Sakepiphany: That First Sake Moment

I'm inclined to think that most serious sake drinkers have had a moment similar to my own: The time that they tasted the sake that got them hooked.

This whole endeavor, learning about sake, brewing sake, drinking sake started then, about four years ago when a relatively unknown sake from Fukui caught me completely by surprise.

I seldom lapse into the first person on this blog, but if you'll pardon me the indulgence, I feel obliged to share the story of my conversion with you.

It was late December, 2009, and I was looking for a bottle of wine to bring to the beach for a weekend Christmas beach getaway. Christmas is not much celebrated in Taiwan. True, you can find Christmas songs and decorations, the trappings of the day, but when the 25th rolls around, it's kind of a letdown. No snow, no presents, and usually, work. That year, it fell on a weekend, so at least work wasn't a problem.

Put that, and the fact that December could be quite mild in Taiwan (no snow is not, per se, a bad thing) especially in the southern end of the island, and you've got the perfect excuse to make it Christmas on the beach. So I made plans for Britt and I to go to Xiao Liu Chiu, (小琉球 ) a little coral island off the SW coast of Taiwan.

Wanting to make it special, Christmas Eve found me on my lunch break, scouring the aisles of Yumaowu (裕毛屋), a.k.a Capitan, the pricey Japanese grocer, for a nice bottle of wine to bring with us to the beach. I had a surprise of sorts, in the works for my fiancee. She was then my girlfriend.  The selection of wines was somewhat limited, and the prices, well, not too enticing. Buying wine in Taiwan was always tricky thing. Tough to find a reasonably priced bottle of decent wine, though not impossible- really tough to find something nice for without blowing a days' pay. Ultimately, nothing struck my fancy. Then I had the thought:   "The wine is just as much as the sake they've got here, why not try some of that then?"

 I'd had sake before, hot. I knew that sake had a higher ABV than wine, so at the very least, we were guaranteed a festive yuletide buzz by the sea.

So I looked though the aisle of  what was probably 80 or so exotic bottles of the stuff, and felt even more vexed. "What is all this?" There were big bottles, small bottles, fancy bottles, boxed bottles and indecipherable labels with prices climbing to the triple digits.

Not as easy as I thought.

With no one around to help, and my lunch break winding down, I did what you're not supposed to do: judge a book by its cover.

Anyway, that brown bottle- it was refined, but bold; elegant, but simple. The rice paper label was textured and frayed at the edges. It called to me (and the price was right).

Not knowing a ginjo from my elbow, I grabbed the bottle of Hanagaki Junmai Ginjo 花垣純米 off the shelf and beat it back to school grounds for the afternoon's lessons.

Complete newbie that I was I didn't even know how to handle the stuff. There was, thankfully, a crude illustrated guide on the label with suggested temperatures. This sake, according to the label, would have a sad face if I heated it, but would be happy at room temp, or chilled slightly. So, I figured, we'd chill it, bring it to the beach and enjoy it as it warmed up.

We arrived at XiaoLiuChiu the next day, Christmas Day. In the afternoon we dropped off our stuff at the drab hotel by the harbor, had a short nap, rented our motorcycle, had a seafood dinner and made straight for the beach by motorcycle, Hanagaki in the boot.

My surprise I mentioned earlier was (since we had no Christmas tree in our tiny apartment) to make a tree on the beach, of whatever we could find, and light it with some candles placed in holes dug in the sand.

 And we pulled it off. It even struck the curiosity of a few random Taiwanese, for whom the sight of some foreigners with a Christmas tree in the sand, on Christmas day, was the inexcusable opportunity for a snapshot.

The sun was receding from a clear orange sky. We were so caught up in the moment, we almost forgot the bottle.

Off came the screw cap and we poured ourselves a healthy plastic cupful, toasted "Merry Christmas," and admiring the whole lovely scene, took a casual sip.

"Whoa."

"What is...?"

A sniff. Another sip.

"What is?...This is...really good."

Another sip.

"This is sake," she asked.

"Umm...yeah, got it in Capitan," I answered, still trying to make sense of just what I was tasting.

"But... its really good. Is it, like, a special kind?"

"I, uh, I don't know. I just bought it for the label. I wanted to try something different, you know?"

I was perplexed.

There was a sweetness, an acidity, a brightness, and a warmth, but it was all delicate. It went down so smooth but had tail. And where on earth did that fruitiness come from?  And is that a vanilla nose?

This is sake?  I thought I knew sake. I knew nothing.

Now, caught up in the nostalgia,  I love this moment because it was pure. It was probably the last time that I ever drank sake without any expectation at all. Not knowing the style, not knowing what to look for, and probably, more than anything, no basis of comparison. It was simply, humbly, the best thing I'd ever drank. Nothing has ever floored me like that cup of Hanagaki. I still try to approach a new sake like that, but it is usually easier said than done.



In the cool evening breeze, we finished the bottle as it warmed up, the flavors evolving even more. The body of the sake relaxing.  As the sun set it warmed us from within.


Still perplexed, it sparked a flame in me:  I insisted on carrying the bottle back home so I could research some more and figure out just what it was that made rice taste like that...


If you have had a sake moment like this, please, share in the comments section!