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.
破壊王
Hakaiō
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
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.
For a relaxing time, make it Sun . . . On second thought, make it daiyamé time with Yamato Zakura from Ichiki Kagoshima.
At ¥2,600 a bottle, this shōchū cost two to three times more than other shōchū but more than makes up for it in flavor. It also has a higher alcohol content (35% Alc.Vol.) than most shōchū.
Made with murasaki Imo (purple sweet potatoes)
Produced by Yamato Zakura Shuzō, located in Ichiki Kushikino City in the northeastern part of Kagoshima prefecture.
丹素
Shinkubi Arai no Shōchū Tansu
There’s a shop in Nakasu[1] that specializes in shōchū from Kagoshima. Naturally, I thought that would be the perfect place to go to find something special.
I asked the clerk for a jōchū that really stank, something that stood out as a distinctive imo shōchū (potato shōchū), and she gestured to a bottle on the top shelf. A few hundred yen more than the other bottles, the label stated that it was bangai, an “extra” or “additional” shōchū that had been produced in addition to the distillery’s main products.
Why not? I thought and bought it.
Wasting no time, I opened the bottle just after arriving home and, well, I wasn’t impressed. It had the distinct imo smell, but it wasn’t as strong as I would have liked. The flavor, both on the rocks and mizuwari (mixed with water) wasn’t impressive, either.
Perhaps I’m just a boob and wouldn’t know a good shōchū if I were rapped against the head with a bottle, but I don’t think I’ll be buying this shōchū again.
Mind you, it wasn’t so repulsive that I couldn’t finish the whole bottle. Waste not, want not, right?
Kampai!
新首あらいの焼酎 丹素 Shinkubi Arai no Shôchû Tansu
25% Alc/Vol
Rate: ★★★
薩摩富士
Satsuma Fuji
There was a time that I thought I might be able to earn a comfortable living by translating and proofreading. The idea was that when I had gained enough contracts and had a reliable clientele list, I would no longer be confined to bricks and mortar. I would be able to work anywhere so long as I had my MacBook Pro and a good Internet connection, say in Beirut’s Centré Ville, or in a kneipe in Hamburg, on even a lanai overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii.
For a while it worked. Whenever I traveled, I could still do some translation work. While I was in Rome visiting a sister, I would bang out a page of translation, do some writing, then around lunchtime go out and wander the city. I did it again while in Oregon for a month-long visit with family. But then, the novelty wore off, and though I was not confined to a cubicle, like a broiler hen, I was still tethered to a master, many of them, who were demanding and selfish. They would take their time getting a draught off to you, only to request that it be returned within a few days’ time. Before long, I was working through weekends. I was working late into the night nearly every night after my day job finished. And worst, because the deadlines forced me to prioritize the translation work, I seldom got my own writing done.
And so, after a year of translating, I threw in the towel.
Today, I only translate things in which I have a personal interest or jobs, which come to me from friends or students, people to whom I can’t easily say “No”.
One of the funny things about the work is that I often get the same job from different people. Fukuoka City Hall will renew its homepage, say, and ask a local translator to do the translation. Even though the changes will be relatively minor, they will have the whole thing redone all the same, and because rules are rules, they are obliged to ask a different translator to do the work regardless the translator’s ability as a Japanese to English translator. And because I teach many of the translators and interpreters working in this city, the job of proofreading invariably falls to me.
Let me note that I don’t merely proofread these translations; I do an major overhaul of the text, editing and rewriting it to such an extent that the finished product often bares little resemblance to what had been handed over to me. More often than not, the translation is so awful that I am obliged to request the original Japanese text and translate it myself. Needless to say, it can be time-consuming and poorly compensated work. Hence, my desire to distance myself from these jobs.
Sometimes, however, I just can’t say, “No”.
A month ago, I reluctantly accepted a proofreading job which quickly morphed into a translation job. We were putting together a book for foreign residents living in the city of Yanagawa. It instructed foreigners on how to register their domicile, what documents are needed when getting married, how to open a bank account, and so on.
The work was seemingly endless and needed so much re-working that the woman who had asked for my help was guilt-ridden by the time we completed the translation. As an act of contrition she paid me handsomely for the work and gave me an exceptionally good bottle of shōchū.
“I don’t drink myself,” she said meekly, “so I asked the clerk at the department store to recommend a bottle.”
One sip of Satsuma Fuji and all was forgiven.
Kampai!
薩摩富士 (Satsuma Fuji)
25% Alc/Vol
Rate: ★★★★
黒若潮
Kuro Wakashio
For a “lower shelf” imo jōchū—a bottle costs less than ¥1,000—Kuro Wakashio (黒若潮) is a remarkably good sweet potato shōchū. I’ve tried a number of more expensive brands lately, but I keep coming back to Kuro Wakashio. It has a full body, good nose without being overwhelming. Love it.
Kampai!
25% Alc./Vol.
Made with Koganesengan sweet potatoes and black kōji.
Produced by Wakashio of Shibushi Machi, Shibushi-shi, Kagoshima prefecture (鹿児島県志布志市志布志町). Try to say that five times fast!
I would have to say the prize for the most ridiculous address in Japan goes to the Shibushi Branch Office of the Shibushi City Hall which is located in Shibushi of Shibushi-chô in Shibushi City, Kagoshima prefecture:
(しぶしし・しぶしちょう・しぶしの・しぶし・しやくしょ・しぶし・ししょ)
That is, "Shibushi-shi Shibushi-chô Shibushi no Shibushi Shiyakusho Shibushi Shisho".
I've heard that a chic and dashing man by the name of Mr. Shigeru Shibu works at that office.
黒白波
Kuro Shiranami
It’s always nice to pop in the local sake shop and pick up something new.
(Kuro Shiranami isn’t technically new—I think it’s been around for decades—but this was my first time to try it.)
Shiranami produces a fairly generic line of imojōchū (sweet potato shōchū) and other distilled products. This particular product—Kuro (黒, black), which is made with black kōji (麹) fermentation starter, has a deeper flavor and, can I say, body compared to imojōchū made with other types of kōji. (More on that later.)
Shiranami Kuro is a pleasant drink. Not off-putting like some other “kuro” imojōchū can sometimes be for those new to the drink and the price (less than ¥900) makes for affordable experimentation.
I can see myself buying this again.
Wait! Stop the presses! I have drunk Shiranami Kuro before. It's this shorter, stout bottle that's new to me. 720 ml instead of the usual 900 ml. I think I have been had. Oh, well. I enjoyed it all the same.
さつま白波黒
Satsuma Shiranami Kuro
Shiranami Kuro is produced by Satsuma Shuzō in Makurazaki, a small town of 22,000 located on the southern coast of the Satsuma peninsula. Makurazaki is famous for katsuo-bushi, dried bonito fish flakes, which is used to make soup stock. The whole town is said to smell of bonito. The terminus of JR’s southernmost train line is also located there.
25% Alc./Vol.
The "kuro" in Kuro Shiranami, as I mentioned above, comes from the kuro kōji (black malt starter) used in the manufacturing process. Like Tomi no Hōzan and Satsuma Fuji, Kuro Shiranami is also made kogané sengan sweet potato. Shiranami's website says Kuro can be enjoyed mixed with water, hot water, on the rocks, or straight. Seems anything goes with this shōchū.