Traditional

The word “traditional” is always problematic. In this case, the BA’s definition ironically excluded a few breweries that many might consider some of America’s most traditional. They fell outside the boundaries because of their use of rice and/or corn in their flagship beer. Large industrial breweries have of course used these as adjuncts for years to dull down the taste, accusers say, and to make it super crisp and as drinkable as water. But this is simply not the case for some breweries using adjuncts.

Jace Marti, 6th generation owner of August Schell Brewing Company, shot back, “As a 152-year-old brewery, and the second oldest family-owned brewery in America, stating that we are not ‘traditional’ is insulting.” Marti went on to explain that when his ancestor August immigrated to America in the 19th century, he found the quality of American barley available then too high in protein for his liking so he added corn, a native ingredient, to balance it. Over the generations, this became ‘tradition’. Marti finished by asking, “Why are we being punished for brewing with a locally grown ingredient, which started out of necessity, and has continued out of tradition?” The BA has tweaked its definition to be able to include such breweries, but this conflict raised an interesting point about a brewer’s intention with ingredients. How does anyone really prove or judge that?

It’s hard to think of anything more traditional in Japan than rice. There are rice and harvest gods in Shintoism. Medieval economies were based on rice. It’s the foundation of Japanese cuisine, which is now on the United Nations Intangible Cultural Heritage List. It’s the backbone of the traditional drink, sake. Several Japanese ‘craft’ breweries make very drinkable rice beers. Then again, so do all the major industrial breweries. Do the two groups have the same intention? Certainly they both want to make the beers light, crisp and drinkable. It seems that the craft breweries are using rice because they want to highlight it as an ingredient central to Japanese culture. Most, in fact, use high-quality sake rice strains. Is this enough to distinguish them as craft brewers? If so, what happens when one of Japan’s major four decides to unveil a Yamadanishiki (sake rice) beer? It doesn’t seem like rice will provide a litmus test for determining craft vs. non-craft.

The issue of ingredients is a confusing one in Japan, too. Anything with more than 33% adjuncts is no longer “beer” but classified as “happoshu.” Large Japanese breweries began producing these to dodge high beer taxes and, not surprisingly, the beverages tend not to have distinct flavor. Perplexingly, the definition for happoshu in Japan also extends to beers with “additives” once fermentation begins. Exemplary Belgian beers which may be 100% malt but often use spices are thus labeled happoshu when imported. Don’t count on the labels “beer” or “happoshu” to tell you whether something is craft.
It gets weirder. To get a brewing license in Japan, one must demonstrate to the tax office (among a list of things) the capacity to brew sixty kiloliters a year or six kiloliters a year. Brewers capable of producing (and selling) sixty get a beer license; those challenged by six get a happoshu license. If you have a beer license, however, you can’t add anything after the boil. Scott Brimmer, of Brimmer Brewing, worked at Sierra Nevada (featured last issue), which has been a pioneer in dry-hopping techniques that add wonderful aroma and bitter finish to a beer. Brimmer can’t use this traditional and widespread brewing technique with his “beer” license, which is supposed to denote traditional brewing methods, but prohibits additives. Hops after the boil is an additive. Meanwhile, some brewers just can’t possibly demonstrate the financial or logistic capability to produce and move sixty kiloliters of beer, so they go for the lower six kiloliter hurdle. Guess what? They have to add something to their beer: spice, fruit, Godzilla scales, whatever. Most local tax office don’t allow dry-hopping to meet the requirement for additives. See the bureaucratic inconsistency? Again, don’t rely on legal definitions to determine “craft.”

It’s not possible to talk about craft beer without discussing ingredients. The creative use of ingredients has been one of its most celebrated and defining characteristics. Certainly the industry owes much gratitude to Belgian brewing traditions for inspiration since those brewers largely pioneered the widespread use of spices, fruits and other additives. American craft brewers, though, ran wild with the possibilities–some might even say “overboard.” Japan has been little different.

When the Japanese tax laws changed in 1994 to allow for smaller scale brewing, media began dubbing the products all the new breweries would create “ji-beer” or, literally, “local beer.” Many of the breweries took this as a cue to make beer with local products. “Local products” (meibutsu) is a strong if overly marketed industry in Japan.

Unfortunately, many of the breweries focused solely on the gimmick of the local ingredient rather than quality. Consumers were turned off and it wasn’t but a couple of years later that the first of these breweries started going bankrupt. The shakeout continued for many more years with a handful of quality brewers struggling for acceptance against the bad image of “ji-beer.” It’s not clear how you could call infected, off-flavor and/or unbalanced beers “craft beer.” Certainly Suntory’s Craftsman series, with its consistency and relative drinkability, deserves the “craft” designation much more.
Breweries that were getting it right continued to improve, while some others that were struggling managed to refocus on technique and quality (it’s a story, actually, similar to America’s). By the mid-aughts, overall craft beer production volume in Japan started to tick upward, marking a turnaround, even as closures continued. Tellingly, the word “craft beer” became Japanese lexicon; a Google term search even shows its gradual entry into online media. Small brewers had hardly eschewed local ingredients altogether. For more and more of them, quality simply became the priority it should have been from the start. Expressed another way, the importance of practicing true “craft” was hitting home.

Several Japanese craft breweries continue to innovate with native ingredients while making high quality beers. A few of these have garnered attention on the world stage with medals at the World Beer Cup and other high-profile international competitions. Then there are those breweries innovating with sake yeast, koji (the mold-rice in sake) and sake-barrel aging. More than a few in the craft beer industry therefore thought Kirin’s president Isozaki Yoshinori a little arrogant at the press conference last July announcing Kirin’s move into this segment. As Reuters reported, he proclaimed, “Japanese beer is going to break from the way it has been doing things; it’s transitioning to a new stage of its development.” He then spoke of creating a unique beer culture. Spring Valley, meanwhile, will symbolize their pioneering spirit. A little late for that, no? Wasn’t he aware of all the massive innovation and the many pioneers that had been active for decades? Or maybe it was just typical media spin to give a press conference some buzz.

Or maybe Kirin will innovate and Isozaki isn’t being arrogant at all. The company’s first product from the Spring Valley subsidiary was a kind of pilsner-ale hybrid. Hybrids and lager-ale blends are not new, but it was a different direction for Kirin. The bigger question is whether Kirin uses it’s enormous research capacity and technological prowess to start incorporating native ingredients via new, unique processing methods that result in delicious beers. Can we call it craft then? Another challenge for Kirin will be its own bureaucracy. Never doubt the ability of bureaucracy to quash creativity and new ideas. Will Kirin’s bureaucracy control the direction of the beers? So far, Kirin has actually allowed consumers to suggest new beer ideas. But will the company empower its brewer(s) to pursue their ideas irrespective of the potential cost of the raw ingredients? This seems to be a big part of the spirit of craft brewing.

It’s necessary to note that a brewery doesn’t have to use unique ingredients or new techniques to be considered craft. Fujizakura makes world-class, traditional German beers using standard ingredients. Baird won gold at the 2010 World Beer Cup in the American Lager category. Minoh’s renowned stout is straightforward. Still, we call Minoh’s a craft beer, but not Asahi’s. That major brewer produced a tasty one true to category and able to compete with Guinness’ initial runaway success in Japan. Is Asahi not craft because of its size?

This article was published in Japan Beer Times # () and is among the limited content available online. Order your copy through our online shop or download the digital version from the iTunes store to access the full contents of this issue.