Sake to me, baby

    1 of 1 2 of 1

      Masa Shiroki’s description of how sake was made in 6th-century Japan isn’t particularly appealing. Interviewed in the upstairs office at Artisan SakeMaker (1339 Railspur Alley), where he makes and sells his own wares, Shiroki explains that the imperial court of the day employed maidens to chew rice and spit it out into a pot. Enzymes in the chewer’s saliva then converted the starch in the rice into sugar, which would attract airborne yeast, resulting in fermentation. These days, sake is made in stainless-steel tanks in far more sanitary conditions, but the science behind it hasn’t changed much, and the end product is still a fermented-rice beverage.

      Not all sakes are created equal, mind you. The BC Liquor Stores Web site lists a variety of products, from the U.S.-made Gekkeikan Draught Sake (375 millilitres, $7.95) to the premium Junmai Vintage from Japan’s Sake Hitosuji (300 millilitres, $26.48). In some circles, though, sake is still thought of as steaming swill used to wash down sashimi.

      Although the practice of heating up sake dates back almost 500 years in Japan, it was done in North America for purely pragmatic reasons when imports started in the 1950s. “At that time, no one was making sake in North America, and the Japanese were not really making good sake, obviously, because of the scarcity of the rice during wartime,” Shiroki says. “All the husbands and sons went to the battlefield, and the wives and children couldn’t grow sufficient rice to feed everybody, let alone to make sake out of it. So it was a poorly made sake, awfully fortified, sometimes to the point that you only had alcohol made from real rice one-third in the bottle, and the other two-thirds were filled by a distilled alcohol—and God knows where it came from.

      “So it was a very, very poor sake, but it was exported nevertheless. People couldn’t just drink it like a wine. Even in Japan they couldn’t drink it cold. So they adopted that habit of heating it up, probably to get rid of the harsh smell or taste, and they drank it in a small cup so you could dunk it very easily.”

      Circumstances have changed since then, and so has sake. The rise of Asian-fusion cuisine, especially in Vancouver, has broadened consumers’ palates and created a demand for a broader range of beverages to pair with the new dishes. Premium sake, which is served chilled, goes down smoothly enough to appeal to those who never developed a taste for the hot-turpentine qualities of the cheap stuff still served in many sushi joints.

      Shiroki is leading the charge in B.C. He argues that a well-made sake is good enough to hold its own against a fine wine. After sampling some of his own products, which are marketed under the Osake label, it’s hard to argue with him. The Osake Junmai Nama ($26.90, 750 millilitres) has light, crisp qualities comparable to a good Sauvignon Blanc, while the Junmai Nama Nigori ($28.90, 750 millilitres)—a cloudy drink thanks to the inclusion of moromi, or rice lees—is more robust and fruity. The Junmai Nama Genshu ($34.90, 750 millilitres) is the boldest of the three, with tropical-fruit aromas and a long, complex finish.

      Shiroki crafts his products in small batches several times a year, using no preservatives and only minimal low-temperature pasteurization. The Osake varieties are not sold at government liquor stores yet, but they are served at restaurants around the city and are available at specialty wine shops, as well as at Artisan SakeMaker, which also offers tastings for $2.

      At 57, Shiroki has resided in Canada longer than he lived in his native Japan, but his pride in his roots informs his venture into the sake business. “The reason why I did this is not because I wanted to make a million dollars in a short period of time, but because I wanted to put our culture correctly on the map,” he asserts. “That was the whole idea. I even use the term that I’m out here to do a ”˜cultural cleansing’, to change people’s misconceptions about sake—that it’s a poor drink, and that it has to be heated and drunk in a little cup because it doesn’t taste good.”

      So far, so good. Kampai!

      Comments