather worked in that mine for a while.

5. Nikaidō Shuzō (二階堂酒造) ¥15.3 billion, Ōita

https://nikaido-shuzo.co.jp

Ōita is famous for its mugi (barley) jōchū and Nikaidō is the prefectures second largest distillery. To be quite honest, I am neither a mugi jōchū nor a whiskey drinker, so I can’t quite understand why people can get excited about it. Maybe when I find a brand that knocks my socks off, I will, but as of this writing, I remain unconverted. That said, I will try to give their Kitchomu (吉四六) a try if I ever come by it. 

Nikaidō is based in Hiiji Machi (日出町), a small castle town of less than 30,000 just north of Beppu. Neighboring Kitsuki City is worth a visit if you are ever in the area, by the way.

4. Unkai Shuzō (雲海酒造) ¥17.1 billion, Miyazaki

Kagoshima may be famous for its imo jōchū, but Miyazaki is the prefecture that actually produces the most. One reason is Unkai which was founded in 1967 and was the first distillery to produce soba (buckwheat) jōchū in 1973. Originally named Gokase Shuzō, Unkai released Iitomo (いいとも) in 1984. Nine years later, it debuted Japan’s first “zen kōji” soba jōchū.

3. Oenon Group (オエノン・グルップ) ¥40.1 billion, Tōkyō

https://www.oenon.jp

It appears that if it can get you drunk, Oenon makes it—umeshu, kōrui shōchū, awamori, as well as shōchū made from barley, sweet potato, rice, shiso, kasu (saké lees), seaweed, and, believe it or not, sakura leaves. Now they’ve got my attention.

2. Sanwa Shurui (三和酒類) ¥44.5 billion, Ōita

https://www.iichiko.co.jp

The mugi (barley) shōchū giant bills its best-selling Iichiko as “The Working Man’s Napoleon” (下町のナポレオン)[3], something that has always made me snigger. Like Kirishima, Iichiko is highly promoted in TV commercials, print media, and in large posters at train stations, featuring a sometimes hard-to-find bottle of Iichiko in a natural setting. Iichiko, itself, is not hard to find at all, as just about any place selling liquor will have bottles of it on its shelves. Personally speaking, the only Iichiko I have ever really liked is their Hita Zen Kōji, but then again I’m not really into mugi jōchū. Sanwa also produces wine, nihonshu (saké), and liqueurs. And while Iichiko is the best-selling brand of shōchū in Japan—7.8 million cases back in 2016—it is third in the world after Korean soju brands Chamisul (Jinro in Japan, 73 million cases sold!) and Chomchorom (31.7 million cases).

1. Kirishima Shuzō (霧島酒造) ¥65.9 billion, Miyazaki

https://www.kirishima.co.jp

No surprise here. In 2012, Kirishima overtook Sanwa to become Japan’s highest grossing shōchū maker. Interestingly, it was the distillery’s second president who first proposed renaming single-distilled otsurui shōchū (乙類焼酎) “honkaku” shōchū (本格焼酎) back in 1957. (It wasn’t until five years later that the Ministry of Finance officially accepted the new name.) In the “noughties”, Kirishima debuted and then heavily promoted its “Kurokiri” brand which is probably Japan’s best-selling imo jōchū, despite being fairly unremarkable. Let’s just call it “The King of Shōchū”.

---

[1] Ichiki-Kushikino City (いちき串木野市), pop. less than 30,000, was formed by the merger of two towns in the Hioki District (日置郡) back in 2005. Seems neither town was willing to give up its name, so now we have a name that is hard to say when drunk, a problem because the city is home to half a dozen shōchū distilleries.

[2] Katsuo-bushi, or dried bonito fish flakes, are the chief flavoring ingredient in miso soup. Today, there are about 70 small family businesses in Makurazaki City, working year-round to boil, cut, dry and smoke bonito, the unique odor of which can be smelled across the downtown area.

[3] This is a loose translation. Shitamachi (下町) originally referred to the lower part of Edo (modern-day Tōkyō) where the lower castes (i.e. merchants and artisans) lived as opposed to hilly Yamanote (山の手) where the samurai lived. Shitamachi denotes an area of lower social status.

Aki Aji

I love a good beer so much so that I once toyed with the idea of becoming a professional brewer. That was back in the late 80s when I was in college, majoring in bio-chem (pre-med) and putting that education to good use by making a batch of beer every few months in my mother’s kitchen.

Because the microbrew craze was still in its infancy in Portland—the Widmer Brothers and McMenamins had only been in business a few years by then—home-brewing was for the most part terra incognita. And, the beer-making kits that would take a lot of the guesswork (not to mention the exploding bottles) out of brewing were not yet available. Let me tell you, it was a helluva lot of fun.

My good friend and fellow gourmand Paul—a law student at Lewis and Clark at the time and a successful environmental lawyer today—and I would go to a supplier called F.H. Steinbart located on the east side of Portland to stock up on malt, hops, roasted barley, yeast, and so on. If we had extra money, which was rare, we’d also pick up a new piece of equipment, such as a bottle capper, to make the brewing process easier.

We’d get together on a Friday or Saturday evening and spend the next several hours listening to music, knocking back beers, and bullshitting as we mixed the malted barley, grains, and hops that would make our wort, the liquid to which yeast is added to produce alcohol. After a lot of trial and error, and I mean a lot, we started to produce some pretty good beers.

Now that I look back on those days, I realize that it was one of the few times during my “Oregon Period” that I was truly happy. After struggling for a year and a half, school had become fun and stimulating. More focused on my studies than ever in my life, I was at the top or a close second in all of my classes, breezing through subjects like physics, organic chemistry, and anatomy that half the class struggled to earn a passing grade in. A few years later, everything would unravel and, by and by, I’d end up in Japan, but I’ll save that story for another day.

As I wrote earlier in the Alsterwasser post, I was exposed to beer at a  rather tender age while an exchange student in Germany. One of the highlights of that year abroad was working for a month at the Göttinger Brauerei. Regrettably, the brewery no longer exists; the memories of my internship there, however, remain fresh some thirty years later.

With so many happy memories associated with beer, it was hard for me to accept my doctor’s advice to give the drink up. For the past two years, I have been struggling to get my uric acid level down. Elevated levels of the compound in the blood lead to gout, a painful form of arthritis in the smaller bones of the feet.

Tell anyone in Japan that you’ve got the gout and they’ll laugh. In Japanese the disease—if you can call really it one, seems more like an inconvenience—is called tsūfū (痛風, literally “painful wind”). They consider it a zeitaku byō  (贅沢病), that is, a disease caused by extravagant, luxurious living. While beer isn’t the only culprit in your typical gout case, it certainly is in mine: all the other foods, such as liver, which are high in purines, the crystalline compound which forms uric acid upon oxidation, seldom, if ever, pass my lips.

And so, tonight I say good-bye to my dear friend, beer. Not forever, mind you—I could never go completely without the occasional pint—but, I will refrain from having even one brewski until the end of the year at which time I’ll get my blood checked again to see if I have been too rash in maligning my friend. (God give me the strength to get through Oktoberfest.)

It was tempting to go out in style, to, say, get a nice pint of Guinness at the neighborhood Irish pub, Half Penny, but then this blog would have little meaning. So, I opened up the last can of beer in my fridge: KIRIN’s Aki Aji (秋味).

When I first came to Japan, most large-scale brewers came out with seasonal beers. They weren’t anything like the bockbiers or doppelbocks that you can find in Germany—heavy beers with extra malt and higher alcohol contents that are brewed for holidays such as Christmas or Father’s Day—but they were still nice.

I first tried Aki Aji late in the summer of ’92, only a year after the beer debuted in Japan. My girlfriend at the time, a real boozer, had brought a couple bottles of the stuff to my apartment and I remember looking at the label and asking what the kanji meant. (Parents and children, never overlook an opportunity to learn something new! Even when you’re knocking back suds.) She translated Aki Aji as “Autumn Taste” and I’ll never forget how awkward that translation sounded. I suggested “The Flavor of Autumn” as a better rendering and took a drink of the beer.

To this day, Aki Aji is still one of my favorite Japanese beers. Darker than most of the lagers and pilsners available in Japan, it is not as bitter as many of the “premium” beers, such as Ebisu and Suntory Premium Malts, tend to be. Brewed with 1.3 times more malt than ordinary beers and containing slightly more alcohol (6%), Aki Aji is available from late August. The funny thing about this beer, and other autumn seasonal brew, is that it often sells out long before autumn has actually started.

Kampai!

KIRIN 秋味 (Kirin Aki Aji)

6% Alc/Vol

Rate: ★★★★

Originally posted on my other site in 2011. I am happy to announce that thanks to the brew abstinence I was able to cure myself. I still don’t drink beer as much as I used to, which was daily, but I do enjoy knocking back a brewski every now and then.

Tomi no Hozan

I can’t see dead people or bend spoons. Nor am I able to read people’s minds. But, I do possess a sixth sense. While it is not the kind of talent which a person might profit from no matter how sharply it is honed, it amazes friends and family, nevertheless.

In class, I ask a student if his girlfriend has returned from Brazil. He replies that she had, in fact, just come back a few days ago. Another student wonders aloud how I could have known such a thing. I reply that I didn’t. The thought had merely popped into my head and I was only asking out of curiosity.

It’s always like that.

I’m walking in the neighborhood of Momochi one day when I start thinking about Machiko, a girl I taught several years earlier. Her home is nearby, so it isn’t that unusual that my thoughts would turn to her. But then, that train of thought derails and I begin to wonder if her youngest sister—what is her name again—has started junior high school yet, and is she going to Momochi Junior High or some other school when who should I bump into as I turn the corner, but Machiko’s youngest sister—Nana! That’s her name—in a Momochi Junior High School uniform.

One more: I’m passing through the Tenjin underground shopping arcade in Fukuoka City and as I near the Pietro Mio Mio stand, which sells pasta salad in a cup to go, it occurs to me that I have never heard anyone saying they have tried Mio Mio. Wonder if it’s any good, I think to myself. A few minutes later, I emerge from the underground shopping arcade and my thoughts turn to Eiko, a pretty student of mine who if I am not mistaken works in the area. Just as I’m thinking, I wonder where Eiko has lunch—speak of the Devil, Eiko walks by with, lo and behold, a bag of Pietro’s Mio Mio in her hand.

One of my most frequent greetings when I bump into people is: “I was just thinking about you!” I’m afraid they sometimes get the wrong impression, mistakenly believing I had been pining for them or, worse, stalking.

Similarly, I will envision someone falling, and a moment later, right before my very eyes, a woman will stumble down the stairs at the station, or a man will slip on the pavement. This happens so often I sometimes wonder if I am causing the pratfalls.

And so, the other day, I suggested to my wife that we might take our son to the airport to let him watch the planes take off and land.

“He’ll like that,” she replied.

“Oh, and while we’re there,” I said, “let’s pick up some Kasutadon.”

Kasutadon, a custard-filled sponge cake made of Satsuma sweet potatoes, is Japan’s answer to the Twinkie. Unlike the venerable Twinkie, which contains more than twice as many ingredients, Kasutadon will quickly spoil if not refrigerated. The airport happens to be one of the few places in Fukuoka City where the confection is sold. (That was the case in 2011 when I originally wrote this, but not any more!)

Hardly a minute had passed after saying that when the doorbell rang. It was my wife’s mother. The in-laws apparently had just come back from Kagoshima City and were now bearing gifts: a bottle of Tomi no Hōzan imo jōchū and—surprise, surprise—a bag full of Kasutadon.

When my mother-in-law left a few minutes later, I suggested to my wife that while we’re at the airport we also get some gold ingots and bags of cash, as well. Sadly, there were no more visitors or souvenirs to be had.

And that’s the downside of this otherwise extraordinary faculty of mine. I am not able to summon people or things to appear or happen when I’d like them to; I can only vaguely predict their arrival or occurrence a few moments early. Like I’ve said, this is not going to make me rich or famous anytime soon. 

Tomi no Hôzan with its gold label, however, does make me feel rich.

富乃宝山

Tomi no Hōzan

 A friend who seldom, if ever, drank imo jōchū, introduced me to Tomi no Hōzan. He claimed the brand was the only one he could drink. When I tried it myself, I could understand why.

The pungent sweet potato smell of imo jōchū usually divides drinkers into two camps: those who love it (me for one) and those who are revolted by it. If you belong to the latter, then you owe it to yourself to give Tomi no Hōzan a try.

Produced by Nishi Shuzô (Hioki City, central western Kagoshima Prefecture), Tomi no Hōzan is a premium shōchū made with carefully selected koganesengan (黄金千貫) satsuma sweet potatoes. Frequently described as “fruity”, it can be enjoyed on the rocks, or more preferably mixed with hot or cold water to bring out the bouquet.

Tomi no Hōzan’s fruity bouquet is the result of the use of yellow kōji, the fermentation starter which is normally employed in the brewing of saké. Although yellow kōjiwas at one time used in the production of most shōchū, it was replaced with black or white kōji in the warmer regions of Kyūshū because the temperature sensitivity of the yellow caused the moromi to sour easily during fermentation. Today, yellow kōji is sometimes used to produce certain limited varieties of imo jōchū such as Tomi no Hōzan.

Worth noting: in Kagoshima, drinking at the end of the day with dinner—what is known as banshaku (晩酌) throughout Japan—is called daréyamé (pronounced “daiyamé”) (疲止) in the local dialect, Kagomma-ben. Daré comes from tsukaré (疲れ, fatigue, exhaustion) and yamé from yameru (止め, “stop, end”).

Incidentally, I almost never trust a Monde Selection product, but this one was a good choice.

Hinatayama

One of the more enjoyable, andunexpected, things about becoming a father has been making new friends with other novice parents. Under different circumstances, I doubt I could have ever hit it off with someone like my wife’s best friend’s husband. The two of us have very little in common. More than ten years my junior and employed by a semi-government agency involved in public works, he is not, what you would call, the wildest and craziest of guys. And, while his is a world dominated by asphalt and concrete; mine is one of airy words and nebulous ideas.

What we do share, however, in addition to a love for our sons, of course, is a taste for shōchū. And that really is enough, isn’t it?

Why is it that the older you get the harder it is to make friends? When you were young all it took was living on the same cul-de-sac or sitting in adjacent desks in a classroom. We guys can become so goddamn stuffy as we age.

Anyways, our two families have made it a habit of getting together every three months or so to compare our sons’ growth (Their son is a mere two weeks older than our own). And every time we meet, we exchange a bottle or two of shōchūand picture books.

The other day when they visited, Masato brought a bottle of Hinata Yama shōchū. Made with beni Satsuma imo(locally grown red sweet potatoes, pronounced “sa-tsoo-MY-mo”), Hinata Yamais more fragrant than your average imo shōchū, yet doesn’t punch you in the nose the way, say, a yaki imojōchū(i.e. shōchūmade from baked or roasted sweet potatoes) can.[1]As for the best way to enjoy Hinata Yama, well, I’m afraid I drank the whole bottle on the rocks before getting around to trying it with water or hot water.Hic!

[1] Note that imo shōchū is actually pronounced imo jōchū with a “j”, as is koméjōchū, etc.

日向山

Hinatayama

Produced by Hinatayama Jōzō located in Hayato Town, Aira District, Kagoshima Prefecture. Aira District or Gun (姶良郡), located just north of Kagoshima City, was formally known as Shira Gun (始羅郡) until the Meiji Period.

Made with Kagoshima Beni (red) Satsuma sweet potatoes. Interestingly enough, sweet potatoes are not called “Satsuma potatoes” in Satsuma (i.e. Kagoshima), but karaimono.

25% Alc./Vol.

Just last week, I bumped into Masato on the train. I hadn’t seen him since my wife was pregnant with our second son. It would be nice if we could all get together again and clink glasses.