Ginjo-shu: More Than Just Milling
In just about any educational material about sake, we read or hear that the main difference between premium grades of sake like ginjo-shu and regular non-premium sake is the milling of the rice. Specifically, for ginjo sake the rice has been milled much more, and down to a specified degree before brewing. The more the rice is milled, the higher the grade of sake. Short and sweet, and easy to remember. Yeppir.
While true, beneath the surface of that truth is another, and that is that rice milling is just the tip of the iceberg. In reality, there are a gazillion little things that are done differently in the processes used to make premium sake versus regular sake. At least a gazillion.
Of course, the milling is, in fact, very important. This removes the fat and protein that are found in the outer regions of the rice grains, leaving a higher ratio of starch, and leading to a more refined sake.
But how, beyond the milling, does brewing ginjo differ from brewing regular sake? Basically at every step of the process. Each step is done with increased attention to detail that adds a bit more quality with each successive step, leading to a significantly better sake in the end.
Concretely, what changes? For example…
Once the rice is milled, it is soaked and then washed to remove the clinging rice powder, and to adjust the moisture content. For cheap sake, the rice will be washed and soaked in fairly large vats and lots; that will get almost all the powder off and get the moisture content into the ballpark in a fairly
efficient way.
But for ginjo brewing they wash the rice even more thoroughly, and soak in much smaller lots to attain uniformity of moisture across each grain in the batch, and also to get that moisture content to within a half a percent of target. While that was easy to write for me, it is not easy to accomplish. Do not let the significance of that precision be lost on you.
Doing that every single day to a ton or rice at one time takes skill, experience, and attention to detail. In fact, washing and soaking may be the one step where the difference is the most visible to us mortals.
And this lunacy continues with each step. Steamed rice for regular sake goes along a conveyor belt and cold air is blasted through it, but for ginjo, often it is spread out on straw mats to cool down slowly and naturally. The difference in the effort expended is huge. It is almost as if the sake gods conspired to ensure that the more hassle-laden the work is, the better the sake will be.
While less visible, koji-making is where it really gets nuts. Koji, that moldy rice that supplies enzymes for saccharification, as well as much so much flavor-augmenting amino acids, can be made using machines, and/or in huge-ass lots in which the moisture and temperature are not consistent throughout. But for ginjo, koji is often made in trays as small as 1.5 kilos, and then checked every two hours across the 48 or so hours it takes to make. Every. Two. Hours. This helps ensure that every single grain of rice sees the same temperature and humidity, and provides the same enzymatic power.
On to the yeast starter: Ginjo is usually made with different yeast strains, and in yeast-starter rooms that are kept much colder than average to thwart wayward bacteria from proliferating.
Next, fermentation itself. In short, regular sake is fermented in
large tanks leading to
large yields with
large
efficiency. Ginjo is always made in smaller tanks, as it is easier to keep the temperature consistent across the whole mash. With a huge tank, the temperature in the center of the mash will not be the same at the bottom, top or sides of the tank. Ginjo tanks will be jacketed too, with coolant running through those jackets at the flip of a sensor-driven switch to help keep temperature appropriately low no matter how warm or cold it is outside.
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But wait! There’s more! Once fermentation is complete, the sake is pressed to remove the rice lees. This can be done in a handful of ways, some mundane yet good and some extravagant. You have likely surmised by now that ginjo is made using the much more extravagant, low-yield, hassle laden methods. Even when pressing by machine, a recent trend is to put the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside a refrigerated room to eliminate the activity of bacteria that can damage aromas.
Pasteurization for cheap sake is done roughly and quickly, with stability being the goal. Ginjo is pasteurized in one of a handful of methods each with a handful more variations that try to ensure stability but retain liveliness. Not only is the method important but the timing is paramount as well. For regular sake, such attention to detail is simply not justifiable.
Each one of these adds just a bit to the mix and that incrementally leads to better ginjo. And all of the explanations of each one of the steps above could have been expounded upon ad nauseum to further illustrate the point. But I figured readers have a few better things to read; and you all likely get the point.
Interestingly, all of this has trickled down to once lowly junmai-shu. In other words, the junmai-shu of today is brewed using the ginjo techniques described above, whereas a few decades ago it was more commonly brewed in basically the same way as cheap futsuushu (regular sake). The methods, tools, and attention to detail were the same as very cheap sake; only the milling of the rice and the addition of distilled alcohol were different.
As such, the junmai-shu of just a few decades ago rarely boasted the fine lines of distinction that much of today’s junmai offers. While it was hardly rough stuff, it was not nearly as smooth, genteel, lively or aromatic as the average junmai-shu today – which tends to push the ginjo envelope.
Some less than optimal flavors and aromatics can be particularly pronounced in just-brewed sake; so a bit of maturity – like six months to a year – works wonders in mellowing and melding the various elements. Pasteurization also helps in taking the edge off. As such, the junmai of olde was rarely drunk young, or nama (unpasteurized). It just wasn’t enjoyable enough in that just-pressed state.
But these days, junmai-shu is much more light, aromatic, soft, refined and layered. In fact, of late, the term “fruity” lends itself to many a junmai-shu description. In particular, banana and melon. And much junmai – as well as ginjo – can now be enjoyed very soon after brewing, and as nama too. This evolution is a result of it being made much more like lofty ginjo-shu and daiginjo-shu, and less like plebian futsuu-shu.
Note, though, that not all brewers are making junmai-shu in these ginjo-esque ways. And there are increasingly glaringly obvious differences between the dos and the do-nots. But certainly the basic visible trend is that junmai-shu has approached ginjo-shu and left futsuu-shu behind.
In truth, it is not as clear cut as the above. Not all regular sake is made in the rough ways, and not all ginjo is made using every one of the precision-driven steps above. But in general, the differences are as laid out here.
Both junmai-shu styles and ginjo-shu styles (including daiginjo styles, i.e. “ginjo to die for”) have been evolving for 40 years, and will continue to do so. And that evolution will take place in countless small ways, mostly outside of the milling process. So yes, it is about the milling of the rice, but it is about so much more as well.
Weather, Rice and On-the-fly Adjustments
As alluded to in the introduction, the month of April is chock full o’ sake tastings, both industry-focused and consumer-oriented. Usually these are run by distributors with dozens of brewers that each have a range of products to taste and about which to ask questions. Sometimes there are two in one day; and one can easily taste hundreds of sake in that eight hour period. It is exhausting, but important.
Far more important to me than actually tasting all those sake is interacting with the representatives from the kura, be they brewing personnel, or company directors. The information exchange is invaluable. Via such discussions, we can learn how this year’s rice is behaving, how the weather affected that, what new rice or yeast did they start or stop using, and what else affected how this year’s sake will turn out. Then, we can taste and confirm all that.
Groups and gangs of sake promotions notwithstanding, one of the tastings I look forward to each year is held by one brewer only, Hirako Shuzo of Miyagi Prefecture, the brewers of Hitakami sake, and run by the president Takahiro Hirai. I enjoy this particular tasting so much since Hirai-san, with whom I have been friends for a long, long time, likes to talk. He prepares a short presentation on much that transpired over the last year, and about the sake we are about to taste. And it is always educational.
The tasting itself is primarily for retailers and restaurant staff, and is held in a small, simple room in the building of his Tokyo distributor, in a drab but old and classic Tokyo neighborhood. Large bottles of this year’s brew are lined up on long, narrow tables, flanked with spittoons every meter or two.
Each bottle is labeled with the number of the tank from whence it came. The handout received upon entering gives us the necessary information: “Tank #37, Junmai-shu, Hitomebore rice milled to 60%, Miyagi Yeast, Nama Genshu, Nihonshudo 5, Acidity, 1.5”, and maybe a comment or two on what might be special. And so on down the line. Furthermore, we were given the date on which the sake was pressed, i.e. the day fermentation ended.
As we taste, every hour or so he sits everyone down and explains a handful of things. Hirai-san has a knack for saying interesting things to a fairly educated audience, and he did not disappoint this year. Admittedly, he goes a bit deeper than even the average sake geek might be interested. But hey.
The summer was a comparatively cold one, or at least not so hot. This means that the rice ends up softer, which in turn means it dissolves more quickly than hard rice. If the rice does not dissolve well, the sake will be short on flavor and richness. But the other side of the coin is that soft rice can dissolve too quickly and uncontrollably, and that leads to sloppy, cloying and rough flavors. So, in short, an expectation of soft rice makes brewers nervous. And that effects how they process the rice.
In particular, it affects how they soak the rice before steaming. If rice is expected to dissolve quickly, this can be countered by limiting the amount of water it is permitted to absorb. This will slow down the speed of dissolution.
To make matters even more challenging, when the weather is cold like it was this past summer, there is a lack of uniformity in the rice in terms of how fast it absorbs water. So some grains absorb too quickly, others just right, and others not at all. This makes it hard for brewers to control how it dissolves during the month-odd fermentation, since some grains have absorbed more water than others due to that lack of uniformity.Hirai-san explained their countermeasures.
“In short, we were cautious; in fact, we erred on the side of caution. So we did not let the rice absorb enough water, and the sake flavors were too tight, and not quite rich enough. And, so, we countered that in turn by letting the sake sit longer before pasteurizing it. In so doing, enzymes remaining from the koji convert left-over starch molecules to sugar; furthermore, the flavor gets richer and more
umami laden in general.”
Enzymes are deactivated by heat, so as long as they do not pasteurize the sake, the enzymes will still do their job – however, they only function in a narrow temperature range. So too cold and they do not work, but too hot and they are deactivated forever.
“The tricky part,” continues Hirai-san, “was that once we measured and tasted and knew the flavor was where we wanted it, we needed to get the enzymes to cease and desist. The problem is, we have a ton of sake that needs to be pasteurized more or less all at once. We simply cannot pasteurize fast enough in those situations; but the sake does not care! It will keep on changin’.
“So the way to do that is to lower the temperature to the point where the enzymes simply do nothing. As recently as 25 years ago, this would not have been practical. But now, we can control that pretty precisely. Modern-day refrigerated tanks make that possible,” he wrapped up.
A week later, I ran into him at another tasting, where he was one of perhaps 30 other kuramoto present that day. We returned briefly to our conversation above, what which point he warned me, “amongst these sake here today, this year you will find extremes. Some will be rough-n-tumble, others too narrow and rigid. Either too much flavor or not enough. This belies the year’s rice, its lack of uniformity, and the reticence it fosters in the brewing staff!”
What this all illustrates so well is the complexity of the sake brewing process, how important the post-fermentation steps are, and just how much one can learn with a few pre-sipping questions.