27/06/2015

Snapshot 8: Irresistible


Irresistible
Old weathered wood skilfully fabricated is simply irresistible.  It must be taken.  It’s even more irresistible when combined with the fresh new green leaves of an acer.  Why is it appealing?  I suppose it’s a matter of the kind of contrast there is between the skin of an elderly person and that of a new born baby—the withering and the bountiful, sparkling energy of the new.

Imagine the same shot in the autumn—the weather beaten wood is now seen against a glowing finale before the fall—in Japan in particular it is sentimentality personified.

Take one away and the other suffers.  Change one and the expressive qualities of the other are enhanced.

This scene was just one of a number of beautiful vignettes at Sojiji Temple in the town of Monzen.  Wajima lacquerware and the temple have strong connections that deserve more attention at a later date.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

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Snapshot 7: Life Blood


Life Blood
True lacquer is the life blood of Wajima lacquerware.  It’s a natural product tapped from the lacquer tree.  It is then refined and filtered before it can be used.  Black and red true lacquer are the most common colours used in Japan but many others are possible.

Today Japanese true lacquer is scares and expensive.  Much is imported from China but that is not just a recent trend.  It is possible to blend lacquers to achieve the desired degree of transparency, colour and drying properties.  Actually—and I may have said this before—true lacquer does not dry but cures.  Thickly applied lacquer might take several days to harden and if left as an expressive dribble, for example, it can take two years or more to go completely hard.

Because it cures at an optimum temperature of 25˚C and 80% humidity it reacts to changes in atmospheric conditions.  Over the last few days the humidity has risen to 70%+ having previously been in the mid- to high-fiftys.  Consequently an adjustment may be necessary to slow down the process.  A very small amount of the light Japanese version of soya sauce can be added to slow down the hardening process.  It’s the salt in the soya sauce which does the trick.

Lacquer workshops often hold a stock of this precious material and let it “sleep” in a store house where the temperature and levels of humidity are stable.  If it is moved to another workshop and applied to a bowl or other article it may not dry at all despite ideal conditions.  Return it to it’s “home” and it will behave and go hard.  It would seem that it does not really like to be disturbed.  That, however, does not make it unusable.

The other major ingredient used in the making of Wajima lacquerware is ji no ko—a processed diatomaceous earth which along with the application of a fine reinforcing cloth gives it a well-known robustness.  It is, however, unseen.  More of this another time.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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22/06/2015

Snapshot 6: Calm and Detachment



Calm and Detachment
After a long day touring round the Noto Peninsula looking at some treasures of traditional architecture, I found myself on a promontory gazing out over the Japan Sea.  It was still some time before the sun would reach the watery horizon but night was certainly approaching.

It had been a hot and very humid day; the kind of day when everything is seen as if through a ground glass screen.  Taking photographs on a dry bright day in autumn or winter when the air is so dry on the Pacific coast of Japan, everything appears to be so sharp and highly defined.  In the summer, however, when the humidity can reach 80~90% and it's still not raining, there is a mysterious air and time seems to be standing still.  Despite the sense of unpleasantness such levels of humidity trigger, there is too a feeling of meditative calm, stillness and detachment.  There may be only a few who would agree with my assessment but those were my feelings as I watched the sun setting over the sea on that particular evening.

Mind you, the way my T-shirt had been clinging to me for most of the day was a rude reminder that I should really try to lose some weight!

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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Snapshot 5: Unexpected



Unexpected
Admittedly, I had never been into the private reception rooms of a Buddhist temple before but, nevertheless, the decoration of these two rooms at Fukushoji Temple came as something of a surprise.

The inner most room is reserved for when a high-ranking monk visits—the blue walls and stunning colour of the cushion are both indication of his status.

The minimalism of so many pieces of traditional Japanese architecture is always a pleasure to behold and to experience.  These two rooms, however, have set a new standard for me—refreshingly bright and airy, clean lines and an inspiring atmosphere.  Why ever did I think I would never see anything like this in Japan?

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

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20/06/2015

Snapshot 4: The Early Bird Catches the…….Fish?!


The Early Bird Catches the…….Fish?!
Wajima being a fishing port on the Japan Sea, it is little wonder that there is a fish auction every morning, or at least when it is possible to land a catch.  The fish are sold in lots to local and distant traders as well as to the owners of eateries and establishments providing traditional accommodation in the town.  Some fish even go as far as Tokyo on the Pacific coast.

Black Kites and Crows on the look out.

Not having ever lived by the sea, I was surprised to see so many Gulls, as well as a handful of the large indigenous Crow, a lone Heron and a considerable number of Black Kites.  Where I live in England we often sea Red Kites which are now thriving having been reintroduced some years ago after a long absence.  On the Noto Peninsula, however, the Black Kite is never far from view, often to be seen circling in twos and threes high overhead.

All the birds were waiting for scraps or fish which were discarded for being too small or too damaged to go to auction.  The Black Kites swooped low over the sea-water drenched concrete wharf to grab fish, while some of the bolder Gulls snuck into the shed to nick a bit of squid or even to gulp down small fry before someone came too close for comfort.

Flying Fish counted off by the weighed basket.
All eyes were on the boxes of shrimps.
Equally eager to see what was being offered were the traders.  They gathered in small groups to discuss and peruse the days catch which had be divided by variety or size of fish into ice-laden polystyrene trays.  At six-thirty an auctioneer and assistant appeared.  Both were representatives of Japan Fisheries and unexpectedly young.  Both also wore their baseball caps back to front and added an almost comical and relaxed air to the proceedings.  They moved along each row of trays surrounded by the keen buyers who were ready to cast a bid or even a joke or two. The auctioneer had a stick to identify the tray that was being auctioned, while his assistant diligently recored who had bought which tray.  The small swarm of buyers, some with their registration number fixed to their head gear, followed shouting their bids.  Those who had made a purchase quickly removed their buy to a waiting trolly, bicycle or light truck.  And before long the auction was over and everybody dispersed.

A large cluster of Gulls bobbed on the water of the harbour, the Crows were nowhere to be seen and the Kites were already distant specks in the cloudy morning sky.  The Heron had probably left to search for frogs in a distant rice paddy.  The excitement was over for another day.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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19/06/2015

Snapshot 3: What have I been doing?



What have I been doing?
Yesterday, I spent a day working in the Shioyasu workshop.  With a history of over 150 years, it is one of the largest workshops in Wajima and has an extensive showroom.  During the tourist season buses come loaded with tour groups who are anxious to learn about lacquerware.  In some cases the groups of Japanese who come actually have either very little or no real knowledge of where lacquer comes from or how it is used to make what are iconic pieces of tableware, which have been used by the lowly as well as the noble for centuries in Japan.

One of the main features of Wajima Lacquerware is just how robust it is.  Working with a wooden core, a ground is built up using a local backed earth mixed with lacquer on top of which several more layers of lacquer are applied.  This gives it its strength.


A fine but flexible cotton cloth is applied to the core using lacquer and the ground is built up on that initial application.  That’s what I was doing yesterday.  I sat on the floor at a low bench and applied the cotton cloth to the back of blanks of a small egg-shaped mirror.  I managed to complete 65.  My mentor—Mr. Sakamoto sitting in the back of the top picture—was delighted not only with the number that I was able to complete but also because I managed to do it like a “professional” using a wooden spatular.  I have a feeling it was beginners luck.  My achievement, however, was not the only result of my efforts.  Having sat on the floor all day I suffered with back pain today.  Nevertheless it was definitely worth it.

Shin’ichi Shioyasu, Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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18/06/2015

Snapshot 2: Who have I met?



Who have I met?
Well, so far I have met more than 50 individuals but this one was rather special.  He graces the lid of a natsume—a small tea caddy used for the powdered tea served at a tea ceremony.  The monkey is rendered by chasing the hard true lacquer with very sharp tools of various sizes.  Called chinkin in Japanese, this fine piece of work was skilfully produced by Kazutaka Furukomi.  The lacquer must be hard but not too hard so that it makes the chasing more difficult.  Having chased the design, lacquer is rubbed into the depressions.  Then, using a small wad of cotton, a very fine gold powder is rubbed over the motif, which reveals itself on the surface.

Kazutaka is lucky enough to have a strong fan-base for his work and a figure of around one million yen for such a piece does not deter a buyer.  Worth it?  Well yes, because it will be used and cherished, most likely for several generations.

I was very pleased to meet the monkey, Kazutaka and his wife, Sachiko.  And then there were the four cats, who appeared at various times but were not allowed free rein in the room where Kazutaka works.  After all, cat hair flying about is no match for the golden coat of a monkey.  It would only be an annoyance.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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Snapshot 1: Where am I?


Where am I?
The easy answer to this question is I’m in Wajima on the Noto Peninsula.  I’ve been here since 3rd June.  I had hoped to be able to write several features while I am here but it’s only now that I have had enough time and energy to actually sit down and write something.  For the time being I have decided to produce a number of Snapshots—short pieces about some of the things, people and places I have been lucky enough to see.  I’ll write longer more detailed features in due course.

This shot is of some of the traditional buildings in the town of Kuroshima on the Japan Sea coast of the peninsula.  The coast-hugging road is new and actually runs along the back of a number of properties that in the past had direct access to the sea for the purpose of trade.  The main street is some 50~60 meters back from this road and only has a single lane.

A setting sun and a good deal of photographic licence has produced a dramatic shot, which reminds me of a painter's work, but I can’t think who it is.

Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright


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19/05/2015

On Design—Aesthetics

This is the first of what will be several articles on design and some of the underlying aesthetic criteria which I feel consciously and unconsciously guide the endeavours of creative people in Japan, especially in the disciplines of craft, design and in some cases architecture.

Qualities Shared
It was not until I was about to leave Japan after a 24 year-stay that I suddenly realised that there was an unexpected relationship between Japan and my childhood. 

Sadly by the time this photo was taken in the early 1960s, the wooden perimeter fence had be replaced by wire just visible to the left.  The steam locomotives, too, were also about to be replaced by diesel traction.
When I was a child, I lived with my parents and sister in Hatfield, about 33 km north of London.  When I was seven we moved to a house close to the main railway line between London and Edinburgh.  Even before that my paternal grandmother often took me and my cousin to watch the trains when she looked after us.  This treat was clearly pivotal because as I grew older, I would take every opportunity to go and stand by the railway and do what many young boys and some not so young men used to do, and that was train-spotting—simply collecting the numbers of the engines seen and underlining them in a book published for the purpose.

Hatfield Station had an engine shed, where locomotives were stabled over night.  All the paraphernalia needed to service the engines including wagons full of coal, produced an inevitable overall mantle of grime and oil as well as smoke and steam that added so much atmosphere to the whole setting, creating a complex and animated backdrop through which gleaming express trains thundered or unkempt goods engines trundled with their loads.  There was precision, there was patina, there was what today is called “shabby chic”, flaking paint, evocative graphics, sooty matt surfaces, bright gleaming metals, and all manner of sights, sounds and smells amalgamated into a total experience.

Glossy true lacquer, rustically daubed wall, printed paper, ageing—elements of a tea room seen as an abstract composition.  Okochi Sanso Villa, Kyoto.
I know it is difficult to picture just how this railway setting could have anything to do with what I was later to encounter in Japan but it did.  I know it did.  More than anything else it was the qualities of all the materials in this theatre of railway, but most especially the wooden fence beside the line.  Even now it seems to be the vital connection between my early childhood and the materials used in traditional Japanese architecture.

Weathered wood and metal at 
Zentsuji Temple 
on the Island of Shikoku.
This perimeter fence was made of thick, slightly spaced upright boards standing around two meters high.  The boards were dark, almost black and heavily weathered—their surfaces finely ridged where the softer parts of the grain had wore away.  Those who have been to Japan, will realise that I could easily be describing the finish of the timber of one of Japan’s ancient temples or folk houses.

So, I would say that I found in Japan what represented some of my happiest and most satisfying moments I experienced as a child.  Without trying to explain this by delving into the depths of psychology, about which I know very little, I feel this is the reason why so much of what I encountered in Japan gave me a feeling of deep satisfaction and contentment, when I first visited Japan and even now.




The asymmetrical arrangement of the Pagoda and Main Hall at Horyuji is a compositional feature peculiar to Japan—fundamentally characteristic of a Japanese architectural composition.
Japan’s timber buildings were not, of course, built with weathered timber.  In the case of a temple like Horyuji, which is now more than 1,300 years old, the wood was originally painted, although now there are very few traces of any colour on its buildings.  It seems that no one considered that it was important to repaint it.  It was allowed to grow old gracefully and, interestingly, the natural ageing of such a building in Japan is revered just as much as newness and renewal are admired.

In a sheltered corner at Horyuji 
there is still some paint on 
the bracketing.
But not everything in Japan is as rustic as that fence beside my childhood railway haunt.  The kind of beauty and precision of lacquerwork, for instance, in some way echoes the finely lined and painted body of an express locomotive.  The polished metalwork and appealingly aged appearance of all that I found beside the railway is, I feel, often represented in Japanese crafts, design and architecture.


Just like any other country or region, the culture of Japan has an assemblage of aesthetic standards that can be recognised as guides as to what the people consider “beautiful”, but not just because of how they look.  Sometimes it is because of their smell or how they feel in the hands.  All things can be judged in a multitude of ways.  I seem to share many of the aesthetic standards that exist in Japan.  Why did that happen?  Is it because of the railway line I lived near as a child or is it because of something else?

Horyuji Temple—The Pagoda is revealed as the wind blows the curtain at the entrance to the Main Worship Hall and the light from the setting sun sets off the weathered and untreated wood of the door.
All images by Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

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28/04/2015

Going to Noto?

At first sight a bewilderingly detailed Japanese railway timetable.
New Connection
These days, so much information is available at our finger tips—literally via the World Wide Web.  If we want to go somewhere, all we need to know is accessible through a computer.  Just type in the desired location and almost instantly we are able to navigate information about planes, cars for hire, trains, and buses not to mention a giddying amount of data regarding places to stay and see.  Even guidebooks now give us so much to ponder, we are spoilt for choice.

Two early types of Shinkansen pictured in 
the late 1970s.
Back in 1964 when the first Shinkansen line opened for business between Tokyo and Osaka the situation was quite different.  Using a timetable we could at least pick the train on which we wanted to ride but then we needed to go to a travel agent or a train station booking office to actually buy a ticket.  Mind you, the ticketing system was very sophisticated even back then.  An operator would use the controls of a very complex booking machine with such assurance, resulting in a small collection of tickets, which would be explained in a typically Japanese attentive and conscientious manner.  That at least is no different today.

More recent, speedy and advanced versions of 
the Shinkansen.
The Shinkansen high-speed train network has now spread out over most of Japan and serves many major centres.  Sometimes known as the Bullet Train, there have of course been some developments in the service and speed.  Back in 1964 a trip form Tokyo to Osaka, a matter of roughly 520 km took four hours at a top speed of around 200 km/h.  51 years later, this trip now takes just 2 hours 22 minutes on the fastest train at top speeds of almost 300 km/h.  Nevertheless, today a flight between the two cities is cheaper and quicker but from city centre to city centre the Shinkansen still has the edge, if nothing else because of the comfort and facilities that are offered.  This high-speed network now amounts to almost  3,000 km.  A great percentage of the Shinkansen lines are elevated—level crossings were not an option with trains travelling so fast.  Sometimes the elevated tracks are so high you could be forgiven for believing you were seated in a plane!

A relaxing time on the Shinkansen.
And now we can take a Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kanazawa, the city just a little way south-west of the Noto Peninsula.  The new line came into operation on 14th March 2015 and the trip only takes about 2 hrs 30 min.  Google says that the journey by car could take six hours!

So the new Hokuriku Shinkansen is definitely a good option.  The Kagayaki service is the fastest but all seats are reserved (http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e2018_nagano.html).

Getting from Kanazawa to Wajima, the main city of the peninsula, is best done by train or coach.  The highway coach takes about two hours.

If you fly into Kansai International Airport near Osaka and then spend some time in Kyoto, you can then catch a Super Express to Kanazawa and finally access the peninsula from there.  All being well this is the way I will get to Wajima in June.

Not all rail transport in Japan is high-speed. 
This image from the late 1970s at least shows 
how much people’s dress has changed in Tokyo.
If you are interested in immersing yourself in Japan, why not go to Kyoto and Kanazawa first to see and soak up traditional aspects of the life and culture of these ancient isles.  Then, go on up the Japan Sea coast to the Noto Peninsula which offers much that is unique and rural.  And after that, if you head off to Tokyo you can experience the multitude of stimuli that this megacity has to offer.  A friend of mine once said he wanted to see Tokyo because of the city depicted in Blade Runner, the movie directed by Ridley Scott and staring Harrison Ford.  It’s true.  Tokyo is such a mixture and full of surprises—science fiction becomes reality, heritage become contemporary.


Then you could take the Shinkansen from Tokyo back to Osaka over the original route of the Shinkansen to round off your experience of Japan—a journey through time, an engaging culture and countryside and a trip that will bring you into contact with a people always ready to please.

All images by Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright
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13/04/2015

Of Good and Evil

Courtesy of Sojiji Temple
Inukko-Maki—Throw a Small Dog?!
What a ridiculous idea.  Literally translated, however, that is more or less what the Inukko-maki festival name means.  I suppose to be kind maki could be translated as “to broadcast” in the sense of “broadcasting seeds”.  Or even “distribute”.  Nevertheless both are only marginally better than “to throw”.

Children’s masks of a demon, an Otafuku—lady who brings happiness—and a toy dog are all part of Mame-Maki.  Kaori Yamaki Photo © Copyright
Festivals in Japan are often visual spectacles as well as being charming, compelling and sometimes dramatic.  Hardly a day goes by without a festival taking place somewhere at sometime throughout the year.  Some are religious and are full of ritual and ceremony.  Others are based on customs, folklore or much more simply associated with superstitions.  A number of annually celebrated festivals have a universal character and are honoured all over the country, more or less at the same time.  Some are highly involved and yet may not have much regional colour or idiosyncrasies.  New Year celebrations roughly fall into this category, although it is still possible to find some variations.  In some cases a festival becomes personalised simply because of the way the essence of a celebration is scaled down or enacted at a family level.  Mame-maki is one of those.

A hand-painted image of a demon 
on a Japanese kite.
(Maker unknown)
Setsubun, marking the beginning of spring, is celebrated at the beginning of February.  It is one of those festivals which are celebrated at a very public level with news coverage as well as in people’s homes up and down the country—in this case much to the delight of small children.

When my son and daughter were small and we lived on the outskirts of Tokyo, we followed the prescribed rituals to a T along with other families with children in the neighbourhood.  Mame in this case are roasted soya beans and maki in this particular instance really does mean to throw with some vengeance.

The idea is to banish any ogres or demons disseminating evil that may be hiding in your home while also welcoming good luck and happiness into your midst.  As you hurl roasted soya beans into the dark corners where evil may be concealed you shout “Oni wa soto—Get out you evil demons” followed by “Fuku wa uchi—Welcome happiness”.  It is not only the dark corners of rooms that are the target of this attack.  Doorways and windows or any other possible lairs of evil too take a peppering accompanied by shrieks of delight tinged with a slight feeling of fear from young children as they go about the task of cleansing the home in a manner which would not normally be condoned.  Someone takes a turn at being a demon by putting on a cardboard mask, thus adding to the fun.  Also, to ensure good luck in the year ahead you are supposed to eat the same number of beans as your age.

It takes more than one or two people to make three to four thousand Inukko.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright
What has this to do with throwing small dogs?  In essence the aim is the same—banishing evil and hoping for happiness—but achieving it in a different way.

Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright
The dog is one of twelve animal zodiac signs in Chinese astrology and a symbol offering protection from evil.  In Japan it is often seen as a protector of young children.  Perhaps this is inevitable.  After all humankind as a whole was quick to recognise this from very early times.

Well, admittedly I am rather playing with words.  The small dogs are actually miniaturised representations of a dog or even other animals in the zodiac.  They are made by mixing rice flour with hot water into a modelling consistency.  The “throwing” is simply a means of distribution—the distribution of a little good luck and protection, rather in the way in which chasing out evil and welcoming in happiness is hoped for in the Mame-maki festival.

At the Sojiji temple and others on the Noto Peninsular the Inukko-maki festival is an established date in the annual calendar.  It takes place on different days in March and is well attended.  Unlike my own household’s energetic activities at Setsubun, Inukko-maki is not replicated at home, although some families will set ceramic model dogs outside windows on the north side of a house to keep evil spirits at bay. 

It is not only model dogs which are made.  The other zodiac animals such as snakes and birds are also seen as being just as lucky.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright
At Sojiji temple some three to four thousand little figures are made and tossed out into the throng of people who have come to try and bag some protection and happiness.  Some people will eat them while others will place the guardian figures in their porches where they dry out and become very hard.  Many people place one of the little figures in a small bag and carry it around as a talisman to ward off evil.  At Soto sect temples this festival takes place after a service to mark the passing of the Buddha.  The size of the little figures and the chosen animal from the zodiac are different from temple to temple.  The festival itself is a special feature of these temples in Noto.

At Sojiji Temple as at others in Noto, the throwing of Inukko to the hopeful is a happy event.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright

Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright
A larger model of Inukko perhaps destine to be displayed in a porch.  Yoshiko Daiku Photo © Copyright
What do all these customs and superstitions mean?  To be brutal they mean nothing.  And yet they mean everything if the result is a feeling of satisfaction and comfort.  And so, people continue throwing beans and small dogs.

Gateway to Sojiji Temple Akio Sakaguchi Photo © Copyright

My thanks to Yoshiko Daiku and Akio Sakaguchi for their photographs and reports.  I must also acknowledge the cooperation of Sojiji Temple.


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07/04/2015

Saké to Drink, Saké to Enjoy—Part 2


Savour
So, the saké is brewed and ready for drinking.  No, not just drinking.  For enjoyment too.  During my twenty-four year stay in Japan, there was never a time when drinking saké was not a pleasurable event.  This had much to do with the circumstance in which I found myself.  I was lucky enough to drink with house-building carpenters when they had finished erecting the framework of a new house.  Saké and salt were first sprinkled on all four corners of the framework at ground level to give thanks for what had been achieved in safety, and then the eating and drinking began.  What a happy atmosphere there was.

All kinds of fun and silliness are allowed at hana-mi—a time to enjoy the cherry blossom
and each other's company.
I drank with fellow university students, friends and colleagues and every time without fail it became an experience that I shall never ever forget.  It was not just the company and saké that made the experience so good.  There was no unpleasantness, just pure pleasure and enjoyment.  I cannot deny that on a few occasions inebriation was a regrettable outcome but on the whole, there was no embarrassment.  Oh, the hana-mi parties!

The enjoyment had much to do with the conviviality of the surroundings.  Japanese bars are so welcoming, the staff so attentive and the food and saké so good.

As many readers will know, if a group of people are drinking at a pub or bar in the UK, one member of the party may buy a round of drinks—one drink for each person.  And then each person will do the same.  Recently, however, some people will share the cost of a bottle of wine.  Nowadays people will often just buy their own drinks.

In Japan friends will generally share the cost of drinks and snacks evenly.  In some cases a recognised “sponsor” will foot the bill.  But are there any other pieces of essential etiquette associated with drinking?  As a foreigner you will often be forgiven for any “mistakes” in behaviour but to increase your credibility and to show respect for your host, a little knowledge can go a long way.

A Bezen-ware guinomi and tokkuri—matching drinking cup and flask.
Many gatherings begin with beer with which to say kampai or cheers.  Then some people will drink saké and others may stick with beer or move on to another beverage.

But first you must decide at what temperature you would like to drink your saké.  Traditionally it would be at room temperature—ohiya.  Perhaps as a result of chilling white wine, you might decide to indulge in reishu—chilled saké.  Or then you could have it warmed—atsukan.  Different target temperatures will modify the flavour as will the bracketing of those temperatures.

A saké bottle label for Otoko-yama.
Usually someone will be eager to fill you glass or cup, which you should hold while it is being filled rather than leave it standing on the table.  Then you should do the same in return.  The more friendly the gathering a break from this protocol is allowed, so pouring your own drink is acceptable.  If you are holding your glass or cup, it may be taken as a sign that you would like someone to fill it for you.

Small saké cups are called choko and sometimes hold little more than two or three sips but if the saké is of good quality, quantity is not so much of a consideration.  You should be savouring the flavour and aroma of the saké instead.  Such a small cup is of little use to the more serious drinker out with friends.  They are more likely to use a larger guinomi, or even a small glass.

A selection of choko—only big enough for two or three sips.
Saké is often provided at a table in a flask called a tokkuri.  If a number of men are drinking together, flasks are sometimes laid on their side as a sign that they are empty.  That’s acceptable in some bars and at large gatherings, simply because whoever is serving will know which flasks to clear away.  Such a practice is not, however, acceptable at a high-class restaurant or in formal company.  It doesn’t look so good either.

From l. to r.—Made by Yasuhiro Satake, a lacquerware choko imitating a tea bowl.  A more traditional style, a simple modern version and one with the zodiac sign for the year of the horse.
While choko and guinomi are the norm, and small tumblers are sometimes used too, there is still another vessel for drinking saké.  It’s a masu.  It is actually a measuring box, which was used in the past in different sizes for measuring out commodities such as beans and rice, rather than weighing them.

From l. to r.—A bentwood and lacquered guinomi from Gallery Chikiriya; an old simply decorated one; a modern one and a turned and lacquered version made by Yasuhiro Satake.
Made of cedar, the wood helps to provide an unusual drinking experience to which a small heap of salt on one corner of the masu provides an interesting variation to excite the taste buds.

A selection of masu more for decoration than drinking perhaps but they all fit together in the box.
A masu also figures in yet another way of enjoying saké.  A small glass is stood in a masu and filled with saké until it overflows into the waiting masu.  First you drink from the glass and then either drink the overflow directly from the masu or pour it into the glass to finish it off.  Alternatively, the masu is placed on a small saucer but the result is the same—pour till is overflows.  In whichever case it is not such a refined way of drinking.  Having the saké to overflow is really nothing more than a display of generosity as opposed to meanness.

Yuko Yokoyama Photo © Copyright
There are also highly respectful and elegant ways of pouring and drinking saké but, to do them justice, I would really have to devote a separate post to them.  It is important to say, however, that the drinking and even pouring of saké varies from occasion to occasion and with whom you are drinking.

A saké bottle label for Yoshinogawa.
Although the drinking of saké can be such a pleasurable experience, many sayings about this alcoholic beverage are cautionary, especially about any excessive indulgence.  But that is not so unusual.


One says “Drinking too much saké and sleeping in the morning is the road to poverty”.  Another simply warns that “Drinking too much is bound to lead to trouble”.  The beneficial side to drinking saké is also acknowledged, however.  “Saké is an elixir to lift the spirits”.  And, “Saké is a gift from Heaven”.  But one of the most popular sayings is, “In moderation saké is better than any medicine”.   In whichever case, the Japanese would not be who they are without saké.


Unless stated all photos Bill Tingey Photo © Copyright

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30/03/2015

Saké to Drink, Saké to Enjoy—Part 1

In place, the sugidama sends out a message to all that see it.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
Brewing
The British drink beer, the French drink wine and the Japanese drink saké.  Well, as severe generalisations these statements are useful, although nothing more than what they are—generalisations.

Cedar fronds are pocked into a wire ball.
Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
A wire ball needs to be completely covered with cedar fronds.
Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
The ball is trimmed and then the sugidama is put in place.
Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
It is probable that saké was first made in Japan some fifteen-hundred years ago.  Initially it seems not to have been a particularly strong liquor but gradually fulfilled various religious needs as well as being used on festive occasions at the imperial court and for drinking games in a slightly more potent form from the end of the eight-century onwards.  It was not until much later that it became a drink of the general populous and these days it would not be wrong to call it the national tipple.

The inner sanctum.  The white plaster walls of the sakekura—a store house with thick wall—are as much a part of the brewing scene as the distinctive aroma.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
Steaming of the rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
Today there are saké breweries all over the country.  Some of the larger ones produce in excess of seventy-thousand kilo litres a year, while the smaller ones each make between 200 to 1000 kilo litres per annum, mostly using traditional labour-intensive methods.

No outsiders allowed.  This is the room in which the koji is put to work on the steamed rice.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
A small brewery such as the Nakajima Brewery in Wajima still follows traditions, including the making of what is called a sugidama.  Cedar tree fronds are fashioned into a large ball, which is usually hung under its very own little roof, beneath the eaves of the brewery.  And what is it for?  Firstly it is made to give thanks to the deity of saké and to ask for protection.  Secondly it is a sign that a new brew of saké has been made over the winter.  The fresh green of the cedar fronds shows that the new brew is now beginning its maturing process and so, as the green gradually darkens to a warm brown as the fronds dry, it is an indication of the ageing of the saké, which will be ready in the autumn.

Traditionally, cedar wood barrels were used in the making of saké, hence the use of cedar tree fronds to make a sugidama.  Modern brewing methods, however, have seen the introduction of ceramic-lined or stainless steel tanks, resulting in a major improvement in the quality and purity of the saké, especially since the beginning of the twentieth-century.

Fermentation tanks.  The gentle sound of bubbling and the aroma from the mash are a sign that things are happening.  Masao Matsumoto Photo © Copyright
Although sometimes called “rice wine”, saké is brewed more like a beer than wine.  Rice is first washed and steamed before yeast and koji are mixed in.  Koji is a rice cultivated with a mould—aspergillus oryzae.  The mixture is then allowed to ferment with more rice, koji and water added over four days in three batches.  The resulting mash sits from between 18 to 32 days and is then pressed, filtered and blended.  Result: a clear liquid with a distinctive fragrance and broadly speaking either a dry, sharp flavour or a  heavier sweetness both of which have their own followers.  Me?  Well, I enjoy the dry, sharp flavoured brands.

There are a number of different types of saké as well as several grades.  The top ranking grades are more expensive, they have the most complex flavours and rich aromatic qualities.

Part 2 will follow soon.

Grateful thanks to Masao Matsumoto for the photographs and information, and to Nakajima Sake Brewery for its cooperation.  Thanks, too, must go to John Gauntner at sake-world.com for his expert advise.

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