For Goodness...Sake?

“You know that in the back of every sushi restaurant there’s a guy going, ‘Hey, look! They ate it! You want some hot wine to go with that, too?” – from “An Evening With Robin Williams”

I remember hearing that line at my friend Dave’s way back in the early days of cable. Dave figured out how to set the tuner on his VCR to get access to free HBO. Comedy specials, Excalibur, and Heavy Metal ensued.

Before I get lost in nostalgia, let’s get back to the late great Mr. Williams and his coke-fueled special, which is still one of the greatest pieces of standup ever committed to film, or tape, or whatever digitally remastered media you want to mention. (And the man’s pants. The pants. See for yourself...)

Anyway, the “hot wine” that he’s referring to is Sake. Sake is one of the native drinks of the nation of Japan. Sake is a fermented beverage made from rice. The process of creating sake is an interesting one – and bears more similarity to the making of beer than wine. Sake, however, is classified as a wine, as it’s typically bottled somewhere in the neighborhood of 10-15% alcohol.

For many years, most Americans only knew inexpensive sake – either served hot with a meal like a tea or dropped as a shot into a pint of beer (the unfortunate “sake bomb”). Sake makers are exporting more and more premium sake into the States, providing another alcohol alternative for thirsty connoisseurs of Asian (and other) cuisines.

Sake, as we’ve mentioned, comes from rice. Sake rice, known as saka mai, is grown only for beverage production. It’s not really suitable for eating.

The first step of sake production exposes the rice grain through milling or polishing. This was once done by hand (or, more accurately, by foot by stepping on the grains) but is now done mechanically. The rice bran is polished away, leaving the grain behind. The amount of polishing done determines the quality category of the beverage. Cheap “table wine” sake-bomb sake (known as futsuu-shu) may be milled to 80% of original weight, where the ultra-premium junmai-daiginjo is milled to 50%.

Once the rice is milled, the grains are washed to remove residue and soaked to increase the moisture levels in the grain. The rice is then cooked by steaming, with a portion of the total amount held back to create the fermenting starter, which is where the process really gets interesting.

Sake rice (and rice in general) does not have the naturally fermentable starches that grains like wheat and barley do, so the existing starches in the rice grain must be converted. There is a particular type of beneficial mold, called koji-kin, that is sprinkled on a portion of the rice. This mold penetrates the rice kernel. The inoculated rice is called koji. At this point, the koji is added to the rest of the rice, along with more water and a particular brand of yeast. Several batches of koji are added over the course of the fermenting process. The mold converts the starches to sugars, which are consumed by the yeast – at which point alcohol is produced. The product at the end is then pressed, filtered, pasteurized, and allowed to age for 3-12 months before bottling.

If you’re exploring the world of premium sake, you’ll run into two classifications most commonly. Those are junmai (pronounced JOON-mai) and junmai-ginjo (JOON-mai GEEN-joe). “Junmai” means that what you’re drinking is straight sake. Lower grades of sake are often bottled after some neutral alcohol is added. The primary difference is the percentage of “milling.” The more the rice is milled, the higher the quality (and price) in general.

These versions of sake tend to have very light bouquets but fairly upfront flavors, they can be slightly sweet and fruity, and can be slightly acidic. Premium sake (basically anything above the quality of futsuu-shu) should be served at room temperature or slightly chilled. Heating sake, like heating any spirit, basically kills the aromatics.

I received a couple of sample bottles of sake from Ty Ku – one of the larger sake houses in Japan – Ty Ku Silver (junmai -- $16) and Ty Ku Black (junmai-ginjo -- $22). I’m not a sake connoisseur – and I honestly haven’t had a glass of sake in quite some time when I tried these. The Silver has a light pear nose, which is mirrored on the palate. Beneath the fruit is an alcohol flavor with a little bit of an alcoholic kick. There’s also a melon flavor that builds a bit. The first taste is a bit jarring. It eases into something a little more pleasant after drinking a bit. As for the Black, the flavor is much more gentle. The flavors are fairly similar, but they’re softer, more even and easier to work with for my palate.

Honestly, neither of them would be drinks that I would ordinarily have a craving for on their own. I tried a little of each with some tuna and salmon sushi rolls. I thought the sake was certainly better with sushi than on its own (especially if there were some wasabi on the rolls).

The other use I’ve seen for sake is as a mixer. It gets subbed in for dry vermouth in some recipes, like sake versions of martinis, gibsons, or cosmos – or for vodka, in something like a “sakedriver” with orange juice. All things being equal, it was certainly a flavor twist, but I personally preferred the classic versions.

Sake’s an interesting twist on your normal aperitif or mixer. If you’re going to give them a try, don’t go for the bargain basement stuff. Drop a little coin on a bottle of junmai-ginjo and decide if these flavors are your thing. If you like it, off to the races. If you don’t, then use the rest of the bottle as you would rice wine vinegar in your favorite Asian recipes. No muss, no fuss.

Flights of Fancy

I love doing flights of almost anything. A “flight” usually refers to a set of small samples of wine, but can be beer, whiskey, cola, orange juice, coffee…you get the idea. In general, I differentiate “doing a flight” from a “tasting” since there’s almost always a fun, social aspect involved.  Comparing notes with your slightly-buzzed nearest and dearest across a table strewn with glassware is good times, yo. 

I returned recently from a vacation in Oregon (And there will be future column inches devoted to the delicious wines of the Willamette Valley. Oh yes…). As a day in Portland drew to a close, I realized I’d downed four wildly different sets of liquid tapas:

Flight #1 – The Morning Meditation

After shaking off the previous evening’s revelry, the Sweet Partner in Crime and I left our hotel (the Monaco…a cool place!) for a day-long meander around the city. While Portland has a world-class public transportation system (in the eyes of practically everyone except dillweeds like Ohio’s Governor John Kasich and U.S. Rep. Steve Chabot), the city is eminently walkable. Our plan was to have a look around Old Town and buzz through Chinatown for some lunch before heading over to the Pearl District.

Lan Su Chinese Garden, Portland

After an intentionally aimless stroll, we turned a corner on the edge of Chinatown and came upon the Lan Su Chinese Garden. Portland is best known for the Rose Garden and the adjacent Japanese Garden – but we’d read (correctly) that the Chinese Garden was also not to be missed. From the outside, one wouldn’t know just how peaceful and beautiful this place plopped in the middle of a major city was. On one corner of the garden stands the tea house. Since lunchtime was still a bit away, we stopped in to discover that they offer flights of loose leaf teas. Since I had little notion of good tea beyond Celestial Seasonings, I was intrigued.

Ready for takeoff.

Careful now...careful...

Our server, Martin, was very patient and helpful as he explained to us the differences between the various offerings. We opted for a flight of three “old growth” teas – two green teas from different mountain regions in China and a black tea from Vietnam. I drink a fair amount of “normal” tea. I’d never thought much beyond a basic “tea” flavor – and I’d never really associated terroir with tea. But there it was. The flavors of the Chinese teas were quite different – one was earthier, the other a bit more tannic. And the black tea was another beast altogether.

More important was the preparation ritual, which I clumsily attempted to emulate. Quiet, contemplative, peaceful – looking out across lovely intricate patterns of water and stone – we lost ourselves in tea and serenity for over an hour. Marvelous.

(We ended up checking three small ziplocs of the leftover loose tea. We were half-expecting those aromatic little packets to be confiscated by the TSA, but they made it home.)

Flight #2 – Magnificent Midday Mold

Our walk resumed, our delicious Chinatown lunch was at a pan-Asian bistro called Ping. I had a fabulous kuaytiaw pet pha lo (a Thai-Chinese combo of a duck leg stewed in mushroom broth over fat fresh noodles). The SPinC enjoyed her yam yai (“big salad” in Thai). The food was delicious, but I was mesmerized by the discovery that Ping offered flights of shochu, which I’d always wanted to try.

Shochu is a Japanese alcoholic beverage. Like sake, it’s clear and can be served hot or cold. That’s where the similarities end. Sake is generally made from rice, is brewed in a similar process to beer, and is usually around 13-15% alcohol.

"I've smelled moldier in my sock drawer!"

Shochu can be made from basically any substance that contains convertible starch – rice (including leftover grain from sake production), buckwheat, sweet potatoes, molasses, potatoes, and so on. The raw material is steeped in water, steamed, and cooled. The resulting glop is treated with a mold called koji. The koji breaks the starches down into fermentable sugars. After several days of fermentation, the product is distilled, producing clear, 50-ish proof liquor with a distinct flavor.

I did a flight of three shochu: one made from rice, another from buckwheat, and a third from molasses. (I think the idea of a moldy drink scared the SPinC.) How were they? None of them will replace wine in my beverage rotation anytime soon. I did like the one from molasses, which maintained a bit of that blackstrap sweetness. Next time I’ll try the sweet potato shochu. It was still a little early in the day with the Pearl’s breweries still in front of us.

Flight #3 – Beer! At last, Beer!

We hoped to hit the Pearl’s “Brewery Blocks” for afternoon flights of local beers. As my beer drinkers know, there’s some good beer from Oregon. Alas, we discovered that, like the Manhattan’s Meatpacking District, “Brewery Blocks” now apparently refers to the former tenants of those buildings. The former brewery spaces are now largely retail spaces and upscale condos. We went looking for ales. We found Anthropologie.This gentrification was nicely done, mind you – but fantasies of little beer tasting rooms were dampened.

Slightly disheartened, we headed back towards the Monaco. Rounding a corner on our circuitous route, we saw a bar-front for “Tugboat Brewing Company,” but our bubbles burst as we discovered the door locked. Frustrated, we turned around and – to our joy and relief – saw a sign for “Bailey’s Taproom” directly across the street. With a giant flatscreen menu of 20 Oregonian beers on tap, we’d struck gold. We shared a flight – a couple of IPAs, a cask bitter, a hefeweizen, and a framboise. Since we’d been doing a limited-carb diet leading up to the vacation, these were the first beers we’d had in a month. I might have given thumbs up to an Old Style at this point. They just tasted GOOD.

Beer. Glorious Beer.

Flight #4 – The Plan of Attack Comes Into Focus

Before we headed off to dinner at a highly-recommended-but-ultimately-disappointing meal at a Peruvian place, we stopped at Oregon Wines on Broadway, a wine store and tasting. Wine tasting was heavily on the agenda for the remainder of the trip. We had names of a few places from friends and travel guides, but we weren’t as familiar with the geography, which winery specialized in what style of pinot noir, etc. Eager to learn, we bellied up to the tasting bar and our tastress Emily (who sported some of the most stylish body art you’ll ever see) lined up six Oregon pinots for us from producers large and small.

This sloth loves Oregon pinot. Really.

Emily explained (while cracking us up repeatedly) how Oregon wines were more terroir-driven than other domestics. Unlike California’s more consistent weather, Oregon’s changes markedly from year to year. A very warm year like 2009 leads to noticeably fuller and rounder wines than more subtle flavors of a cooler year like 2010 from the same vineyard. (How Euro!) Also, Oregon’s soil varies greatly – from clay to sediment to volcanic ash, all of which can sometimes be found in the same field of grapes. We picked out a couple of samples we particularly liked for flavor and structure -- “Patricia Green” and “Libra.” Emily gave us a map of the Willamette Valley and said, “If you like those – try these!” Within a few minutes, our itinerary was fleshed out. The adventure began…