Podcast

EPISODE INTRO

In the 36th episode of the Japan Distilled podcast, your host Stephen Lyman takes you on an auditory journey, exploring the evening work in a handmade shochu distillery. This is a departure from our usual Japan Distilled podcast as we enlist the voice over assistance of our editor Rich Pav who also incorporated all of the music and sound effects. This is part 3 in this 3 part series encompassing a day in the life of a shochu distillery.

THE EVENING WORK HOST

STEPHEN LYMAN discovered Japan’s indigenous spirits at an izakaya in New York City. He was so enthralled that he now lives in Japan and works in a tiny craft shochu distillery every autumn. His first book, The Complete Guide to Japanese Drinks, was nominated for a 2020 James Beard Award.

Stephen has been writing professionally for over two decades, but this is his first attempt at writing a narrative audio story. He stared working at Yamatozakura Distillery in October 2013 and has done hours and hours of evening work at this point.

If you have any comments or questions about this evening work episode, please reach out to Stephen or Christopher via Twitter. We would love to hear from you. 

THE EVENING WORK SHOW NOTES

Evening Work Transcript

As the clock strikes 5, I can faintly hear the town loudspeakers once again come to life with the tune that signifies the end of the work day. The labeling ladies shout out a sing song “otsukaresamadeshita!” and make their escape. The bottles that need labeling will still be here tomorrow. 

I am left with the bottling line as Tekkan’s father continues to fiddle with the ancient labeling machine. Tekkan hurriedly packs up orders and applies shipping labels for that day’s deliveries. Delivery trucks will be arriving soon to ship Yamato Zakura to fine bars, restaurants, and liquor shops nationwide. 

I can tell the bottling tank is running low by checking a clear rubber tube that serves as a fill guide. Another of seemingly endless hacks Tekkan and his father have worked out through their years of experience and pure ingenuity. I finish up the last few bottles as I hear the first of the delivery truck back-up signals. It’s time to help load up the trucks. 

Today’s shipments are relatively light. Thursdays are busiest, as businesses prepare for their weekend rush. Next month will be extremely busy as everyone prepares for bonnenkai season, the notorious and absolutely fun forget-the-year parties. As the last of the trucks leave, Tekkan gives me a quick “otsukare” to let me know I can call it a day. There will be evening work later, but for now I can rest. 

I exit the bottling and aging warehouse, careful to close the sliding door completely behind me. These small movements help me maintain Tekkan’s expected level of perfection, and remind me in each step, that I can’t rely on my usual level of precision. If I am going to be completely honest, I am a big picture guy. I don’t sweat the small stuff. That’s always been someone else’s job. But at Yamatozakura, that’s my job. It’s been a revelation for me. Realizing how important every single decision I make can have on the final product, despite the fact that I am a tiny cog in a very small machine. 

In the parking lot, I find Tekkan’s boys kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Some days they bring their bicycles or baseball gloves, but today it’s soccer. Maybe, because they know I played for most of my life. I kick with them for a few minutes, before Tekkan comes out and lets them know their mother wants them home. Now. They complain, as kids do around the world. Another nudge from Tekkan, and they’re off for home. He shakes his head as he smiles at me. Fatherhood.

As I walk back to my 2nd floor apartment above the office, I realize how tired my feet are. I’ve barely sat down since breakfast. Sure, I sat on a stone wall for a quick lunch, and again for a quick afternoon break, but I haven’t had a proper sit since breakfast. Thinking back to my very first time working at Yamatozakura, I remember my realization that there are no chairs in the distillery. There is no place to sit down. 

That’s not entirely true. There are chairs around a table in the oba-chan’s break room, but that’s always felt off limits to me. They go in there and gossip over tea, and I have not once intruded on their relaxation. I am sure working with me is stressful enough. Having to socialize as well? I save that for once a season. I treat them to lunch on my last day. They don’t mind a free meal. Who would?

Slipping out of my shoes and stepping into the apartment, I open the fridge and pull out a cold beer. Is there anything more refreshing than an ice cold lager after a very long workday? It used to be Asahi Super Dry, but my brother from another mother, Christopher Pellegrini, eventually convinced me to drink better beer. Now it’s Orion from Okinawa when I can find it, or Sapporo Black Label. I strip off a few layers until I am down to a t-shirt and shorts. I climb the stairs to the 2nd floor where, I have a sofa and coffee table. 

I know I claimed not to have a TV, but actually I do. I tune into the sumo tournament, which happens to be happening while I am working at Yamatozakura this year. Sadly, it’s happening in Fukuoka, where I live. I’ve only attended in person once and it was amazing. It’s hard to imagine a more ritualized and traditional sport, that still manages to show incredible athleticism and strategy. I can’t pretend to ever remember the names of wrestlers from tournament to tournament, but it’s a great distraction after a long day. 

Sumo is weird though. Unlike American or European sports, the tournament is over for the day by early evening. No primetime viewing available. As the tournament winds down, I finish my beer and check the time. I head to the bedroom, and pull in a fresh set of clothes for the evening work. 

Before walking back to Tekkan’s house, I put a load of laundry into the machine. I dirty 2-3 sets of work clothes per day, so I need to do laundry every other day to keep in supply. Each season Tekkan has to re-teach me how to use the washing machine, because it’s entirely in Japanese, and despite my increased language proficiency, some of those button names just don’t make sense. 

I drop my beer can in the recycling bin and slip back into my Vans. The walk to Tekkan’s house is crisp, but pleasant. A couple of children play in the park, despite it now being after dusk. Their mothers idly chitchat on a bench in the dark.

Slipping off my shoes in the foyer of Tekkan’s house before dinner, is one of the most pleasant moments of my day. I know delicious food awaits, and unlike the morning, when his boys are either tired or busy with last minute homework, now they are watching anime on TV. Their eyes shine with happiness as they see me come inside. Forever polite, they thank me for playing soccer for a few minutes before turning back to the TV. 

The next thing that hits me are the aromas. Tekkan’s wife and mother-in-law have harvested fresh salad fixings from the garden in the yard. Quick pickles and homemade potato salad are already plated and served. I spy the electric dumpling hotplate on the dining table. Gyoza night. This is a bloodsport. The boys can eat their weight in dumplings and I am famished. 

Tekkan sits at the dining table engrossed in his iphone. He doesn’t doom scroll. He’s constantly looking for 2 things: love for Yamatozakura and clues about what trends might be coming soon. He’s a genius at identifying what will be popular next. 

Several years before anyone else recommended shochu with sparkling water, Tekkan sat me down on a night much like tonight, and served me his purple sweet potato shochu with soda. It tasted like grape soda. Since then, I have become a big fan of shochu-soda. Today the industry is transforming as makers rush to find new recipes that shine with bubbles. It’s transformed how shochu is consumed in Japan and overseas. I can’t say that Tekkan started it, but he saw it coming. 

When he realizes I’ve arrived, he smiles. Next to him are two small unlabeled glass bottles. This year’s shinshu. He pours each into small Kagoshima style oyuwari glasses and pushes them toward me. I nose them each in turn. Both have the gassy aromas I associate with shinshu, but one is decidedly more reserved. I already know which I will prefer. Shinshu is newly made shochu. It’s a relatively recent style and I can’t say I am a fan. 

Due to the single pot distillation and the fact that nearly all of the heads are kept, they are funky and wild and not particularly good for your health. If I ever indulge in more than a couple glasses, I end up with a terrific headache the next day. I don’t think that’s the alcohol. I think that’s the off gasses. These volatile organic compounds degrade during aging, but right off the still they are a kick in the head. 

But Tekkan makes such clean fermentations, his shinshu is easily one of my favorite every year. This year he’s asked for my opinion. I’m chuffed. I try each. My nose didn’t lie. I like the softer one better. 

Dinner time. Our tasting interrupted, we all gather around the dinner table and sing-song “itadakimasu!” – the boys dive into the gyoza with abandon. They’re still bubbling as they shove them into their mouths, which, of course, results in the expected “too hot” reaction universal to impatient eaters world wide. I take a more strategic approach, buliding my ponzu and hot chile oil dipping sauce before digging into the salads and pickles. 

As the boys nurse their tongues, I attack my corner of the gyoza field with abandon. Before long they realize they’re losing ground and dive back in. From there it’s simply who can chew and swallow the fastest. Somewhat satisfied, I slow my pace and plate more salad. 

I return to the shinshu shochu samples. I make a hot water service for each. They are both delicious. I actually have a slight preference for the more robust version. Tekkan’s watching out of the corner of his eye as the gyoza disappear. Fortunately, reinforcements are on their way. An entire new sheet of gyoza appear for the 2nd half. 

As we wait for them to cook, I go back to the shinshu and try them on the rocks and then with a splash of soda. My original recommendation holds. I let Tekkan know. He nods approvingly. He had previously done the same blind tasting with 2 liquor shop owners he respects. They made the same recommendation. This year’s shinshu is decided. 

The boys run out of gas during the second round of gyoza. I am left to clean up the spoils. Those amateurs and their small stomachs didn’t stand a chance. They retreat to the couch to watch another 30 minutes of anime before grandma forces them into the tub for their evening bathtime. 

Tekkan and I chat idly until we’ve finished our dinner. Knowing this time is precious for Tekkan and his wife, I make my escape. The sky is now pitch black and the air is decidedly colder. 

Returning to my apartment, I take the laundry out of the washer and hang it to dry. Returning to the sofa, I lie down and close my eyes. 

I startle awake to the vibration of my phone on the coffee table. It’s Tekkan. As I answer he simply says, “koji muro ni” … 

I check the time. I’ve been asleep for about an hour but it feels like days. The exhaustion is real. 

When I arrive in the koji room, Tekkan is already hard at his evening work. He’s hand mixing the rice in each wooden box to cool and aerate the koji. I join him. We each take a side of the room. My side has about 10 fewer boxes, so we usually finish at about the same time. He also gives me the side facing the exterior wall of the distillery. This side of the koji room is cooler than the other side so if I screw up, the koji isn’t as likely to reach a critical temperature before he has a chance to check it in the middle of the night. 

We usually chat for the first few minutes, covering any topics he has on his mind that we didn’t discuss earlier in the day. But then we lapse into the routine. The sounds are mesmerizing and the entire cooling process is dictated by the feel of the rice koji in your hands.

The goal is to cool it to a temperature just about equal to the human body temperature. But this is confounded by the fact that it’s hot and humid in the koji room, even on this chilly evening so you begin sweating almost immediately. 

Once I start sweating, the rice grains begin sticking to my hands and wrists as I do the work. I have to be careful to sweep away any that cling to me. Remember, there’s a god in every grain of rice and I am sure none of them want to be carried out of the koji room on the hairy arms of a foreigner. 

Tekkan’s side of the room falls silent. With my back to him, I am unsure if he’s checking his phone or if he’s fallen asleep. By this time in the season, he can sleep standing up. I’ve never seen anything like it. I take a peek. Sure enough. He’s having a cat nap. I continue my evening work and let him rest. I’m more likely to finish about the same time he does if I don’t rouse him. 

During this evening work my mind wanders. I might be at my most creative. It’s a zen like experience. Some people go to yoga camp. I go to Yamato Zakura. It’s for moments like this when my mind can be completely empty and I can focus on nurturing the koji to its full potential. Without my assistance, it would die in obscurity. But I am simply a facilitator for the magic that this mold does. 

Invariably I spill a couple rice grains out of the wooden box onto the table. They can’t be returned, but I don’t want to waste them. I taste them instead. Sweet and sour. Tomorrow’s primary fermentation may be a healthy one. 

Tekkan starts awake. I can tell, because he suddenly starts working again. We labor on in silence until we’ve hand mixed all of the boxes too cool and aerate the koji. We finish the evening work at almost the exact same moment. As Tekkan puts thermometers into random boxes, I sweep the floor. Some rice has been spilled. 

As I empty my dust bin into the waste basket, I say a small silent prayer for who didn’t make it.

EVENING WORK CREDITS

Theme Song: Begin Anywhere by Tomoko Miyata (http://tomokomiyata.net/)

Mixing and Editing and Voice Work: Rich Pav of the amazing Uncanny Robot Podcast. He also edits the excellent Uncanny Japan podcast.

Distillery Background Sound courtesy of the Japanese Sake & Shochu Makers Association.

Background Music for this Episode in Order of Appearance:

Full Moon Lofi Vibes by EdiKey20
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7672-full-moon-lofi-vibes
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Bass Vibes by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/3422-bass-vibes License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Vlog Lofi by Ramol Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7071-vlog-lofi License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/8246-don-t-hate-me
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Kanpai!

EPISODE INTRO

In the 35th episode of the Japan Distilled podcast, your host Stephen Lyman takes you on an auditory journey, working the afternoon shift in a handmade shochu distillery. This is a pretty sharp departure from our usual Japan Distilled podcast as we enlist the voice over assistance of our editor Rich Pav who also incorporated all of the music and sound effects. This is part 2 in a planned 3 part series encompassing a day in the life of a shochu distillery.

THE AFTERNOON SHIFT HOST

STEPHEN LYMAN discovered Japan’s indigenous spirits at an izakaya in New York City. He was so enthralled that he now lives in Japan and works in a tiny craft shochu distillery every autumn. His first book, The Complete Guide to Japanese Drinks, was nominated for a 2020 James Beard Award.

Stephen has been writing professionally for over two decades, but this is his first attempt at writing a narrative audio story. He stared working at Yamatozakura Distillery in October 2013 and has worked dozens of afternoon shifts at this point.

If you have any comments or questions about this afternoon shift episode, please reach out to Stephen or Christopher via Twitter. We would love to hear from you. 

THE AFTERNOON SHIFT SHOW NOTES

The Afternoon Shift Transcript

I step out of the distillery into the noon day sun. As I strip off my rain gear and boots, the sun on my skin feels fantastic. I wash my hands and face in an outdoor sink before jogging back to the office. I find Tekkan at his desk, ordering his next sweet potato shipment over the phone. He tells the broker that the potatoes today were excellent so he hopes he can get a similar delivery in two days time. He hangs up the phone and wipes his brow with a hand towel before turning to me with inquisitive eyes. 

Lunch? 

He shrugs and says, “sorry. Isogashi.” He’s too busy for lunch today. I offer to get something for him from the convenience store. He smiles and gives me his order. He also pushes 2000 yen into my hand. He insists room and board means room and board even if he can’t be there to pay. I don’t resist. He forgets often enough that I don’t feel guilty. 

Tekkan asks me to prepare for de koji before I leave. This is the process of preparing the rice koji for today’s primary fermentation. I head back to the distillery, where I find Ko-chan firing up the sweet potato steamer. I slip out of my Vans into my fake Crocks, and shed my hoodie before stepping into the koji room’s sauna. I roll four long tables out of the koji muro into the anteroom. Atop the tables are dozens of wooden boxes. These hold the koji we made two days ago. It’s now been in the koji room for about 44 hours. In the anteroom, it will cool to room temperature before being used to start today’s primary fermentation. 

Finished, I head out for lunch. The 10 minute walk to the convenience store with the sun on my back is refreshing after the chilly, wet morning spent processing three-quarter tons of sweet potatoes. 

At the 7-11 the shop staff smile and bow with their singsong irasshaimase! I explore the prepared lunch offerings. Until Tekkan’s wife started her yoga studio, I was spoiled with daily homemade lunches. The first year he suggested we go to the conbini for lunch, I was disappointed, but I have grown to enjoy these simple, surprisingly well-prepared meals. I find Tekkan’s favorite spice curry bowl. For myself, I choose a steamed chicken pasta salad, and a bottle of cold green tea. I always use these visits to drop weight.

As I check out, the staff smiles and asks how long I’ll stay. About 9 days, I reply. She thanks me for my patronage and gives me a parting “Ganbatte kudasai!” I promise to work hard. 

I return with Tekkan’s lunch. He thanks me and digs in. He barely pauses his continuous paperwork and intermittent phone calls from liquor shops, restaurants, or friends just wanting to chat. It’s turned into a nice day, so I opt to enjoy my lunch outside, perching on a low stone wall that rims the distillery property. The unmistakable smell of steaming sweet potatoes wafts on the breeze. The mornings in the distillery are very much about physical intensity and tactile experiences. The afternoons are full of technical activities and wonderful aromas. 

Tekkan hurries past with a wave, as he goes into the distillery to check the steaming potatoes. Through the glass doors, I see him loading the rice steamer with the rice we had washed this morning. He must have drained the water before washing the potatoes. One of the myriad things he has to remember every day. I quickly finish my lunch to go help. 

The rice washing and steaming area is tucked between the koji muro and the conveyor belt that winds its way up to the top of the sweet potato steamer. Tekkan hands me the bucket to continue. I put about half of the rice into the steamer. Using a worn, flat piece of wood, I smooth out the top of the rice in the steamer to make it completely flat to assure even steaming. I crank up the steam and let it run until I can see the last of the rice in the steamer move from dry to wet, noticeable by how the rice changes from white to slightly less white. It changes from the perimeter inward toward the center. When I’m convinced it’s finished, I cut the steam. 

I take the shovel from the wall and dig it down into the partly steamed rice. It’s heavy and hot as I struggle to lift the load. I turn it over so that the rice that was on top is now on the bottom. I repeat this process for the entire half batch before again smoothing it out with the piece of worn wood. 

I use the bucket to put the remaining rice into the steamer and repeat the process. With that complete, I go find Tekkan. He’s just finished sanitizing one of the 400 liter ceramic pots that is buried in the cement floor. These pots are used for both fermentation and some long-term storage at Yamato Zakura. With this pot, he will build a primary fermentation. I let him know the first step of the rice steaming is finished. He nods.

I return to the rice steaming area to finish cleaning the rice washing tub. I work to capture every single grain. I put all the leftover rice into a sieve and rinse it with spring water before adding it to the rice already in the steamer. It is this process more than any that reminds me that every grain of rice contains a god, as Tekkan likes to tell me. We try to preserve every single grain. Not because it increases the final yield, but because we need to be aware of every small decision we make. If you start slacking off on little things, soon you’re ignoring big things. And that’s when the quality will suffer. So rather than start down that slippery slope, we take a few extra minutes to rescue every grain we can. 

That being said, unlike some other distilleries, rice that touches the floor is discarded. That’s for two reasons. First, because the fermentations at Yamato Zakura are so small, any unwanted organism could spoil an entire batch. And second, due to the distillery layout, we wear the same shoes indoors and out. Except for in the koji muro and anteroom. There we wear our ugly fake Crocks, or, koji shoes. But even in there, any rice that ends up on the floor is discarded. At that point rice is too close to the beginning of the primary fermentation to risk it.

Tekkan starts up the rice steamer, affixing the lid to direct the steam to an exhaust outlet in the ceiling. This helps keep the interior of the distillery from becoming too humid. As Tekkan gets the rice steamer going, I slip into my koji shoes and begin the process of de koji. I use a small hand brush and a wooden board placed across the mouth of a 20 gallon bucket. I take each wooden box and bang it on the wood board to loosen the rice koji. The koji, as it dries in the box, sticks to the wooden surface. The sudden jolt separates most of the koji from the wood. The small hand brush helps me get the rest of the koji out of the box. I repeat this process for all 150 kilograms of rice koji. 

Each time a 20 gallon bucket is full, I slip out of my koji shoes into my Vans and use a hand cart to move the bucket to the waiting ceramic pot. I carefully tip the bucket to allow the koji rice to slide slowly into the water and yeast waiting in the pot. I use a kaibo –  a bamboo shaft with a flat, wooden mallet-shaped head – to mix the koji rice into this primary fermentation.

Returning to the anteroom, I pause to inspect the rice koji. There is a beautiful white fluffy bloom of mold on the surface of the rice grains. If we were to examine  it under a microscope, it would look like a field of tiny white flowers. I taste a few grains. Thanks to the koji doing its job, the grains almost melt on my tongue with a sweet, acidic taste that I associate with koji. At times when enjoying sake, I find that the predominant flavor is that of rice koji. Once I taste it, it’s hard for me to identify any other flavor in the drink. 

As I continue the de koji, I am joined by “tsuyoi obachan, or strong grandma.” She works the afternoon shift. You’d never guess it by looking at her, but she’s the younger sister of “genki obachan”, the now-retired world champion sweet potato trimmer. Tsuyoi means strong in Japanese and if you saw this woman, you’d understand what I mean. She’s in her early seventies, but built like a brick shit house. She does the same work any man could do in the distillery, and smiles while doing it. She’s always good for a joke in her thick Satsuma dialect. So as usual, I have no idea what today’s gag might mean. We make quick work of the de koji. I leave her to clean up any spilled rice koji. Even though we try to capture every grain, there is inevitable spillage with the violent jarring of the wooden boxes against the wood board. 

I finish building the primary fermentation. It becomes harder and harder to mix with the kaibo as more and more rice koji is added to the pot. By the end it’s almost impossible to bury the kaibo to the bottom of the pot due to the weight of the rice koji. After I finish, I put a thermometer into the pot so Tekkan can check the temperature when he has a moment. 

I mix the other primary fermentations that are bubbling away in nearby pots. These will spend nearly a week fermenting, before we start the next step in the process. We stir these pots every few hours to give the aerobic koji a chance to breathe, so it can continue doing its job. As I move through the pots, one made each day, they become easier to stir. as more and more of the rice has been liquified by the koji and yeast. 

Tekkan finds me and asks me to wash bottles. He looks almost guilty. It’s everyone’s least favorite job in the distillery, especially once the weather turns cold. The bottle washing machine is outdoors under an open air lean-to. A pallet of cardboard boxes of 1.8 liter bottles waits just outside the shanty. I put on my rain suit, still damp from washing sweet potatoes this morning. Before starting the machine, I move boxes from the pallet to the staging area, to make sure I can be as efficient as possible. The sooner I finish, the sooner I can do something more interesting. Once ready, I crank open the water faucet, which feeds spray jets inside the ancient bottle washing machine. I press a series of buttons on the control panel and the machine lurches to life. 

The bottle washing machine is like a merry-go-round. It never stops moving unless you turn it off. The rotor creeps around very slowly so that 10 full cases, or 60 bottles, can be steam-sterilized at once. I let each set of bottles do two full rotations so I use a clothespin to mark where the batch starts and ends. Once they’ve finished two laps, I have a few seconds to remove each set of 6 clean bottles, and replace them with 6 unwashed bottles, in order to maximize efficiency. This will also minimize the amount of time I have to stand here in the cold, with mist spraying out of the mouth of the machine, gradually dampening everything I am wearing.

The bottles don’t go back into the cardboard. They are placed at a downward angle on a large metal rack with wheels, that will be rolled into the bottling room, where they will wait their turn to be filled. The cardboard boxes pile up around me, so whenever I am waiting for the 2nd lap to finish, I break down boxes and move fresh boxes into the staging area. 

Thankfully, Tekkan soon needs me for another task. I turn off the machine and cut the water. The sudden silence, broken only by the periodic hiss of the boiler in an adjacent outbuilding, is a relief after the clunking and clanging of the ancient machine, and the constant echo of spray jets inside the steel chamber. I quickly strip off my rain suit, and head back to the koji muro. 

Inside, Tekkan has uncovered the mound of rice koji that Ko-chan and I had broken up this morning. He’s using a shovel to mix the rice koji, which has again become warm to the touch. Too warm and the koji will stop its process. Too cool and, you guessed it, the koji will stop its process. So the mixing we had done this morning, and the process we will do now, are both designed to provide oxygen to the koji, and to maintain optimum temperature. 

Tekkan bends over the low table with a small wooden bucket in hand. I move a stack of 8 wooden koji boxes to the edge of the table. He takes a scoop of the waiting mound and pours it deftly into the top box. With his other hand, he pushes a divot into the top of the rice koji in the box, creating a mini volcano. This is perhaps appropriate since Kagoshima is also the home to Sakurajima, the most active volcano on earth.

I quickly move the box to the long table behind me. As I turn back to the center of the room, Tekkan is making another divot in the next box. I move that one aside to place on top of the first box. I stack these 8 high before using another box as a cover to maintain heat. I lift the next stack of 8 empty boxes to the edge of the table to begin the process again. This is the first time Tekkan and I have had time for a conversation since breakfast. 

We usually chat about which movies we’ve seen recently. He’s a huge fan of Star Wars and the Marvel Universe. I usually try to watch the latest releases within the few weeks before my annual visit so I’ll know what the hell he’s talking about. But he’ll also discover other movies or TV shows he’s now obsessed with. If he hasn’t had lunch, the topic is usually food. New restaurants he visited during the previous summer’s sales season. Or new places he wants to try. At other times he’s quizzing me about foreign tastes for shochu. 

We make quick work of the mound. Our system works well, but more than a few times a year, he has to do this by himself. 

I head back to the bottle washing machine to continue to tackle the monster. I don’t mind. The rhythm is reassuring. The constant sound of water, relaxing. I don’t exactly understand why, but the sound of running water is so soothing. I love washing dishes by hand for this same reason. My dream is to live near the ocean where I can open my bedroom window at night and fall asleep to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. 

The challenge of bottle washing is the grip. The 1.8L bottles are wet and awkward. Since they go into the machine upside down, the fastest way to pick them up is by their very wide base. These bottles lack a punt, the dimple sometimes found in the bottom of wine bottles, so there’s no easy way to grab them with one hand. My hands are just big enough to lift out by the base with one hand, two at a time, but moving these bottles safely away from the mouth of the machine to place in the drying rack, is a constant challenge–one I have gotten better at. I am proud to say I’ve only broken one bottle in nearly a decade of work. 

Fortunately, today I don’t break any as I make it through a rack and a half before “hayai obachan, or fast grandma” appears over my shoulder to let me know Tekkan needs my help. As I strip off my rain gear once again, I watch her jog quickly back toward the main building. She runs everywhere. This slight woman in her 60s seems to have forgotten how to walk. Hayai means fast in Japanese. Thus her nickname. 

Turning off the water and the machine, again returns the area to relative silence. 

I find Tekkan removing the lid from the rice steamer. Tsuyoi obachan and hayai obachan wait in the anteroom–where they’ve moved the long, low table that had previously held the mound of rice koji in the koji muro.

They’ve also set up industrial fans blowing on the empty table. The steamer is on a hinged rack, so it can be tilted on end to empty the freshly steamed rice directly onto the table. It’s hot and somewhat dangerous work, as the steamed rice is hot enough to cause severe burns, if you were to come into direct contact. We all work with heavy leather gloves. 

Once everything is ready, with a 1-2-3, Tekkan releases the hinge lock. The steamer begins its slow descent to the table. Tsuyoi obachan and I guide it from the front, while Tekkan wrangles it from behind. When it’s close to the table, we again countdown to let it drop the last few centimeters on its own, with a loud thud. 

Tsuyoi obachan and I use shovels to empty the rice out of the steamer. We spread it out on the table so it cools quickly. The steamed rice smells delicious. As we shovel deeper into the rice, it becomes harder to remove the rice by shovel. At this point we unclasp the canvas netting that lines the steamer. We countdown. Ichi! Ni! San! Seeeee-no! We simultaneously pull the heavy netting forward toward the center of the table. It only comes out part-way. We give it another heave-ho successfully. We again count to synchronize our lift to empty this canvas netting. 

I toss the empty netting into the steamer, as Tekkan moves it out of the way. As we shovel the rice flat to help it cool further, Tekkan closes the sliding doors of the anteroom so we can control temperature in the chill November air. 

We dig into the rice at one end of the table, and move it by shovel to the other end. Once we have created an empty 1 foot gap at one end of the table, we turn the adjacent rice over so that what was on the bottom, is now on top. We repeat this process all along the table. When finished, we do it again, to continue the cooling process. Tsuyoi obachan removes a glove, and digs her hand into the center of the rice, feeling the temperature. When she pulls her hand out, it’s turned bright red. She holds up one red finger to signal that we need to turn the rice one more time.

Once finished, Tekkan enters with the koji mold, which he stores in the office. These white koji spores are purchased from one of just a handful of koji makers in Japan. He dons eye goggles and an N95 mask. Until a few years ago, he did this without protection, but after we made black koji shochu in 2016, he began using a flour sifter to get a finer distribution of koji spores on his steamed rice. This seems to have resulted in a bit of a koji sensitivity. It’s not nearly as bad as the few toji I have met who have an outright koji allergy. They have to rely on others to propagate the spores for them.

I watch him through the glass window as he slowly sifts koji over the rice. He repeats the process twice over the entire table. The fine cloud of spores settle on the rice but some escape, floating up into the rafters. When finished, he empties the contents of the shifter onto the table. These are rice koji grains that have gone to spore. These will be mixed into the koji. Again, no rice is wasted. 

Now begins my least favorite part of the day. Not because it’s difficult, but because it requires an hour or more bending over this low table. Having been an athlete my entire life, my knees and back have become unhappy with certain movements and positions. Tekkan and I shovel the bed of rice into a mound at one end of the table. He checks the temperature by hand. It’s ready.

We kneel at the empty end of the table. I kneel on two cushions that were procured by hayai obachan once she realized how much pain kneeling on the floor caused me. Leaning over the low table, kneeling on the cushions still does my back no favors. However, we need to mix the koji that has been sprinkled on the steamed rice before the rice gets too cold. If not, the koji can’t take hold. 

The rice is hot to the touch. The goal is to mix the rice with our hands until it’s cooled to a little bit above human body temperature. It turns out I was quite good at determining the appropriate temperature right out of the gate so Tekkan always wants me to do this work when I am around. The ladies know their workday is almost finished when this work is done, so they sometimes rush through it, leaving the temperature too high or too low. I work very hard to get it just right. Tekkan and I work together in sweaty silence, until hayai obachan brings him the distillery’s wireless phone. He’s got other work to do, so she takes over. Tsuyoi obachan soon joins us, and the three of us chat away. Hayai obachan chats with me in standard Japanese, and then translates my responses into the local Satsuma dialect for tsuyoi obachan. The conversation invariably drifts toward food. By the end of this work, I always know what everyone’s had for lunch, what they are planning for dinner, and what to watch on TV that evening. As if I have time, or a TV.

After an hour of kneeling and straining and mixing my back is aching, my knees are barking, and my hands are raw. The fabric underneath the rice is not soft or forgiving. But its properties are good for the koji so we humans suffer. We check the temperature, find it to be just a touch too warm, so we dig our raw fingers into the mound and move it to the center of the table. We roll the table into the koji muro. We cover it with the sailing tarp, futon blankets, and ancient rice sacks. It will rest until morning, when Ko-chan and I wake it up. 

The ladies will clean up. I’ve earned a break. They had their afternoon tea while I was washing bottles. I step out into the chill late afternoon shade at the side of the building and stretch my back. I drink deeply from the cold spring water tap at an outdoor sink. It’s almost sweet. Absolutely the best tasting water I know. I drink more than I should, but I feel parched. I find a patch of sun on the stone wall and enjoy a few minutes of rest. 

Tekkan pokes his head out of the bottling warehouse entrance and waves to me. Back to work. Inside I find two other older women who I haven’t given nicknames hand-labeling newly filled bottles. Tekkan’s father putters around with the ancient bottling line, which only applies labels for the 1.8L bottles. And even then, only for a couple of their brands. It’s nearly outlived its usefulness, but he’s bound and determined to keep it running. 

Tekkan is busy preparing the dilution tank for the next day’s bottling. I join him, since I will inevitably learn something. He’s again smiling and chatty. He likes this part of the day, because the heaviest lifting is over. He wants me to try two different possible shin-shu blends he’s considering releasing this season. He promises we will taste them after dinner. 

There really isn’t any work for me to do with this dilution process other than hold the hose as the shochu starts to flow. As with so much around this small family distillery, everything is jerry rigged. The hose is tied with a string to a peg on the wall. When the flow starts, the hose can jump and if it jumps out of the tank, shochu that’s been aging for 2 years or more would be lost at the very last moment. I hold the hose. It doesn’t jump as the flow starts. Did I mention the 3M filter hung over the end of the hose? That’s DIY as well. That small task finished, Tekkan asks me to bottle what’s left in the bottling tank.

I set up the 6 bottle bottling machine, turn on the back light to catch any impurities that might have made it through the second filtration, and get to work. The rack of 1.8 liter bottles I had washed earlier in the day waits nearby. I roll it into position. This is another job that can be done most optimally if everything is just right. However, I can work faster than the old bottling machine. I only use 4 of the 6 slots to assure consistent flow. As each bottle reaches its fill line, I pull it out, press fit a cap, and place it in a nearby plastic crate. 

As the clock strikes 5, I can faintly hear the town loudspeakers once again come to life with the tune that signifies the end of the work day. The labeling ladies shout out a sing song “otsukaresamadeshita!” and make their escape. The bottles that need labeling will still be here tomorrow. 

I am left with the bottling line as Tekkan’s father continues to fiddle with the labeling machine. Tekkan hurriedly packs up orders and applies shipping labels for that day’s deliveries. Delivery trucks will be arriving soon to ship Yamato Zakura to fine bars, restaurants, and liquor shops nationwide. 

I can tell the bottling tank is running low by checking a clear rubber tube that serves as a fill guide. Another of seemingly endless hacks Tekkan and his father have worked out through their years of experience and pure ingenuity. I finish up the last few bottles as I hear the first of the delivery truck back-up signals. It’s time to help load up the trucks. 

Today’s shipments are relatively light. Thursdays are busiest, as businesses prepare for their weekend rush. Next month will be extremely busy as everyone prepares for bonnenkai season, the notorious and absolutely fun forget-the-year parties. As the last of the trucks leave, Tekkan gives me a quick “otsukare” to let me know I can call it a day. There will be work later, but for now I can rest.

MORNING SHIFT CREDITS

Theme Song: Begin Anywhere by Tomoko Miyata (http://tomokomiyata.net/)

Mixing and Editing and Voice Work: Rich Pav of the amazing Uncanny Robot Podcast. He also edits the excellent Uncanny Japan podcast.

Distillery Background Sound courtesy of the Japanese Sake & Shochu Makers Association.

Background Music for this Episode in Order of Appearance:

Full Moon Lofi Vibes by EdiKey20
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7672-full-moon-lofi-vibes
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Hip Hop Flute Chill(loopable} by chilledmusic
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/8531-hip-hop-flute-chill-loopable-
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Beautiful Life by Frank Schröter
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7843-beautiful-life
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Good Mood LoFI by EdiKey20
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/8370-good-mood-lofi
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Don’t Hate Me by EdiKey20
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/8246-don-t-hate-me
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Lofi Chill Hip-Hop by WinnieTheMoog
Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/6347-lofi-chill-hip-hop
License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Kanpai!

EPISODE INTRO

In the 34th episode of the Japan Distilled podcast, your host Stephen Lyman takes you on an auditory journey, working the morning shift in a handmade shochu distillery. This is a pretty sharp departure from our usual Japan Distilled podcast as we enlist the voice over assistance of our editor Rich Pav who also incorporated all of the music and sound effects. This is part 1 in a planned 3 part series encompassing a day in the life of a shochu distillery.

THE MORNING SHIFT HOST

STEPHEN LYMAN discovered Japan’s indigenous spirits at an izakaya in New York City. He was so enthralled that he now lives in Japan and works in a tiny craft shochu distillery every autumn. His first book, The Complete Guide to Japanese Drinks, was nominated for a 2020 James Beard Award.

Stephen has been writing professionally for over two decades, but this is his first attempt at writing a narrative audio story. He stared working at Yamatozakura Distillery in October 2013 and has worked dozens of morning shifts at this point.

If you have any comments or questions about this morning shift episode, please reach out to Stephen or Christopher via Twitter. We would love to hear from you. 

THE MORNING SHIFT SHOW NOTES

The Morning Shift Transcript

The Morning Shift

My iPhone alarm (“Radar”) shocks me awake. Really need to remember to switch it to something less jolting.  At first I am unsure where I am. I sense I’m in a futon, sleeping on a tatami mat. This is not where I usually sleep. Even though I’ve moved to Japan I still sleep on a mattress. The dark windows tell me it’s not even dawn. I move to hit snooze, but remember where I am and why it’s so early. I’m not an early riser. In fact, I am an incurable night owl. I was furtively reading books with a flashlight until the early hours since before I was old enough to go to school on my own. But here I am, throwing aside the blanket and turning off my alarm as I fumble for the pull string for the overhead light. It thankfully illuminates dimly, just as I had left it to relax before sleeping the night before. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I stretch and feel every muscle in my body groaning. I’m sore. Everywhere.

I pull on the clothes I laid out the night before to save me time this morning. Stumble out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the bathroom. Wash my face with ice cold water. Brush my teeth. Run my fingers through my bedhead to try to look more presentable. Need to remember to cut my hair short before the season starts next year. A canned black coffee waits for me in the fridge. At home I would normally pair my coffee with natto – fermented soy beans – but that’s off limits here. The strong natto bacteria could destroy the delicate fermentation we’ve worked so hard to create. Three weeks of work could be wrecked. No natto until I get home. 

I hear a car pull up on the gravel outside. I know it’s time to get started as the metal storm shutters to the office rumble open from the outside. The morning shift is starting. I slide into my Vans waiting in the foyer, and head outside, coffee in hand. Even though we’re nearly as far south as you can go and still be in Japan proper, there’s a chill in the air. A slight breeze brings the unmistakable scent of the East China Sea, less than a kilometer away. It also makes it just that much colder. 

There’s Tekkan, my constant companion, opening the last shutter in the shadows. He smiles when he sees me and gives me a quick Ohayo, which sounds an awful lot like Ohio, but means good morning in Japanese. I give him a bleary reply. He’s a decade older than when I first met him. A bit less hair, but the same infectious smile and enthusiasm for seemingly everything. He’s wearing Nike running gear as usual, and Montbell down vest against the cold. His Mets cap on backward. He’d bought it when he visited me in New York City years ago. 

He looks as tired as I feel. He was no doubt up at 3 or 4am to check on the koji. A toji, or master brewer-distiller, gets very little sleep during the brewing season. For sweet potato shochu, which is all Tekkan makes, that runs from sometime in September to sometime in January with just a few days off for New Years. It’s November. Tekkans’ been at it for more than 2 months. He’s lost weight. He has dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. But he’s fit. More toned than you’ll see when he’s doing sales in summer. The work is hard, but it does keep you in shape. 

He slips past me into the office foyer. I follow him inside. He lifts the noren for the distillery entrance, revealing my LA Dodgers cap, which I had dropped on the counter the night before. I slip it on to hide my bedhead. He steps outside to hang the noren, which is the traditional cloth sign that hangs over the entrances to shops across the country. Yamatozakura is small enough to consider itself a workshop rather than a factory so a noren decorates the entrance to the office building. I use the 2nd floor apartment as my lodging when I am here. Perhaps we could consider it the distillery dormitory, but I’m the only one who uses it. 

The first job of the day is washing rice for today’s koji propagation. I follow Tekkan in the darkness to the main distillery building. He enters and turns on the lights. The entire building lights up through the glass windows in the pre-dawn. It’s bright after the dim lights of the apartment. I make my way to the 30 kilogram sacks of rice that are delivered by the pallet. I swing 5 of the sacks onto a hand cart and push it to the rice washer. Tekkan has begun filling the large steel tub with spring water. Everywhere there’s a water tap in the distillery, there are two of them. One for city water and one for spring water. Anything that touches ingredients uses the clear, nutrient rich water pumped up from the underground springs that have made Ichiki shochu famous in Kagoshima Prefecture. There are 7 distilleries in a town of about 7,000 residents. Yamatozakura is the smallest. The city water is reserved for cleaning equipment and hosing down the distillery floor. 

As the water reaches the desired level we empty each sack of rice into the water. Tekkan is a bit shorter and lighter than me and neither of us are able to ever do this gracefully. The top edge of the washing tub is above our waists and a 30 kilogram sack of rice weighs nearly 70lbs. Lifting that to your shoulder height and then tipping it over without showering the room with rice can only be awkward.

As the rice hits the ice cold water, steam rises off the surface. This always surprises me. The temperature difference between the water and the rice doesn’t feel too drastic, but in the cold morning air it must be enough.  Once all 5 sacks are empty, it’s my job to re-check each sack to make sure every single grain of rice has been removed. After that’s complete, I carefully fold up the sacks. Some are kept as garbage bags for the distillery and the rest are sent back to the rice wholesaler to be reused. 

Tekkan fills the tub with more water until it begins to flow over the edge in a thin waterfall. Cloudy bubbles of rice powder float to the surface. Tekkan takes a shovel from a hook on the wall to skim the bubbles away. All of this overflow and skimmed water goes over the backside of the tub into a grated drain against the wall of the main distilling floor. The water from this system goes not to the city water treatment plant, but to a dedicated basin that’s used to water local agricultural lands. Only water and organic matter ever goes down this drain so it’s safe to reuse for crops. 

We drain the tub, and refill it with fresh water. 

Now the morning shift work really begins. Tekkan drives the shovel into the ice cold water and pulls the rice toward him in a powerful stroke, sending the rice and ice water swirling. He repeats this motion 30 times in rapid succession, which creates a roiling cauldron – a slurry of rice and water. Almost without pause, he switches hand positions on the shovel to send the slurry back in the other direction. Finished with this, he does not pause, but repeats this 60 stroke process 3 more times in the span of less than 5 minutes. His motions are swift and precise. The slurry roils under his power. As I watch, I pull on a water resistant apron. It’ll be my turn soon. 

When he finishes, he tucks the shovel into the rice as it settles back down to the tub floor. I bend over to release the drain. Cloudy water gushes out. The rice is trapped by a mesh screen blocking the exit. Tekkan disappears to check something else in the distillery. I am left to use an ancient car jack to lift one side of the steel tub about 8 inches off the ground to empty all of the water before I close the drain. I turn on the water once again to fill the tub with ice cold spring water. I release the car jack to bring the tub back to level.

When the water reaches the appropriate depth, I begin the same process. As the shovel digs into the rice, the first pull is heavier than I expect. For the 2nd stroke I adjust the shovel head angle and the pull is much smoother. I get more comfortable as I use the stroke count to practice my Japanese counting. I finish 30 strokes clockwise, 30 strokes counterclockwise in a bit more time than it took Tekkan. My movements are neither swift nor precise, though I am competent, and thanks to my relative size, I am powerful. A roiling slurry is the result. Of course, power also brings splashing water and before long my apron is soaked. As I begin my second repetition my shoulders and forearms tighten and fatigue. My abs burn. I focus on using my legs to pull as much as my arms. 

Toward the end of my second repetition, Tekkan returns and reaches out to take over. He finishes the 3rd and 4th repetitions as I catch my breath. As he finishes, I drain the water and jack up the tub. He lopes off to complete another of his endless tasks. I begin round 3. 

Tekkan returns, but I force myself to do all 4 cycles on my own. I am gassed by the end. We work together to complete the final 2 rounds together. While one shovels, the other chats and squeegies away any water that’s splashed on the floor. With each drainage the water is less and less cloudy.  After the 5th round, the water runs essentially clear. 1,200 strokes of the shovel in about 45 minutes. 

Tekkan inspects the rice. He crushes a grain between his thumb and forefinger to test the water content. He nods approvingly. I close the drain and again fill the tub with water. Some rice grains do manage to escape the screen mesh barricade.   I rescue the escapees from a colander placed beneath the drain spout and reunite them with their compatriots. Tekkan reduces the water flow to a trickle once the water begins cresting the side of the tub. 

We towel off as best we can. I return my wet apron to a hook on the wall. As we step out into the crisp autumn air birds greet each other as the sun peeks over the rooftop of the building across the road. That’s Hamada Distillery. Hamada is the largest shochu maker in Ichiki. In fact, it’s the largest in Kagoshima Prefecture by both annual sales and production volume. This is the headquarters, but just one of their 3 massive factories within 15km of where we stand. Their test distillery is larger than Yamatozakura’s entire operation. 

Tekkan points in the direction of his house. He says one word in English. Breakfast. I nod and walk toward his family’s home where his wife and mother-in-law prepare the morning meal for their two sons, Tekkan, and me when I’m here. I don’t get paid for my labor, but I am given room and board and the board is absolutely delicious. As I walk the few hundred yards to their house, Tekkan heads back into the distillery – he’s tireless. 

My second cup of coffee of the day is magnitudes better than the first. It’s made with fresh ground beans from a local roaster. I’ve watched their two boys grow from a preschooler and a toddler to intelligent, articulate, creative grade schoolers. They sit hunched at their desks finishing last minute homework until they are beckoned to the dining table. As they sit, they look toward me and give me a sing-song Ohayo. I give it right back in a more staccato masculine reply. 

Tekkan and his family may live in the styx, but his time working in advertising in Tokyo and his wife’s time as a fashion buyer with frequent trips to Paris and Milan mean they don’t live like the average local residents. Modern art decorates the walls. A well curated vinyl selection fills bookshelves behind a home turntable, a reminder of Tekkan’s days DJing on weekends in Tokyo. Handmade Japanese furniture ties everything together. 

The boys scarf down their eggs, sausages, fruit, and miso soup. They’ve got to head out by 7:30 if they’re going to get to school on time. Tekkan usually walks them as far as the distillery so he can check more tasks off his list.  For me it’s a more leisurely pace as I do not have to be back to work until 8am. I usually finish the pot of coffee if there’s any left as I chat with Tekkan’s mother-in-law as she cleans up after breakfast. 

My walk back to the distillery is accompanied by the 8am tune over the town loudspeakers that lets the enclave know the morning shift is beginning. It’s the second decade of the 21st century, yet this pre-war relic remains a part of daily life in many parts of rural Japan. 

My brisk walk back to the distillery brings me upon a scene of bustling activity. The morning shift has started for the other workers. I quickly change into my rain suit, which I had bought for bad weather bicycle commuting years ago, and rubber boots. I complete the uniform with first latex and then heavy rubber gloves. Only Tekkan and I double glove, because we are the only people at the distillery who work with both the delicate koji and the dirty sweet potatoes. Again, like natto, soil from the potatoes could introduce unwanted organisms to the delicate fermentations.  

On the backside of the distillery a forklift lifts a half ton canvas tote. The lift’s arms groan under the weight. Tekkan operates the lift as me and a spry old man who lives nearby work rapidly organize bushel baskets in a square under the tote. I reach under the tote and yank on the drawstring. It’s resistant. I give it a couple more hard tugs and a small hole opens up in the bottom of the tote. The potatoes fight to escape through the narrow gap. I reach in to dig out whatever potato has caused the blockage. The weight of the mass above quickly overwhelms the drawstring’s feeble resistance. They come out in a torrent. The sound is deafening as a half ton of potatoes crash into the plastic baskets from a height of 4 feet or so. As the sound recedes the smell of soil wafts into the air. Potatoes quickly bury our ankles in the baskets. We pull ourselves free to avoid getting the dust in our eyes.  Usually unsuccessfully. 

While one of us sets up the washing area, the other hand pulls another quarter ton of freshly harvested sweet potatoes from a second tote waiting nearby. Tekkan busies himself, getting decked out in Patagonia fly-fishing waders and a heavy waterproof jacket. He pulls on boots, latex gloves, and finally rubber gloves that reach above his elbows. He takes a deep breath and deadlifts the first basket of potatoes. He dumps it over into the waiting open topped washing machine that’s already spraying water and spinning its nylon brushed rotors. The black earth covered kogane sengan quickly turn darker as the soil wets and then a dull yellow as the mud washes away. 

Tekkan inspects the 30 kilograms of potatoes for any signs of rot or damage. He takes a random potato out of the washer with one hand and deftly slices it in half with the teba knife in his other. The severed half disappears back into the roiling tumble of increasingly clean potatoes. He sniffs the half in his hand. Not smelling any signs of disease, he drops the remaining half back into the morass. When he finds one with signs of rot, he trims away bit by bit to see if any of the diseased potato can be salvaged. On a good day in a good harvest year, there are very few potatoes that have to be discarded entirely. On a bad day in a bad harvest year, up to a quarter of the yield may be discarded. 

He steps back to check the progress. When satisfied, he pulls a lever and the right side of the washing machine bows toward the ground like an obedient dog. He yanks another lever and a trap door releases the startingly white potatoes into a waiting sky blue plastic basket. Reversing the levers closes the trap door and lifts the machine back to horizontal. In goes the next basket to be cleaned. 

I use a metal hook to drag the clean basket to the trimming area where myself and two retirees from the morning shift will hand inspect and trim each potato. Before she retired, “genki-obachan” as I called her could process 2½  baskets in the time it took me to do one. She had worked as a cook in a hospital cafeteria for 20 years before retiring. Her hands were blindingly fast as she cut the ends off each potato. She would quickly inspect the rest of the surface for signs of minor rot and shave those away. All in the time it would take me to pull a potato from my basket and trim the first end. I’ve gotten better over the years, but I doubt I will ever reach her level of proficiency. I hope she’s enjoying her retirement.

Today my trimming colleagues are a married couple. The husband works sedately, but who can blame him? He’s 86 years old this year. His wife is a spry 79 so she is about as fast as me. 

Speed isn’t the most important thing. Precision is. Each potato his hand inspects, ends trimmed, and signs of rot removed. The ends are bitter, which makes the shochu bitter. Any rot that ends up in the fermentation won’t necessarily ruin it since the potatoes are steamed long enough to kill any bacteria, but it can certainly affect the flavor and aroma. I take pride in my ability to spot rot and remove it. I am not so certain about the ability of my elders so I spot check their baskets as I move them to the pallets where they will be transported by forklift to the steamer. I do this heavy lifting so they don’t have to. I also do it, because it gives me a chance to stretch my legs and back, which get tight after squatting on a low stool in the chill autumn air. 

About an hour later Ko-chan, who works both the morning shift and the afternoon shift, steps out from the distillery and calls to me. I strip off my rain suit and dirty gloves. I wash my hands and forearms with soap and water. I slip out of the boots and into my Vans for the short walk into the distillery. The shoes come right off again as I step into awaiting rubber shoes in the anteroom to the koji muro, or koji room. But before I get to the koji room, let’s talk about the rubber shoes. Imagine knockoff Crocks. Not attractive. They were about $4 at the local home center. 

As I open the sliding wooden door to the koji muro, I am hit by a wave of summer heat. A shocking transition from the chill of the distillery floor. The distillery itself does not have climate control. Only the koji muro has any heating at all. Steam pipes line the floorboards and heat and humidity are adjusted through a series of gauges and wooden flaps that can be opened or closed to different degrees. 

Ko-chan is busy setting up for breaking up the mound of koji inoculated rice that waits covered in ancient burlap rice sacks and old futon blankets on a low table in the center of the room. He’s my age, a little league baseball coach, and the only other full-time distillery worker besides Tekkan. He’s still seasonal, but he puts in a full day 5 days a week from September to January. 

As he sets up a machine at one end of the table, I remove the sacks and blankets to reveal a large sailing canvas – the final layer. As we open it up, the rice mound is hard and warm to the touch. It’s completed about 40% of its journey from rice to koji. When this process is complete, it will no longer be considered rice, but kome koji or rice koji. We work to shovel the dry, caked rice away from the machine. 

Ko-chan turns on the machine. It whirs to life. I take my shovel and take a dig into the mound, carefully lifting it up over the lip of the receptacle on top of the machine. I drop my load and the hiss of rice clumps being pulverized by steel bars spinning on a high speed rotor permeates the room. We take turns dumping shovels full of rice into the mouth of the machine. Our rhythm improves and before long we are not banging shovels or waiting for one another to finish a load. As the separated rice pours out of the bottom of the machine it quickly creates a new mound, which we periodically have to shovel away to keep it from clogging up the exit. 

The original clumped mound is converted to a fresh mound of dry rice grains. When we finish the last of this process, Ko-chan turns off the machine. The silence is obvious after the constant thrum of the motor and roar of the rice pulverizing. Ko-chan dusts off the machine to extricate any rice grains that may be hiding in its innards. There’s always some, but we can’t let any get away. As he does that, I begin forming a new mound. I tuck an electric thermometer probe into the mound to check the temperature. Satisfied, we rewrap the mound in sailing canvas and old futon blankets. The burlap sacks are not replaced so that the temperature will rise more slowly from now until the next stage of koji making. 

As I return to the sweet potato washing area, I run my fingers through my hair to rid it of any rice grains that may have hitchhiked out of the koji muro. As I redress in my still damp rain gear and boots, Tekkan gets a phone call. He waves me over. He needs to take it. I take his place washing the potatoes. It’s a monotonous but satisfying task. You can use the water jets to clean mud out of crevices in the surface of the potatoes. The crevices occur when the potatoes have not received enough rainfall during the season. But you have to be careful. Hit the angle of the water jet into the crevice at the wrong angle, and you’ll get mud in your eye. Literally. That’s not fun. Once I finish up the current wash, I throw the levers, empty the washer and drag the basket over to the waiting couple. 

I step back to the washing machine, squat over a basket of potatoes and lift. The weight always surprises me the first time. The lurch to dump the basket into the washing machine is also a balancing act. Too strong and you risk throwing some potatoes over the back side. Too weak and you may dump the basket on the floor in front of you. I step back as the first wash begins and watch as the mud washes away. It happens gradually and then all at once. There’s nothing to do at this point, because you still can’t tell what is caked mud and what is rot. I turn my attention to the remaining baskets. I use the metal hook to drag them closer to the machine to make future transitions faster. The only way to save time with this part of the process without risking the quality of the fermentation is to make the transition from one load to the next as fast as possible. 

When Tekkan returns he thanks me for taking over and I head back to the trimming area. As I lower myself onto the low stool where I had been working until an hour ago, I realize we’ve made some decent progress. Within a few minutes my fingers are reminded that they are wet and cold. The warmth of the koji muro is a fading memory. The old lady recognizes my discomfort, reaches into her bag and hands me a small warm can of convenience store coffee. I thank her, grateful for the little bit of warmth. I take a big swig, realizing immediately that it contains both milk and sugar. This is almost a guilty pleasure. I’ve been drinking my coffee black for well over a decade.

We process 32 baskets of potatoes in about 3 hours. Sometimes it’s faster, sometimes it’s much slower. It all depends on the quality of the harvest. I leave the clean-up to the older couple and follow the forklift around to the front of the distillery where sliding doors have been opened to allow access to the conveyor that lifts the potatoes into the steamer. The trimmed potatoes get one more rinse as they ride up the ancient conveyor through jet spray nozzles arranged inside the machine’s old steel body. It’s not so much a conveyor belt as a conveyor corkscrew. If too many potatoes are put into the machine at once you can jam it up and overpower the low horsepower motor. It’s patient work. 

I offer to unload the last few baskets for Ko-chan. He waves me toward the potato steamer. I nod, and climb the steel ladder welded to the side of the steamer in my wet rubber boots. When I reach a step that is a platform rather than a steel bar, I know I’ve reached my destination. I am about 10 feet off the ground and in front of me is a large trapdoor in the top of the steamer now nearly full of freshly washed and trimmed sweet potatoes. The sound of spray of water from the conveyor is muted by the tumbling of the potatoes against the old steel walls of the conveyor’s cover. The potatoes enter from the corkscrew conveyor at the far opposite end of the steamer.

I twist my torso around to reach for an old, heavy rake tucked into the rafters of the distillery. I stretch the rake under the roof of the steamer and blindly drag the potatoes into other corners of the rapidly shrinking space. If I drag too aggressively I risk banging my hand between the wall of the steamer and the rake handle. If I drag at the wrong angle upward I risk banging my elbow on the safety railing that secures my perch. The work is constant and back-breaking to keep those falling potatoes from blocking the entrance to the steamer. I also set the goal of making the surface as flat as possible to assure an even steam. 

I know the work is finally finished when the thrum of the potatoes banging on steel walls is replaced by only the spray of water. I hear the ending of the mid-day jingle playing over the town loudspeakers, letting everyone know it’s time for a lunch break. The morning shift is ending. As Ko-chan kills the water spray, the silence is sudden. I am left to finish my work, return the rake to its resting place, and close the heavy steel door on top of the steamer. Ko-chan thanks me for my effort. He usually has to do that raking by himself. I can tell he welcomes the relief. 

I step out of the distillery into the noon day sun. The morning shift is finally over. As I strip off my rain gear and boots, the sun on my skin feels fantastic. I wash my hands and face in an outdoor sink before jogging back to the office. I find Tekkan at his desk, ordering his next potato shipment over the phone. He tells the broker that the potatoes today were excellent so he hopes he can get a similar delivery in two days time. He hangs up the phone and wipes his brow with a hand towel before turning to me with inquisitive eyes. 

Lunch? I ask. 

He shrugs and says, “Sorry. Isogashi.” He’s too busy for lunch today. I offer to get something for him from the convenience store. He smiles and gives me his order. He also pushes 2000 yen into my hand. He insists room and board means room and board even if he can’t be there to pay. I don’t resist. He forgets often enough that I don’t feel guilty.

MORNING SHIFT CREDITS

Theme Song: Begin Anywhere by Tomoko Miyata (http://tomokomiyata.net/)

Mixing and Editing and Voice Work: Rich Pav of the amazing Uncanny Robot Podcast. He also edits the excellent Uncanny Japan podcast.

Distillery Background Sound courtesy of the Japanese Sake & Shochu Makers Association.

Background Music for this Episode in Order of Appearance:

Chill Wave by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/3498-chill-wave License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Vlog Lofi by Ramol Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7071-vlog-lofi License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Bass Vibes by Kevin MacLeod Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/3422-bass-vibes License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Full Moon Lofi Vibes by EdiKey20 Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/7672-full-moon-lofi-vibes License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Positive Fat Bass Intro Loop by WinnieTheMoog Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/6093-positive-fat-bass-intro-loop License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Lofi Chill Hip-Hop by WinnieTheMoog Link: https://filmmusic.io/song/6347-lofi-chill-hip-hop License: https://filmmusic.io/standard-license

Kanpai!

Teaser: Episode 34 is taking a little longer than usual to write, record, and edit, but we truly hope it will be worth the wait. It’s the first in a 3 part series that we are very excited to share with you. Stephen has been working at the Yamatozakura shochu distillery in Ichiki, Kagoshima, every fall for almost a decade and we’ve decided to try take you on a journey through a day in the life of the distillery. Narrated by Rich Pav of Uncanny Robot.

The series will be broken into three parts:

Morning the workday starts at 5am with a break at noon.

Afternoon from 12:30pm to 6:30pm before a break for dinner.

Night 8pm to 1am or later.

In the meantime, we recommend you listen to our back catalogue, particularly these episodes are they are directly related to the next 3.

Episode 3. Introducing Japanese Shochu

Episode 14. The Smelly, Wonderful World of Sweet Potato Shochu

Until next week, please enjoy.

Kanpai!

EPISODE INTRO

In the 33rd episode of the Japan Distilled podcast, your host Stephen Lyman has a conversation with Joshin Atone of The SG Shochu. The conversation ranges from NY cocktail culture to Shanghai speakeasies to Joshin serving his first drink at the age of four. The meandering conversation is full of great info for everyone from the shochu curious novice to the professional bartender.

CREDITS

Theme Song: Begin Anywhere by Tomoko Miyata (http://tomokomiyata.net/)

Mixing and Editing: Rich Pav (https://www.uncannyjapan.com/)

HOST

STEPHEN LYMAN discovered Japan’s indigenous spirits at an izakaya in New York City. He was so enthralled that he now lives in Japan and works in a tiny craft shochu distillery every autumn. His first book, The Complete Guide to Japanese Drinks, was nominated for a 2020 James Beard Award.

Stephen has been friends with Joshin for about a decade. They first met when Joshin started working at SakaMai where Stephen guest bar-tended.

If you have any comments or questions about Joshin or the SG Group, please reach out to Stephen or Christopher via Twitter. We would love to hear from you. 

SHOW NOTES

Who is Joshin Atone?

Joshin Atone was born in California to a Japanese father and American mother. He visited Fukuoka in Kyushu every year visiting family and was pouring shochu for his uncle before he was in elementary school. After university, he cut his teeth in hospitality at SakaMai in the Lower East Side before going to work at Angel’s Share, the iconic Japanese style cocktail bar in Manhattan’s East Village, which sadly recently closed its doors.

From there he joined the SG Group, led by world class bartender Shingo Gokan in Shanghai to be part of the opening team of Sober Company, Gokan’s 2nd bar in that city. From there Joshin moved to Tokyo where he helped the SG Group open several more bars before being tasked with developing The SG Shochu, a line of 3 shochu expressions meant for cocktails.

The SG Shochu

As with many Japanese bartenders, shochu is not the first spirit Shingo Gokan thought of when considering new cocktail ingredients. However, as has often been the case in his illustrious career, he realized that Japan’s native spirit deserved a place in his arsenal. Unhappy with the options available overseas, he decided to lead the development of his own private line of shochu. And so The SG Shochu was born.

This line from 3 of the more well known shochu makers in Japan represent Kuma Shochu (rice shochu from Kumamoto), Satsuma Shochu (sweet potato shochu from Kagoshima), and Mugi Shochu (100% barley shochu from Oita). All 3 are bottled at 40% to stand up in cocktails.

Where to Find Joshin

Joshin recently left the employment of The SG Group, but he still works closely with them on design projects and other branding activities. He’s now available for freelance if you are interested in working with him on your own project. You can reach him at flow (dot) brand design (all one word) at gmail (dot) com. He is not active on social media currently, but he does have an instagram account, flowbeatgroove.

KANPAI!