The Japanese craft sake movement & haccoba's American debut

If you went to Fuyu Fest last year or attended any of our Okan Lover Tour events, you may have had the opportunity to meet Taisuke Sato, the founder-president of haccoba craft sake. He had a table set up at Fuyu Fest, and during the fest he led a talk on the craft sake movement and why it exists. Do you remember tasting a lemon-sansho sake? Man, it’s so good. That’s the one!

Taisuke is a really sweet guy, immediately likable and clearly driven, always thinking and making connections. Although we’d traveled all the way to his little brewpub in Odaka, Fukushima a few weeks prior, Taisuke was out of town that day so the first time we met him in person was at Smith Tea in Shinjuku (Portland represent). We wanted to learn more about his philosophy and goals, and on a personal level to see if we could facilitate haccoba's entry to the US market. At the Fukushima tasting room (well, converted train station cafe) we tried a number of delicious brews, but even aside from flavor we left touched and inspired by haccoba's collaborations: a cocoa husk sake with Dandelion Chocolate, a sake-mead hybrid brewed with Antelope Meadery, even a collaboration with the perfumery, Yes. We felt confident that the style and story and would be appreciated not only by our customers but by Americans in general. Selfishly, I also wanted haccoba to arrive in the US by way of the west coast. This is a faster and cheaper route for us in PDX: the New Jersey port route takes nearly two months and winds through the Middle East, while West Coast simply bops across the Pacific. I had an importer in mind and he was open to it, but of course I needed Taisuke on board. Gratefully, Taisuke has had his eye on Belgium from day one: he has a global perspective, is readily inspired by the beverage culture of far-off places, and is eager for the opportunity to expand into new markets. It didn't hurt our case that Portland's fermentation scene is one of the best in the world, and that all of you were incredibly kind and supportive during his visit.

Haccoba, a portmanteau of fermentation ("hakko") and bar (ba) makes something we call “craft sake": a new alcohol category in Japan which refers to brewed beverages that don't legally qualify as sake. In Japan what we call sake is legally termed seishu, translating inelegantly to "refined alcohol," more or less. By definition seishu must be refined (filtered) and consist of only the base ingredients rice, water, koji, and optionally distilled alcohol (as long as we ignore the other long list of permitted additives). Craft sake therefore is either 1) truly unfiltered (nigori, cloudy sake, is filtered) or 2) uses ingredients outside of the approved list, usually natural ingredients like fruits or herbs.
So what craft sake breweries make isn’t seishu sake but rather “miscellaneous brewed alcohol."

Stylistically, craft sake is nothing new: unfiltered brews, brews with added herbs and fruits, are among those ironically old-new creations that draw deeply from the past. Unfiltered sake is doburoku: fundamentally a farmers’ brew. Easy to make, nutritious, whole grain... doburoku was the chief alcohol of the masses for centuries. Herbal and fruit sake infusions go at least as far back as the introduction of Chinese medicine to the ancient court, around 500AD. Brewers like haccoba often reference this connection when talking about their work. During his Fuyu Fest class, Taisuke referenced a centuries-old Japanese sake recipe that utilized hops in the brewing process to help stabilize the starter, termed hanamoto (hana: flower, moto: starter). This methodology was instructive in their original hopped brew and for readers of old books, might be more "authentic" than modern daiginjo. Haccoba’s stated philosophy, “liberating sake brewing,” looks to the longer history of sake when doburoku was made freely at home and herbs, honey, spices, etc. were added on a whim. “We aim to revive the culture of craft home-brewed sake from that time, while respecting modern culture.”

Fascinating though it is, craft sake isn't just a creative outlet for history geeks. This category arose out of necessity as a new generation of brewery workers did the thing young people always do: broke off to make their own way. The problem is, new sake brewery licenses have not been issued — zero— since 1962. Not only that, home brewing has been illegal in Japan since 1873. The legal definition of seishu and the filtration requirement was introduced in 1887 to help distinguish between legal (tax paid) sake and (untaxed) hooch. It took decades to implement and enforce (after all, an estimated 40% of all sake at this time was home brew) but the Meiji government had enormous financial incentive to see it through. By 1899, revenues from alcohol tax eclipsed land tax for the first time, contributing 35.5% and rising of the national tax revenue. After nearly a millennia of practice, suddenly there was no home brewing, no buckwheat or barley sake, no doburoku, no added ingredients, nothing. In 1962, the door closed on new seishu licenses as well. The result is that brewery workers today have but one career track available to them: gradually working their way up the ladder to toji (master brewer) but never actually owning their own operation. 
Unless your name is Yoshida, you will never own Yoshida Shuzo, so to speak. And you will never truly be in charge.

...But why is this? 

For starters, sake has fallen a long way from grace. The national tax agency's stated position is that as long as sake is in decline (and it is in steep decline, teetering ~6% market share from a high of ~65% in the ‘70s) no new breweries should open. If demand can’t sustain current supply, why introduce more supply? More supply means more competition, which means more closures of legacy breweries. And while Americans see competition as a very natural force, a necessary crucible which gives rise to creativity and innovation, it comes at a cost. Family businesses that have endured for 200, 300, even 500 years might be forced out. Just because a business is old doesn’t mean it’s affluent, nimble, creative, good at marketing, or even that it makes especially tasty sake. Sometimes the opposite is true: one of the oldest breweries in Japan, makes one of the least impressive bottles I tasted last trip. If we’re honest with ourselves, we know that the intangible value of time and heritage is often lost in the face of something shiny and new. Natural selection is pragmatic, ruthless, and fickle.

But does that mean that the eager young brewer, with big ideas and energy, truly has nowhere to go? Not exactly.

In the last decade or so, a few workarounds have opened up. The first one, the oldest one, is opening a brewery in another country, and plenty of people are doing just that. When 300-year-old Tomisawa Shuzo closed their doors in 2011, the Tomisawa family believed they were evacuating for a massive tsunami that would pass through quickly: a hiccup in the annals, devastating but recoverable. Of course, we now know that nothing was quick in the aftermath of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake: the devastation lingered, literally, as nuclear fallout. The Daiichi nuclear facility was less than 2 miles away. In the 10 years that followed, the Tomiasawas tried to get back on their feet, tried to relocate, sought out closed and closing breweries, reasoning with the government that this was a continuation of a previous license and they were entitled an opportunity to restart. A number of reasons were given but it often came down to the fear of competition arising in a new area, a defeated pointing at tax code: “I wish I could help you, but I can’t.” So when 21st generation Mari Tomisawa visited Seattle in late 2012 and felt a keen sense of familiarity in the cool coastal environment, the family decided to take the leap and move their 300-year-old heritage to Woodinville. Just like that, an ancient tree was uprooted and replanted in America. They’re up and running now, by the way, and you should really visit Shirafuji’s tasting room if you haven’t yet.

If that feels like a, forgive the phrase, nuclear option— you’re right. And there are other options. A lesser-utilized one is shifting to beer or wine, whose licenses are more generously granted and minimum production requirements are eased in many regions. Nob’s Fields, a beautiful, small-batch project was founded by Nobu Takahiro after spending years working in sake breweries, when he saw not only inspiration but a future in grape farming and wine making. Another is successfully buying a defunct brewery with an active license and resurrecting it anew: Koueigiku (Saga) or Ohmine (Yamaguchi) are popular examples. But the process takes serious grit, money and determination to execute.

…And that leaves the final option, which is to pursue a miscellaneous brewed alcohol or doburoku license, or more recently (from 2021), an export-only sake license. The tax agency believes that a new sake brewery would cannibalize regional sake sales, but these won’t.

This could have been a dead end, but in 2016 the Boston Consulting Group alum, Aramasa & Masuda Shuzo-trained, Takuma Inagawa started Wakaze in Tokyo. The first of its kind, Wakaze started with contract brewing: making small batches of barrel-finished and herb-infused sake at established breweries. In 2018, they opened Whim Sake and Tapas, Japan’s first craft sake brewpub— at this point, well before the term was coined. Whim has since closed, but it left an indelible mark on the Japanese sake world.

While Takuma went on to start a Parisian brewery, sake bar, and American canned sparkling sake brand (SummerFall— it’s seriously good), his biggest accomplishment is still expanding outward. Takuma’s conversations with Taisuke are what inspired him to start haccoba. Wakaze's former toji Shoya Imai went on to crowdfund (1183% of his target!) a brewery focused on non-rice koji, called Linne. Takuma’s fellow Aramasa alum Shuhei Okazumi founded Ine to Agave in rural Oga, Akita, drumming up financial and bureaucratic support from the shrinking rural city to open a brewery, restaurant/cafe, ramen shop, specialty foods factory, and kasu soft serve window, with plans for a hotel: Oga’s latest bid for revitalization.

Which, it turns out, is another critical piece of this puzzle. Like wineries, sake breweries tend to pop up in the middle of nowhere: crisp, clean air, pure springs bubbling up cheerfully from unsullied aquifers, welcome lands of golden grain. But today, Japan’s urban population represents 92% of its total: less than 8% of Japanese people live in rural areas. This is a global phenomenon, but Japan is one of the most dramatic examples: the global average is 55%, and the US is 82%. The average age of farmers in Japan is 69 (the US is 58) which, together with the urban shift, is an existential threat to Japan’s agricultural sector. Oga is lucky: it still has elementary schools, high schools— but the population is less than half of its 1950 peak, and towns like this are thrilled to welcome new enterprises run by young people. Mayors and city councils help facilitate acquisitions of distressed properties— for example, Ine to Agave is situated in the old train station building— and can assist with the process of securing loans. The hope is that these innovative, community-driven businesses can reverse the tide of property abandonment that has led to a record 9 million abandoned houses in Japan.

Haccoba is a dramatic example of the same. Odaka town, Fukushima is 20km from the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear facility and in March 2011, shrank from 13,000 residents to 0 overnight. The evacuation order was lifted in 2016, but today less than 4000 people call Odaka home. While Taisuke and his wife Mizuki aren’t from here originally, Taisuke’s birthday falls on March 11 and it burned the incident in his memory. In an interview, Taisuke told NHK that "In a sense, it's an incident I will never forget. I was only a high school student when it happened, but I always felt a sense of duty, that I should do something here on this soil and help deal with the issues the area is facing following the nuclear accident.” In 2019 Taisuke and Mizuki called it quits on their IT jobs, packed up their Tokyo apartment, and headed north to the quiet coastal town. They envisioned the creation of an autonomous local regional culture: a region where life and industry can be sustained with minimal dependence on urban centers. “Witnessing the nuclear accident, I felt a sense of irony that the people of Fukushima had to bear the risks of supporting urban life. However, from Fukushima’s perspective, having the nuclear reactor was necessary to stabilize the local economy. We believe that working in tandem, local and autonomous companies and local stakeholders can create a self-sustaining model, [allowing] us to gradually change this system where rural regions rely on urban centers to survive.” (Taisuke Sato, interview with Zebrasand.co.jp)

With support from grants and traditional bank loans, haccoba began by renovating an empty house into a brewpub and community center, and later, opened a second brewery in neighboring Namie town. In 2023, the JR East Local Startup venture capital fund— the investment arm of the Eastern Japan Railway— partnered with haccoba, financing the renovation of Odaka station’s ticket office into a shop, cafe and microbrewery. The Namie location rented space to haccoba cofounder Tetsuyuki Tachikawa’s project, Puku Puku brewing, and in this respect bears a resemblance to the custom crush wineries that foster new entrants into the Oregon wine market. By renting access to equipment, offering small spaces for storage, and facilitating contracts for ingredients, haccoba became an incubator of sorts. Puku Puku went on to guest brew in many breweries and finally opened its own facility in 2024, yet another rolling impact from Wakaze’s initial inspiration. Taisuke and Mizuki have big plans for the future of haccoba, but for now the launch of US exports marks a significant milestone.

JR’s 600 unmanned train stations nationwide could have a significant impact on this trend. At least two have been converted to craft breweries: haccoba in Odaka, Ine to Agave in Oga, and while the category is still finding its footing the vision is grounded in a sturdy sort of business. Sake breweries almost always have deep multi-generational roots: Niida Honke dates to 1711 (18 generations), Urakasumi to 1724 (13 generations), Sudo Honke to 1141 (55 generations)— even relatively “young” breweries date to the late 1800s, when licenses were handed out like candy. Historically, sake breweries were founded by wealthy merchants or well-appointed former samurai with an excess of rice, and were major regional employers, as well as political and social figures. Kuramoto (brewery owners) assumed a paternal role in the community, easing loans and feeding the hungry in hard times, buying surplus rice and invigorating local economies in good times. The industry might be experiencing an existential crisis now, but it’s rooted deeply in village social networks and long-term vision. Considering the impacts 20, 100, even 500 years on when making management decisions is typical and expected. Yasuhiko Niida, the 18th generation owner of Niida Honke, explained: “My job is to make sure we pass on to future generations not only our sake brands, but also our rice paddies, mountains, and water.” Taisuke, also Niida’s friend, mirrors his sense of longevity. “We aim to make haccoba a sake brewery that lasts 1000 years. This may sound like a joke, but we make decisions with that scope in mind.”

One of the biggest concerns for craft breweries and standard breweries alike is rice: its shrinking supply, its aging farmers, government protectionism, and more recently the impacts of Covid and climate change. Even large, established breweries are contending with serious supply concerns, but for tiny, unvetted craft breweries, options are even more limited. You can buy on the Nokyo (government) exchange, but without the benefit of financing. You can contract directly with local farmers (will you grow me this many hectares, following these farming methods and I will pay you this much), or if you have the know-how, land, equipment and time, grow your own. Since rice represents >60% of the raw material costs for brewing sake, and sake-specific rice is significantly more expensive than eating rice, craft breweries tend to use affordable, plentiful local varieties of eating rice and process them minimally, removing only 10% of the grain instead of the more typical 40% for premium sake. Those adjacent to agricultural regions can cultivate close relationships— build community— with local farmers, selecting climate-tolerant, well-understood eating varieties, grown without artificial fertilizers or pesticides. These buying practices reflect a minimal-waste ethos valued by younger generations, and enables them to market a story-driven, value-added product that supports the farming practices they believe in. Craft breweries’ flexible, small batch, limited-release model can afford to pay farmers higher prices, highlight small farmers by name, and tolerate a variable supply. The big picture hope is that young people will be inspired by the young, energetic community, its sense of local pride, collaborative atmosphere, mutual aid imperatives, and living wage, and consider a career in farming themselves.

The Japanese government is well aware of the bigger issues rural Japan is facing, and is under tremendous pressure to find solutions. Aging farmers, rural depopulation, and the low domestic food self-sufficiency (38%, marginally up from a historic low of 37%) are key areas of concern. Nationwide trends: the weak yen, shrinking economy, and declining birth rate are of course connected. The resulting economic, political and geographic consequences of these trends are well documented, but intangible assets like cultural heritage, values, and Japanese identity are harder to quantify. The problems aren’t simple and the solutions aren’t either. But the LDP, Japan’s conservative ruling party, has maintained long, deep ties to rural and agricultural interests (the Nokyo has organized farmers and served as a strong LDP voting bloc) and has invested enormous resources in stemming the tide, often in spite of the 92% living in urban areas. Since the ‘90s, trade policy has maintained a nearly 800% tariff on imported rice to shield farmers from global trade. Since the ‘70s and even despite the dire 2024 shortage, Japan’s ministry of agriculture, fisheries and forestry (MAFF) has maintained its policy of paying farmers subsidies (~$2000/acre) to fallow their paddies or convert them to non-rice crops. Less controversially, the LDP committed US$50B toward general revitalization (not including US$250B toward reconstruction and rebuilding) of Tohoku following the 2011 earthquake. Nonpartisan programs, like the hugely successful (US$7.3B in 2023) “hometown tax,” allows urban taxpayers to donate a portion of their tax return revenue to a small town of their choosing, receiving a gift box of local goods (often sake, shochu, and other regional foods) equal to 30% of its value in return. The "Local Vitalization Cooperator," a subsidy program since 2014, sends young adults to rural areas for 1-3 years to work on local promotion projects. Since its introduction, 16,000 people have been dispatched and around 65% of participants choose to stay after completing the program. The decline in sake brewing nationally is one small but important piece of this bigger picture.

…As usual, I’m getting distracted. My point, really, is that there are a lot of moving pieces and a great deal of history behind the scenes of the craft sake movement. While doburoku and herb-infused sake are nothing special on a long timescale, it’s very new and very important where the last 6 years are concerned. Culturally, this is where much of the creative young talent is focusing, because it’s the first area of dramatic sake innovation in decades and one of the few areas of growth, optimism and youthful energy in the sake world, both in production and in service. Forward-thinking somms like Marie Chiba of Tokyo’s Eureka, Jo Takasaki of Takasaki no Okan, or Ava Mees List of Noma Kyoto/Denmark, are heavily utilizing craft sake in their programs. Established brewery presidents born in to the profession like Yuta Abe of Abe Shuzo, Yusuke Sato of Aramasa Shuzo, or Norimasa Yamamoto of Heiwa Shuzo, are noticing, taking interest, and supporting by offering production space, network connections, and credibility. Popular festivals Sake Park, Craft Sake Week, and Sake Jump welcome craft brewers enthusiastically. And brewers themselves are organizing under the Japan Craft Sake Breweries Association (est. 2022). In the same way that it’s becoming a mark of stagnation for global somms to ignore sake in general, the same is true for Japanese sake professionals ignoring craft sake in Japan. Unsurprisingly, the voices dismissing or minimizing its importance are typically older and more conservative, arguing that doburoku and craft sake are a novelty and a blip while lamenting the fall of honjozo and futsushu.

It was originally through the experimental Kyoto cocktail bar Nokishita, following the work of Marie Chiba, and later dining at Takasaki no Okan, that my husband and I became aware of this trend. I was deeply inspired by the entrepeneurial spirit, underdog story, and deep connection to agriculture— elements that had been sorely lacking in my sake education thus far. My husband and I made plans to travel to Tohoku in Fall 2023 (some of my favorite classic sake breweries were already in Akita) and arranged visits to Ine to Agave and Nondo. Learning about their challenges in person and tasting through an incredible range of house-made food and drink from the Nondo team really cemented my suspicion that something magical was happening here. Later that trip at Takasaki no Okan  we were absolutely blown away by the lineup of traditional and craft sake served hot in his tasting menu... so much in fact that we invited him to Fuyu Fest 2024. In 2024 we visited not only Haccoba, but went back to Nondo and checked out his new Morioka concepts. From here, things moved quickly: we invited haccoba and Jo to Fuyu Fest, set up meetings/tours with Portland & SF craft beverage producers, Taisuke arranged funding for the trip (from Japan’s export promotion initiatives), and my husband Dennis helped me put together a west coast tour for Okan Lover, while initiating the very onerous project of fast-tracking FDA approval for haccoba’s first US import.

Laboratory testing, label design and approval, recipe delineation (it’s harder than you think!), Trump, tariffs, innumerable hiccups later, haccoba is finally here. While it isn’t the first craft sake in the US (tiny amounts of Lagoon doburoku have been imported into CA), it is the first publicly available Japanese Craft Sake according to the definitions we’ve outlined above. We owe a huge debt of gratitude to Jesse at Fifth Taste (importer), Yoram Ofer (who arranged export), all of our beverage friends in the West Coast who left haccoba feeling so inspired by their visit, the Japanese government for underwriting haccoba’s travel, Jo for introducing and inspiring us, Kohei for translating, making arrangements and networking, and of course… Taisuke and Mizuki, who went to extraordinary lengths to make this happen in time for the boat. Finally, I would be remiss to not thank my husband Dennis, who spent dozens of hours on this project entirely out of the goodness of his heart and shared belief in haccoba’s mission.

There’s this phrase I really love, and I'm reminded of here: “what makes us feel liberated is not total freedom, but rather living in a set of limitations, which we have created and prescribed for ourselves.” Driven by well-intentioned but antiquated laws, Japanese craft sake brewers have created and prescribed new rules for themselves in order to pursue joy in alignment with their values. Taisuke told Sake World, "We want to attract craft beer and natural wine fans, but what's interesting about craft sake is that each brewery has its own branding and approach. People overseas have quickly come to understand the craft sake genre, both in terms of production methods and ingredients such as herbs and spices...What makes me happiest is that craft sake can be an entry point for people who have never tried sake before, and this can lead to excitement in the sake industry as a whole."

What’s certain is this: craft sake represents the future of the industry. Whether an entrepreneurial outlet for young brewers, a path to dismantle the license moratorium, or a way for the industry to finally move forward (kicking and screaming) into the wild and untamed richness of its past. Aside from it all, sansho lemon kasu is simply too delicious to be a blip. I want it chilled now, I want it hot in Winter, I want it all dang day.