I’ve penned this column for years, and I’ve been interested in craft beer for many more, so I rarely encounter a column topic about which I know virtually nothing. This month is one those rare occasions: the unique universe of knowledge and flavor regarding saké.
It all came about when my friend Bennett posted a link for a Long Beach saké festival in October, organized by a shop called Saké Secret. I immediately reached out to the shop and was greeted with a response from the shop’s owner, Greg Beck. He invited me to visit the shop and to speak to saké specialist Yuhki Fukusumi, who could guide me on this new adventure.
First, it’s necessary to understand what saké is. It is often incorrectly referred to as “rice wine.” What it more resembles, in fact, is beer. However, it is a bit more complicated: Where beer is made by converting starches into sugars and then fermenting, with sake, a fungus formally named Aspergillus oryzae (known in Japan as koji) helps convert the starches into sugars.
There is also the matter of the rice itself, and how “polished” it is beforehand.
“Polishing,” Fukusumi tells me, “is simply another term for milling. In the sake world, seimai-buai (the rice polishing/milling ratio) indicates how much of the rice grain remains after removing the outer layers (which contain the bran, proteins and lipids). A ginjo sake, with a rice polishing ratio of 60%, has had 40% of the outer layer removed. A premium daiginjo sake, with a ratio of 50%, has had 50% removed.”
More generally, Fukusumi said, “removing the outer layers focuses fermentation purely on the starchy core. This yields lighter, cleaner, fruitier and more elegant sake. Because more rice is milled away, these are generally more expensive to produce.”
However, Fukusumi insisted that we don’t get too hung up on all of this polishing business. “Many people pay far too much attention to the seimai-buai. The main gist of what I am encouraging is to focus on it less. I am not suggesting we ignore the seimai-buai or that it is uninteresting or not important, but merely that we should not focus on it above and beyond any one of another 50 factors. Most say that going beyond 40 percent is fairly meaningless in that the sake will not be intrinsically better just because of more milling.”
With all of that out of the way, let’s talk about taste. Bennett suggested we share two curated flights of three sakés each: the Natsuzake (or “Summer Flight”) and the Nama (or “Umami Flight.”). (Nama refers to unpasteurized saké.)
Each of the six sakés was decidedly distinct from one another, and my head was swimming. I was a fool to not consider the entire universe contained within this ancient beverage.
We began with the Ryusei Black “Yamada 50.” I noticed some apple, a touch of saison-like funk, and a beery sort of grain finish as it warmed. The Shichida Natsujun had a bit of a white-wine nose and flavor, a touch of sweetness, and a cleaner finish. Denshin Natsu finished out the first flight with its Japanese cherry and cotton candy notes, showing some floral overtones as it warmed.
Now for what are considered more “challenging” sakés for the beginner: the Umami Flight. The Terada Honke “Katori 90” might have been the winner of the bunch for me. I never knew you could get caramel from a saké, but lo and behold, there it was. It was very refined and a lovely aftertaste. It really made me think of what dessert I would pair it with—perhaps bread pudding. It probably would go very well with steak, too.
Tae no Hana “Sublime Beauty” was next with a spiced pear/savory flavor. This was the only saké I tried where I detected some astringency, but it didn’t detract from the overall experience. I forgot to ask if it was appropriate for a saké to ever be astringent. Google tells me it is, but only in small doses (such as this one), but I won’t pretend that Google is always correct (although it did help me interpret arcane parking signs in Santa Monica and let me know that, yes, I could park there without feeding the meter at that moment). Finally, the Chochin “5055” perplexed me a little. I got a touch of wood and a floral note that one gets from distilled alcohol. It was dry and definitely didn’t burn like booze.
Each of the six sakés was decidedly distinct from one another, and my head was swimming. I was a fool to not consider the entire universe contained within this ancient beverage.
We walked to the fridges to get some goodies to go. Fukusumi threw a couple of recommendations at me, and I blindly followed them. The results were also excellent; one had a kind of cider vibe, while another had more umami and finished like a strong wine; the last was slightly sweet, tart and floral. Two of the three were in small cans—with a resealable plastic top, if you just wanted a few sips.
My initial foray into saké was a massive success. It brought me new experiences (including an excellent sandwich across the street at Anna’s Joint), a chance encounter with friends, and something new to write about. I now look forward to the upcoming saké festival and cooler weather in October. Special thanks to Greg and Yuhki at Sake Secret for accommodating me!
