Between Mountain and Sea

Shimizu Seizaburo Shoten, Suzuka

Suzuka, in Mie Prefecture. Known more for the Suzuka Circuit and its proximity to Yokkaichi, it may not immediately come to mind as the home of extraordinary sake. Yet this small city of fewer than 200,000 people lies cradled between the Suzuka mountain range and Ise Bay — a quiet place where water, history, and devotion converge. Shimizu Seizaburo Shoten stands close enough to the sea that from the rooftop of the brewery, the bay stretches out before you. On a clear day, the distant outline of the Izu Peninsula appears faintly on the horizon. Below, fresh water flows from inland, slipping silently beneath the surface of the sea. This is the soft underground water of the Suzuka mountains — the lifeblood of the brewery. Turn the tap here, and that same water fills your glass. Founded in 1869, the brewery has long supported the sacred rituals of nearby Ise Jingu Shrine. Suzuka itself is referred to in ancient texts as “Umasake Suzuka no Kuni” — the land of fine sake — a place woven deeply into Japan’s spiritual and brewing history. The toji, Tomohiro Uchiyama — known simply as Tomo — is a towering figure among Ise master brewers. It is tempting to say that the beauty of Zaku comes solely from his hand. But inside the kura, the story is larger than one man. At Shimizu Seizaburo Shoten, young brewers stand at the center of production. Each year, new staff are welcomed and trained. In an industry where mastery often takes a decade, it is rare for young kurabito to confidently say, “I make sake.” Yet here, they do. When we visited, a Czech brewer guided us with remarkable depth of knowledge. Notebooks filled with data lay everywhere. In the tasting room, beside each batch’s meticulous scientific analysis, handwritten impressions recorded how the brewers themselves felt when tasting. Data and intuition, precision and humility — all gathered together in pursuit of balance. Among the many cuvées, Kanade no Tomo may be the most delicate. Polished to 50%, Mie no Yume rice. Koji cultivated carefully over 48 hours. Exceptionally soft underground water flowing from the Suzuka mountains. The resulting Junmai Ginjo carries aromas of crisp apple, melon, and fresh cucumber. On the palate, it is transparent and precise, like fine glasswork — delicate, luminous. That afternoon, we spent more than an hour tasting nearly the entire range. The grandeur of their ultra-premium expressions was impressive. And yet, it was the restrained elegance of Kanade no Tomo that lingered most vividly in memory. “We would like to enjoy this tonight with local food,” we said. They smiled and suggested a few places nearby. That evening, we made our way to a small kappo restaurant at the foot of the Suzuka mountains — a warm, generous place that welcomed us despite having four children in tow. With a glass of Kanade no Tomo in hand, we reflected on the day. There is something deeply satisfying about enjoying local cuisine with local sake, where the same water that nourished the rice flows down from the mountains above you. Served chilled, it was exquisite. With delicate white sashimi, neither overpowered the other; both seemed to bow gently, allowing the flavors to unfold. Oysters were another revelation. Japanese oysters, more mineral than creamy, were wrapped softly in the sake’s umami. Later, as the evening deepened, a message arrived: snow had begun to fall in Saijo, Hiroshima — another of Japan’s renowned sake towns. Perhaps that was why the air here felt suddenly colder. I asked for something warm. The proprietress smiled. “Why not warm the Kanade no Tomo you’re already drinking?” Of course. Gently warmed, the sake revealed another face. Softer. Quietly comforting. Yet its defining delicacy remained intact. It even elevated the sweet-savoury simmered flounder before us, drawing out new layers of flavor. By the time the room had grown quiet, our two sons — rarely this still — were asleep on the tatami floor. Sake, I realized, is never only about flavor. It is about time itself. Time shared. Time remembered. Time passing quietly before we even notice.

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Arigato gozaimasu, Hiro Kawahara Somm Cellars