THREE factors immediately suggest that Kaoru Ishiguro is a good woman to help unravel the mysteries of the city’s hip drink du jour, sake, the Japanese rice wine.
First, she’s the New York representative of the Sake Export Association, which would make her an enthusiastic (if not unbiased) cheerleader for the “water of the gods.”
Second, she spent three weeks living on a koura (a Japanese sake brewery) last year, so what she doesn’t know about sake you could write on a grain of rice.
Third, she’s kinda cute, especially after a few sakes.
Understanding sake has never been so important, because, suddenly, sake is everywhere in New York – and we’re not talking about the warm, sticky, hangover-inducing concoction faintly redolent of nail varnish.
If you peruse the menu at one of the new, upscale sake bars, like Ono in the Gansevoort Hotel, En in the West Village or Sachi’s on Clinton on the Lower East Side, you can expect to encounter a dazzling array of different styles, brands and tastes. That’s why we enlisted Ms. Ishiguro to help guide our taste buds through them.
We meet up at the relatively early hour of 6:30 p.m. at Sakagura (211 E. 43rd St, between Second and Third avenues; [212] 953 7253), where manager Hisaya Kadoi gives us a quick introduction. As he pours out three glasses of cold sake, my partner explains that sake production at Japan’s 1400-odd breweries is tightly controlled and inspected by the Japanese authorities.
Although there are many different ways of classifying sakes, one of the simplest is by the quality of rice grain. In this case, the first grade of sake is called junmai, the second is ginjo and top of the pile is daiginjo sake.
Quality, in this sense, is determined by how much of the rice grain has been “milled” – or polished away – prior to fermentation. In basic junmai, at least 30 percent of the grain has been filed away, in ginjo sake 40 to 49 percent of the grain is gone, and in daiginjo sake up to 65 percent of the rice grain is removed for the cleanest and lightest taste.
Ishiguro recommends that beginners start with the highest quality daiginjo.
I settle back and try a daiginjo called Minowomon. It’s $20 a glass ($136 for a 700ml bottle) and as I drink it, Kadoi asked me what I thought. I tried, “Pure, fruity and delicious.” Kaoru obviously outdoes me on the verbal description with “very smooth, like the water, with plenty of flavor and good body.”
I determine to try harder at Ono, (18 Ninth Ave., at 13th Street; (212) 660-6766), Jeffrey Chodorow’s flashy new Japanese restaurant underneath the Gansevoort Hotel, where sake is classified by taste – “light and fragrant,” “rich and full” or, simply, “unique.”
Patrons sit around a stylish, circular bar – separate from the main restaurant – where they can enjoy more than 40 different types of sake. Cocktails like saketinis are also popular.
Here they translate the sake names, so you can choose anything from “Dreamy Clouds,” to “Pride of the Village” or “Running Deer.”
With the help of the aptly named sake sommelier Sakiko, we select Dreamy Clouds, an unfiltered – or nigori – sake with a slightly milky color ($100 for 300ml). Nigori is popular in the United States, and as I swill it around my mouth, it becomes clear why.
The sake gives off sweet aromas that taste like honey and flowers. As it turns out, the home brewery of Dreamy Clouds is where Ishiguro made sake. As we refill each other’s glasses after shaking the bottle to mix up the sediment, I ask Ishiguro how she likes it.
“It’s very, very cold,” she says, “You can only make sake in the winter when it is cold outside. Americans like this sake, and the owner of the brewery doesn’t know why. He is very happy, but he doesn’t know why.”
At one of the smartest sake bars in town – Geisha (33 E. 61st St., between Madison and Park avenues; [212] 813-1113) on the Upper East Side, well-heeled Manhattanites like James Torgan, 30, a real estate broker, are busy knocking back pricey bottles of daijingo.
“It’s just very different, and it works really well before Japanese food,” he says, making his way upstairs to eat at Geisha’s famous restaurant, “It’s got the alcoholic kick but its not overpowering at all.”
Back in the West Village, at the fashionable new Japanese restaurant En (435 Hudson St., at Leroy St.; [212] 647-9196) sake is served in flasks made out of hollow bamboo.
Customers can also try different “flights” – three glasses at a time. You can either sit at the bar or in a private tatami room with a bunch of pals, but either way, drinking is encouraged, with food almost a secondary issue, much like at the original En in Tokyo.
One of the most unusual sakes we try at En is called Biho ($76 for 700ml). “This is the only sake made by women,” explains Ishiguro, as we sup from little glass saucers. Traditionally, the men take over the brewery, and women are not allowed in, but in this case the son did not want to. So the daughter took it over instead.”
In a blow for sexual equality, the Biho sake is light, delicate sharp and stunningly refreshing.
If you are after value, the Lower East Side is probably the best place to go to in Manhattan. At Sachi’s on Clinton (25 Clinton St., between Houston and Stanton streets; [212] 253-2900) there are excellent basic sakes for as little as $12 for a carafe, but they also serve a range of six special sakes from a koura named Sudohonke – first brewed 850 years ago and was supplied to the Japanese Emperors. For just $28, you can sample three of these excellent sakes with an accompanying appetizer.
A 300ml bottle of the sublime Kakunko sake is $215. Expensive, perhaps, but at another fashionable flash downtown Japanese restaurant in the West Village the same bottle goes for $350.
Ishiguro is impressed: “This really is excellent,” she said, admiring the sake list, and then offers some matters of sake protocol: When sake is paired with food, it is polite to drink first, then eat. Also, you should wrap your right hand around the glass, and put your left hand under the base to tease out the flavors. Instead of saying “Cheers,” you say “Kampei” (not “Sake-to-me!” no matter how funny you think that is).
Our last stop is a famous sake bar in the East Village, Decibel (240 E. Ninth St., between Second Avenue and Third avenues; [212] 979-2733), a subterranean joint with hundreds of reasonably priced sakes on the list (you could get a good 300ml bottle for under $30). This place is one of Ishigoru’s favorite sake bars, and thanks to her fluent Japanese we are quickly seated at a prime spot.
Here, surrounded by trendy, in-the-know New Yorkers and eating a bowl of fish soup by the bar, Ishigoru is truly relaxed at last.
“This is like a Japanese sake bar,” she says with satisfaction as we crack open another bottle of Nigori. As we leave, she says, “In Japan, young people don’t really drink sake as much anymore. They prefer whiskey. But maybe when they find out people in New York are drinking sake, they will discover it again.”
Heading home after our night out, I ask Ishigoru if the rumor about sake not giving you a hangover is true. “Well, I know someone who makes ‘No-get-hangover-sake,'” she says, “and it really works because the drink is so pure. But we have mixed sakes, so …”
Suffice to say, the following morning, I made a vow: Next time, I’m definitely going to try that one.
Warm up to Asian libation
SAKE is often described as “rice wine” but it is actually more like a beer. The drink is brewed and fermented in a manner similar to beer.Sake may be hot, but the brands of sake that are heated are usually inferior – and overheating is used to mask the flavor.
An overly iced sake is no good either – again, you won’t be able to appreciate the subtle aromas if the bottle is too cold. If so, it’s best to pour a small glass and let it slowly approach room temperature.
You might find sake served in a wooden box – called a masu – but cognoscenti are shying away from them because the smell of the wood can overpower the sake. What you want is a small glass with a wide neck to let the flavor waft upward.
On the etiquette front, never pour your own sake – fill the cups of your companions first, and let them follow suit.
