An Introduction to Sake (Part One)

Although sake has been brewed for centuries, it has been known in the western world for little over a hundred years. Sake distribution has greatly improved with the export and popularity of sushi culture, but only recently has high quality sake become available in the United States. The rich variety of styles and increased availability add to the appeal of this truly unique beverage, and extend its appraisal far beyond the sushi counter.

Drink of the Gods, a source of purity

In Japan, drinking sake has long been considered a way to get closer to the deities, in both ancient and modern culture. As a symbol, it is intimately connected with social and religious ceremony. The essential elements of sake brewing are rice and water, both powerful symbols in Japan. Rice has long been the staple food of Japan, a symbol of fertility and even a form of currency, while water is a universal symbol of purity.

The water used in crafting sake is perhaps the most defining element of its character, since water makes up at least eighty percent of its final volume. The ideal spring water contains traces of phosphates, potassium and magnesium, which assist in the brewing of sake. Water with these elements is sometimes called goshinsui, "holy water." The presence of iron and manganese hinder the process. The Kansai area has long been regarded as a brewing center because it has ideal water. Whether the water is hard or soft also determines how the sake will be crafted. Kobe is well known for its kosui (hard water), which favors full flavored brewing, while nearby Kyoto has nansui (soft water), allowing for a light and fragrant crafting.

Rice for One Purpose, polishing diamonds of starch

The best rice for brewing sake has a high starch content at its core. In fact, it is too starchy for human consumption. There are over one hundred varieties of rice in use today, some with formidable names like gohyakumangoku, tamazakae, miyama nishiki, and the most widely used yamada nishiki. The climate in Japan varies from region to region, and different varieties grow in these different climates. However, unlike wine, sake is not categorized by rice varietal, but by the amount of polishing the rice undergoes. By milling away the outer layers, which contain the bran, fats and proteins, the brewer reaches a more abundant layer of pure starch.

This high starch interior is called shinpaku, the "white heart." The impurities in the outer layers produce undesirable flavors. The more the rice is milled, the more expensive the sake will be. This is not unlike the higher prices commanded by low yield, high quality fruit on the vines of premium vineyards. The effect of milling the rice has a similar effect on the yield of production. It takes a lot of rice to make sake, since the water to grain ratio for brewing sake is 1.3 to 1 (in contrast to brewing beer, which has a water to grain ratio of 9:1). Obviously, if you are milling away half of this special rice, you will only have half of the final yield.

Koji, the Magical Mold

The polished rice is then washed and soaked in very exacting times, often with a stopwatch in hand. The size of the milled rice grain will affect the soaking time, so that the steaming of the rice can be as consistent as possible. This process is called gentei kyusui, "limited water absorption." The steaming is also carefully monitored, since overcooked rice will ferment too quickly for flavor development, and undercooked rice will only ferment on the outside.

A small portion of the steamed rice is inoculated with a special mold called koji. It takes about two days to complete the inoculation, which then resembles puffed rice with an aroma of roasted chestnuts. This miraculous mold is not a dark mildew, but rather a fragrant white mold that will later break down the starch molecules of the rice, and convert them into glucose, a process known as saccharification. Koji also provides its own unique flavor and aroma to the sake.

Once the koji is made, sake brewing can begin by making a yeast starter called shubo, colloquially known as moto. Shubo means "sake mother." It is formed by combining koji, water, steamed rice and yeast. In the modern sokujo method, lactic acid is added to hasten the development of the shubo. It creates a sour, high acid environment that inhibits the development of unwanted bacteria and wild yeasts. The koji begins to make the mash thick and sweet. the shubo is ready in about two weeks. The old-fashioned yamahai and kimoto methods allow the natural development of lactic acid, which acquires flavor from ambient yeasts and bacteria, and takes twice as long to develop shubo.

The Craft of Brewing

The shubo is now used to create the main mash called moromi. This is one of the most fascinating and unique processes of sake brewing. In order to maintain the temperature and acidic environment for the yeast culture, the volume of the mash must be gradually increased over a four day period. This process is called sandan shikomi, "three stage brewing." The moromi is doubled in size on the first day, then allowed to rest for one day. This is called the oroshi, the "dancing" of yeast cultures as they recover from the culture shock. Then the moromi is doubled on the third day, and again on the fourth day, when it reaches its final volume. With the yeast healthy, fermentation and saccharification happen simultaneously. This process is unique to sake brewing, known as multiple parallel fermentation.

The fermentation happens at low temperatures, a harsh environment for yeast. This stress on the yeast creates the desired fragrances and flavor of sake brewing. After about 25 days, the fermentation is completed between 18 and 20 percent alcohol. There are two classifications of sake in the market today. For honjozo sake, an addition of brewer's alcohol is added in order to extract some of the volatile fragrances that would otherwise remain with the solids that are to be pressed from the sake. No additions are allowed for junmai sake, which means "pure rice."

The sake is pressed to remove the kasu, or sake lees. Sake lees are used for pickles and soups in Japanese cuisine, just as the grape lees were once used for traditional coq au vin in French cuisine. This pressing of sake is achieved by means of a drip method for the highest grade sake, and usually by air pressing machinery (Yabuta press) for the vast majority. At this point, the sake is ready to drink.

Bottling and Sake Styles

There is an expression in Japanese, "sake zukuri ban ryu." They say that sake is the school of 10,000 ways, and this is certainly true throughout the process of making it. In the second part of this article, I will describe the various ways sake may be finished before and during bottling, which highlight different parts of its character. Terms like genshu, namazake, hiyaoroshi and nigori all describe how it is finished in these final stages. A beverage with 10,000 ways has a sake style for everyone.

Interactive Bar Codes reach America

Park Kitchen hosted an interesting business lunch this week. Cellar Key is launching a marketing application for wine which employs an interactive bar code. The 2d bar code are relatively unknown in America. You may have seen them before. Maybe you thought it was one of those holographic images that you have to stare at really hard before it comes into focus, and you just didn't have the time. Not knowing what it was, you didn't give it another thought. I was the same way until I began travelling in Japan, where they are absolutely everywhere. They were invented by Toyota back in 1994, and now they are on everything from posters and billboards to magazines and product labels.

These 2d codes are like a traditional (1d) bar code, but it has URL's embedded into it. Anyone who has a cell phone with a camera and internet access can utilize the interactive content. In this case, you can learn about Argyle Winery, their products and winemaking principles, see a video about the vineyard, and suggested pairings for the wines. If this ever catches on in America, the marketing sector should be the first to emerge from the economic crisis! And if we wanted to throw a really tech savvy luncheon, we would have printed these menus with soy based ink and edible paper, so you could eat the menu after surfing the web!

Cheers for Sake Day

The first day of October is Sake Day. In Japan, this day is called Nihonshu No Hi. The kanji symbol for sake is very similar to the tenth month of the asian lunar calendar, the rooster. This is also the traditional beginning of the sake brewing season, when the brewmaster goes to the shinto shrine to pray for a good brewing season. When the sake brewing culture emerged in the Edo period (1604-1868), the shogunate decreed that sake could only be brewed between the fall and spring equinox.

The traditional labor force was composed of farmers and fishermen, many of whom would be finishing their own trades for the season. After the rice was harvested, effectively a measure of currency, economic stability was determined, and the sake brewery could commence with their season of brewing.

Sake is extremely complimentary with many foods, and the entertainment of sake culture is perfectly expressed in the robust and rustic flavors of izakaya fare. In the vast metropolis of Tokyo, when you pass through the noren curtain of these small, often impossibly cramped, loud and bustling pubs, with every wall covered by hand-painted menu selections of food and drink, the spirit of celebration is captivating. There may be charcoal grilled skewers of chicken or beef, marinated seafood, tofu, pickles, sashimi, or even a few selections of naizo, old-fashioned dishes of innards or organ meats. This may include braised boar intestines, shark heart or fermented sea cucumber guts. The right sake can bring any one of these diverse offerings into an acute focus.

The best way to celebrate Sake Day is a night out at the local izakaya, and Portland is fortunate to have several great pubs to celebrate. Raise a glass at Zilla, Biwa, Tanuki or Yuzu, and offer a toast to the brewer's. Kanpai!

Oregon Chanterelles

There is a very good reason why the Pacific golden chanterelle is the official State mushroom of Oregon. With over 500,000 pounds of mushrooms harvested annually, cantharellus formosus is a thing of beauty and abundance in the Northwest. On a foraging trip this week with one friend, we harvested forty pounds of mushrooms in two hours! The chanterelle is one of the most diverse mushrooms in cooking combinations, pairing well with grains, fruits, beans, peppers, tomatoes, summer and fall squashes, poultry and wild game. For those that forage their own mushrooms, the chanterelle is one of the most delightful funghi of the wild, a field of bright orange buttons in on a carpet of green moss is a beautiful sight to behold, and a certain sign of the joy of autumn days.

I know that some restaurants, especially in the New England states, prefer high altitude bouchons, or high latitude chanterelles, such as the chanterelles of Saskatchewan. The Oregon chanterelle does grow quite fast in our climate, and can often become huge ragged trumpets. They aren't always as pretty as the cute little buttons of higher country, but I find the fragrance of our chanterelles to be the finest of its kind.

The Chester Story

It is always a delight to read the newsletters from Anthony Boutard of Ayer's Creek Farm. Equal measures inspiring farmer and scholarly historian, his work is a blessing to our agricultural community. This weeks newsletter shares the story of the Chester Blackberry, which I am passing on to all of you:

In the spring of 1968, Robert Skirvin, a student of the small fruit breeder, John Hull, emasculated blossoms on the blackberry selection SIUS 47, carefully removing all of the stamens to avoid self pollenation. The SIUS prefix indicated the plant is a product of the breeding program at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. Each breeding program has a specific prefix that helps keep track of a variety's ancestry. Later he dusted pollen from the blackberry variety "Thornfree" onto the receptive stigmas. "Thornfree" is a USDA selection of the legendary English blackberry "Merton Thornless." Unlike many early thornless varieties which were chimeric and unstable, the absence of thorns in "Merton" was a stable trait and useful for breeding purposes.

After the fruits ripened, the seeds were extracted and planted. Out of the many dozens of 1968 seedlings, three were noteworthy for their flavor, yield and thornless canes. Two would be released as named varieties, and a third wound up as the maternal parent of a named variety. Skirvin completed his masters and then moved on to Purdue where he studied geraniums and earned his PhD.

In 1973, the Southern Illinois Fruit Station was closed. Hull had the most promising plants moved to other experiment stations. The blackberries were sent to Profesor Zych who ran the small fruits program at the University of Illinois in Urbana. Zych died shortly afterward. Fortunately, Skirvin joined the small fruits program at Urbana and discovered that the blackberries he had bred many years earlier were still growing and producing fruit. He decided SIUS 68-6-17 was worth releasing as a named variety. As John Hull already has his name affixed to one of the 1968 progeny, "Hull Thornless," they decided to honor Professor Zych who acted as guardian of the berry. We were spared a berry named "Zych Thornless," because the breeders had the good sense to use his first name, Chester. SIUS 68-6-17 was formally released in 1985 as "Chester Thornless," and earned the honorific of "Outstanding Fruit Cultivar" in 2001.

Another selection from the 1968 breeding work of Hull and Skirvin was SIUS 68-2-5. That plant was pollenated with a blackberry from Arkansas, AK 545, and one of the resulting seedlings was released as "Triple Crown" in 1996. Its flavor bears the distinct signature of berries from the Arkansas program.

The Southern Illinois Fruit Station operated from 1959-1973. During that short time, four named blackberry varieties were released from its breeding program, in addition to several other small fruits. "Black Satin," "Dirksen Thornless," "Hull Thornless" and "Chester Thornless" remain highly regarded blackberry varieties. The great Senator Everett Dirksen, the master of eloquent barbs, had picked berries as a youth. Dirksen was a champion of the center, and it thrived under his patronage. When you hear people decry "pork barrel spending," and "earmarks," savor a fresh "Chester" and maybe that will soften any rising indignation.

Over the years, we have told the "Chester" story many times. Plant breeding is a craft unto its own, and we greatly admire people who explore the range of qualities available in a crop. The best breeders have this innate sense of how to guide and nudge the plant's unseen genetic qualities. Like other artists, they need patient patrons as well as inspiration.

The Things I Love About Switzerland (Part Three)

The world's greatest foods are produced in unique geography, the great hams of Spain, the whiskey of Scotland, the spices of India, and the cheeses of the Swiss Alps. Throughout Europe, the migration of pasturing animals is known as transhumance, and each region has it's particular ceremonies. In southern Switzerland, the ritual of transhumance is at the heart of the outstanding milk used to make some of the world's finest cheeses.

In May or June, when the snows have melted and the vegetation is lush and verdant, it is time for the migration of the black cows toward their alpine pastures for the hundred days of summer. These cows are called stacha in the Swiss dialect (or herens in French), meaning "to puncture," since they must battle each other to establish the hierarchy of the herd. This festival is called the Stachfascht, and determines which cow will be the queen for the season. Then the cows are groomed and decked with flowers, adorned with exquisitely embroidered straps and bells, and paraded up the mountain. This pageant is known as the alpaufzug (inalpe in French), and is commonly depicted in artworks, and painted on walls and facades of the chalets and farmhouses of Gruyere.

The summer days are spent in the pristine alpine pastures, and the cows are numbered to identify their various owners. My friends in the canton of Der Wallis (Valais), the Treyer family, have a summer cabin in the high Alps, and they often lease their mountain pastures for grazing. The luscious milk produced during these summer days in the high Alps is very rich in butterfat and herbal nuances, and has established the worldwide reputation of Swiss cheeses. In September, as the days grow cooler on the mountain, the herd is brought down before the snows return, and the celebration of alpabzug (desalpe) begins. For their triumphant return into the valleys, the cows are often immaculately groomed for beauty pageants, and twelve foot trumpets are sounded in their honor.

Regrettably, the variety of Swiss cheeses is little known in America. Generic "Swiss cheese" is often a cheap imitation of emmantal, a firm, sweet and nutty, unsalted cheese whose famous eyes or holes are created by carbon dioxide given off by the bacterial cultures during aging. Gruyere is also quite well known, a little more firm and intense than emmantal. Fresh cheeses like quark resemble the fromage blanc of France, and the outstanding double cream Vacherin Mont D'Or is creamy, with a washed rind, wrapped in a strip of bark for structure and aroma. One of my favorites is the tete de moine, which is a semi-firm, salty and sweet cheese that is made in small cylinders, and shaved into delicate curls with a clever tool called a girolle. The ancient Schabzieger had been made since medieval times, a thousand year tradition. The curd is powdered and ground with herbs like fenugreek and ziegerklee (shepherd's shamrock) before being pressed into little three ounce cones called stockli. At this point, it is a very shelf-stable condiment to be grated over any number of dishes and casseroles.

Most Swiss cheeses are best appreciated soft and warm. The croute au fromage is a rustic lunch of sliced toast and ham smothered with melted cheese, and if you like, a fried egg. It is a deep dish version of croque monsieur. The raclette holds a special place at the Swiss table. A half wheel of cheese is heated near the fire, or under a special grill, and scraped from the rind, served with warm, boiled potatoes, pickled vegetables, a few turns of the pepper mill, and a few glasses of the local fendant.

Undoubtedly, the quintessential cheese preparation is fondue au fromage. Fondue is served over a flame in a glazed earthenware or metal casserole called a caquelon. Grated cheeses are melted with white wine, garlic and kirsch, and eaten with skewers of cubed country bread, which you dip into the molten cheese and pop in the mouth while piping hot. The cheeses used are usually a blend of two or three, gruyere and vacherin, with additions of appenzell or bagnes according to your taste. The age and ripeness of the cheese is crucial to obtain the necessary smoothness in melting.

After the cheese has been devoured, there is often a brownish orange crust of caramelized cheese on the bottom of the caquelon. This is not some dreaded dishwashing chore, but the coveted pinnacle of the fondue experience. Use the skewer to peel the crust from the pot, and enjoy the slightly chewy, deep rich caramel snack the Swiss call the religieuse. It is named after the color of a nun's handmade garments, which it resembles, or perhaps the reverence with which it is eaten.

Dew Magic

Last year was my first season making nocino, the beloved digestive elixir made of green walnuts. In Italy, the walnuts are traditionally harvested on June 24th. This is mid summer's day, the day of San Giovanni by the Catholic calendar. They say there is something magical in the morning air, the nuts are covered with dew magic. Well, this year mother nature was moving things a little slower than usual. The nuts were less than half their mature size on mid summer's day. I waited another forty days before harvesting. I didn't know if there would be any dew magic lingering in July, but I was willing to give it a chance.

I wanted to try some variations inspired by Jim Dixon. I would make my traditional nocino, but instead of flavoring it with cinnamon and clove, I would try cinnamon and vanilla. The first stage of making nocino couldn't be easier. You pick the nuts before their hard shells form, slice or smash them, and macerate them with alcohol. If you want to add flavorings, throw them in the jar as well.

Then you wait. I usually just set the jars out in the garden, exposed to sunlight for about sixty days. At this point, you need to dilute the alcohol level with sugar syrup. If you start with 95% alcohol, you will want to cut it at least 50%, but be careful of the balance of sugar and alcohol. It should be bitter, not sweet, and it should be a sipping drink. I like the balance at about 75 proof, but many people like it a little more mellow at 60 proof. It's up to you. After the flavors have fully developed, you'll need to strain it and discard the solids. There will also be a good amount of sediment, so filter or decant, or both. Then bottle it and finish a hearty autumn or winter meal with a nice digestif.

I had heard of another green walnut liqueur, but hadn't tried vin de noix until this year. As the name implies, this is a French variation using both distilled alcohol and wine. I was surprised at how smooth it was, and the flavors were very pleasantly balanced. I was expecting it to be very astringent and tannic, but that wasn't on the palate at all. The method is even more direct, since you use wine instead of the sugar syrup, you can mix everything in one stage. In fact, some people make their nocino in one stage using a lower proof spirit like vodka instead of hard alcohol, but the walnut infusion is not as good. The recipe is very similar, but the leaves are also used in vin de noix.

Now the jars are sitting patiently in the garden, soaking up the sun and the walnut's power. Although San Giovanni wasn't blessing the process this year, I hope I've captured a few drops of the dew magic.