Sake and sushi may have seemed like part of a broad Japanese fad back in the 80s, but while movies like Gung-ho have faded into
Michael Keaton’s back-catalog, Japanese cuisine has pressed on. However, while many have gotten their head around the differences between sashimi, tuna’s various cuts, rolls, and maki, sake remains fairly mysterious.
Hot sake has set itself in our imagination as the norm, but back in Japan, that’s not the case. Imagine if you visited Germany and came back with the idea that Glühwein–Germany’s traditional hot, mulled wine–was the norm, and missed out on all the Rieslings, the TBAs, the Eisweins, and so on.
I’d be exaggerating somewhat if I said that’s happening whenever a carafe of hot, alcoholic sake hits the table, but you get the idea. Yes, there are sakes that taste good hot, and times when hot sake is just the right thing, but as a drinking experience, it doesn’t aspire to the diversity and complexity of the chilled version. In fact, many quality sakes don’t take well to warming; it essentially cooks off the aromatics, and emphasizes the alcohol.
The first barrier in getting up to speed on sake is simply getting the names and vocabulary to stick in the head. High school French or even a feeling for the basic cognates common in European languages, so useful in learning about wine, are no use here. Some importers have begun translating their products’ names into English, which can be a help. (The practice can also have amusing results: Literally translated, the Takasago Ginga Shizuku becomes ‘Drips all night.’ The term has to do with a special brewing technique, and is rendered more appealing in English as ‘Divine Droplets.’ Similarly, the literal ‘Drunken Poet’ becomes ‘Wandering Poet,’ as direct references to intoxication on alcoholic products are forbidden by U.S. law). I haven’t found any tricks to make the Japanese terms stick in my head, but it’s not too hard to get used to the basic vocabulary.
Understanding the basics of sake brewing helps put that vocabulary in context. The term ‘rice wine’ is misleading; in fact, ‘rice beer’ would be more accurate, even though the alcohol of sake far exceeds the typical beer (and most wines, too; they generally fall in the 15%-17% range). The raw ingredient in wine-grapes–comes ‘pre-equipped’ from the vineyard with the sugars that the yeasts need to make alcohol. Rice, like the grains used in making beer, contains starches, which need to be converted into sugars before fermentation is possible. In beer brewing, this is accomplished by malting.
Sake brewers rely on other means. After the rice has been milled (more on that later), soaked, and steamed, a mold called ‘koji’ is cultivated on it, which converts the starch into sugar. Then water and yeast are added, and fermentation can take place. Pressing, filtering, and pasteurization follow. There are any number of variations or additions to this basic procedure, giving brewers the chance to steer their sake in various directions; as with beer and wine, different ingredients–rices, yeasts, koji types, or water–can influence the outcome.
But there’s no reason to start with learning the names of the different rice varieties. While brewers may keenly debate the virtues of different strains, once the rice goes through the sake brewing process, any character they might possess will be obscure to all but the most experienced sake tasters.
The most useful breakdown in sake centers not on the materials, but on the brewing. First of all, there is a basic split between junmai (or junmai-shu) sakes, which are made purely from rice, and honjozo sakes, wherein an amount of flavorless brewers alcohol is added. The latter style developed after World War II, allowing brewers to increase production cheaply. Some honjozo sakes use limited amounts of alcohol to give added smoothness, an especially successful technique with drier sakes. However, few quality honjozo sakes are imported into the U.S., and while there are exceptions, few honjozos are meant for more than everyday drinking.
The thing you really want to know about a premium sake is usually how much the rice is milled. Milling is a necessity–at the very least, about 30% of the outside of each rice grain needs to be ground away, removing the brown outer coating–if off flavors are to avoided. At this point, there are still quite a few proteins on the remaining grain, contributing earthy, spicy notes and often a touch of perceptible acidity, which can be reassuringly familiar to the wine drinker. Most brewers then aim for a fuller-bodied style to support these flavors. These sakes–assuming no added alcohol–will be labeled simply ‘junmai.’
The term ‘ginjo’ means that milling has gone further–down to 60% or less of the original grain size. As the interior of the rice grain gets more opportunity to express itself, more fruity flavors appear, and often a note of licorice. Brewers often aim for a lighter body to balance with these aromas. A third category, ‘daiginjo,’ requires the rice be milled to less than 50% its original size, bringing out further fruit and delicate floral aromas. Very little, if any, rice-like flavors will remain, and acidity will most likely be invisible.
Because making a daiginjo inherently requires more rice than an equivalent volume of ‘basic’ junmai–the rest having been milled away–they tend to be more expensive. To some extent, they are also higher quality, if only because the brewer gives their daiginjo extra attention to ensure it merits the price. However, it’s really more appropriate to think of junmai, junmai-ginjo, and junmai-daiginjo as three different styles of sake, each with their set of aromas and textures. As a sommelier, I often make a point of including a junmai sake when I do pairings for guests, even when their connoisseurship (or pocketbook) suggests they only want ‘the best.’ They’re often surprised to find that the style does, indeed, have a lot to offer.
That’s it. Three basic divisions, and you’re ready to taste. What, no terroir? No regions to learn, cool-climate vs. hot-climate considerations?
Well, yes and no. Some regional differences are apparent, but there are almost too many exceptions for it to be worthwhile here to try to single out the ‘sake character’ of individual prefectures. And it’s not really terroir, since the differences are at least as much about the environment affecting the brewery as the rice paddy. Broadly speaking, cooler regions in the north and to the east tend to make lighter, more elegant sakes. Warmer areas generally produce sakes with more weight and richness. However, modern transportation means brewers are no longer tied to local rice, and fermentation temperatures can be manipulated, so there’s plenty of room to maneuver.
Inland breweries, historically, have also tended toward more powerful sakes, often with more apparent acidity. However, this is for cultural, rather than environmental, reasons – but reasons a wine drinker can appreciate. At the coast, the delicate flavors of fresh fish are readily available, and lighter, less expressive sakes pair well with them. Inland communities were more dependent on pickling and salting for preservation, and their sakes needed more power to stand up to those flavors. Again, modern refrigeration has eradicated the reasons for these differences.
The third source of regionality is the training system for master brewers (‘toji’). The guild system has traditionally been quite rigid and conservative, and local guilds jealously guarded their techniques and even their yeast or koji strains from outside brewers. This has changed, and many brewers have supplemented their guild training by exploring sake production in other parts of Japan. Learning the trade has also become academicized to some degree, and now even the guilds encourage formal study of chemistry and fermentation. At today’s breweries you’re likely to find someone whose training strikes a balance between traditional and modern; breweries are exploiting that training to diversify the style of their products in the market.
So there’s still plenty of variety to explore; it’s just not as organized and predictable as you might want it to be. On the plus side, with no varietals to get your head around, and less reason to learn about the different prefectures, the vocabulary problem is considerably reduced. However, if this account is starting to make sake seem too easy, here’s a miscellaneous list of terms and techniques to keep you occupied:
Tokubetsu: Think of this as meaning ‘reserve.’ Generally, it means an unspecified but higher amount of milling, or a different brewing procedure, but like ‘reserve’ in most wine appellations, its meaning is pretty fuzzy.
Nigori: White, cloudy sake; the post-fermentation sediment–rice and koji, mostly–isn’t filtered out, and lends texture and some flavor to the sake. These are generally made in a sweeter style.
Yamahai: This term is often associated with a ‘wild yeast’ style, but that’s not quite right. In your usual sakes some lactic acid is added after the koji as a preservative, much the way sulfur is used in winemaking. In a yamahai sake, the brewer does without, but instead lets wild bacteria and yeasts find there way into the mash. One of these happens to produce lactic acid, and eventually that acidity takes over and clears out all the wild microorganisms; only then does the brewer add the yeast culture. The end result is higher acidity, lots of nutty, earthy aromas, and a more assertive mouthfeel.
Nama: Namazakes are un-pasteurized, which means they’re much more delicate and prone to spoil. They tend to have spice, grassy, and tart fruit aromas, with some crispness to the finish. These still aren’t all that common in the U.S., as they’re fragile and require careful transport.
Kijoshu: This is the port of the sake world. Finished sake is added to some which is still brewing, and the sudden increase in alcohol stops the fermentation process. A rich, sweet, dessert-style sake.
Sparkling: There’s no Champagne tradition here; just plain old carbonation. These can be fun, though; mildly sweet and refreshing, they make great aperitifs.
Sake with Food
Wine, with its higher acidity, tannins, oak, etc., is more complicated with food than sake. On the other hand, a perfect pairing involving sake can be very satisfying and exciting. The ‘chemistry’ of sake pairing is simpler, and I generally find sake is more cooperative, if less dynamic, with food than wine. It definitely deserves consideration with more than just Japanese food.
Junmai sakes, with their fuller body, earth, and spice, are often the best choices for fatty or oily dishes, like meats or stews. They don’t bring the palate-cleansing tannins that make red wines so good with steak, but they have sufficient assertiveness to maintain their flavor profile.
Ginjo and Daiginjo sakes work well with all sorts of light fish and seafood dishes, cooked or raw, where junmais can be a bit too much. The tart touch of a namazake does well with dishes that include citrus elements. Sweeter varieties go well with the spice of Southeast Asian cuisines.
I find yamahai sakes the most wine-like with food, given their complex mix of flavors and acidity. The latter attribute means they go particularly well with fried foods.
Some Particular Sakes:
Dewazakura ‘Oka’ Ginjo, Yamagata Prefecture: Fragrant
and light, with floral, pear, and melon notes. Mildly sweet and smooth. A great ‘intro’ sake, well-balanced and with no outlandish characteristics that might throw the beginner.
Dewazakura ‘Izumi-Judan’ Ginjo, Yamagata Prefecture: Full-bodied, dry, and very pure and minerally, with a slight touch of juniper and grain–vaguely reminiscent of a Dutch genever. This is the other end of the ginjo style; less aromatic than the Oka, but emphasizing the style’s elegance and mouthfeel.
Yuki No Bosha Junmai Daiginjo, Akita Prefecture: A medium-bodied Daiginjo, with a creamy texture and lots of malty, caramel, and ripe fruit aromas–apricot, fig, and quince. Fairly dry, the sweetness being more a matter of mouthfeel than flavor.
Sato no Homare ‘Kakunko’ Nama Junmai Daiginjo, Ibaragi Prefecture: Medium-bodied and very fragrant, with great length and elegance. This shows a wide range of fruity notes–melon, strawberry, pineapple–plus some floral and light anise notes on the palate, with a citrusy finish.
Rihaku Nigori Tokubetsu Junmai (Dreamy Clouds), Shimane Prefecture: This is a well-made Nigori, with a rich texture from the rice sediment but none of the chunkiness that occurs in some. It is moderately sweet, with aromas of plum, acorn squash, and raw cashew.
Urakasumi ‘Zen,’ Junmai Ginjo, Miyagi Prefecture: A dry, elegant, medium-bodied sake. Not very aromatic, but with some light licorice, melon, and mineral notes.
Masumi ‘Nanago’ Yamahai Junmai Daiginjo, Nagano Prefecture: A great earthy aroma, complemented by green apple, spice, and mild brazilnut notes. Medium-bodied, this sake is moderately sweet, but the acidity from the yamahai brewing method counters the sugar, so it finishes cleanly.
Suijin Junmai, Iwate Prefecture: Classic Junmai style, full-
bodied and dry. Spices–coriander, anise–dominate the nose, but earthy touches join in on the palate.
Naruto Tai Junmai Ginjo, Tokushima Prefecture: Mixes 60% yamahai method with ‘normal’ yeast development, which definitely shows in the richness, power, and acidity. A sake that shows lots of earth, malt, and grain aromas, as well as touches of plum and quince.
Hanahato Kijoshu, Hiroshima Prefecture: Not just fortified, but also aged in wood for eight years, lending caramel and walnut aromas to fruit touches of raisin and dried fig. This is as sweet as a Malmsey Madeira, but a little lighter in body, and more aromatic.
Jim Clarke is the Wine Director at MEGU, a contemporary Japanese restaurant in Manhattan. He has written about wine and spirits for the New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Foreign Policy, and elsewhere, and is the Wine and Spirits Editor at StarChefs.com.