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Senshu area, centered in Kishiwada, in the southern part of Osaka Prefecture.
While nationally known for its Danjiri Festival, this area has historically been blessed with rice cultivation and high-quality water, making it suitable for sake brewing. Besides our own brewery, there are two other long-established breweries here.
We are a small brewery committed to making sake using local water and rice in this land of Kishiwada and Senshu.
Today, allow me to share a little about why we brew sake in this particular land and the journey of one craftsman to this point.
I hope you can feel the story of this land and the story of a life unfolding beyond a single bottle of sake.

One of the most crucial elements in sake brewing is water.
Approximately 80% of finished sake is composed of water, and it is no exaggeration to say that the quality of the water directly determines the character of the sake.
The Senshu area is blessed with high-quality underflow water flowing from the Izumi Mountain Range and Katsuragi Mountains. It has well-balanced minerals and water quality that gently supports the activity of koji mold and yeast.
Sake brewed with the soft yet firm water of Senshu becomes a bottle that encapsulates the very essence of the local climate.
The Senshu area has historically been a thriving region for rice cultivation.
The warm Setouchi climate, the clear water from the Izumi Mountains, and the sea breeze from Osaka Bay all contribute to the plump sweetness and elegant aroma characteristic of rice grown in the Senshu vicinity.
Whenever possible, we use rice grown by local classmates.
Brewing with rice grown in local rice paddies.
We believe this is the true origin of "local sake" (jizake).
When you think of Kishiwada, you think of the Danjiri Festival.
The meticulously carved danjiri floats are the culmination of the handiwork of generations of craftsmen.
In this land, there has long been a culture that reveres "creating something with one's hands."
Sake brewing is also a craft supported by human hands and senses.
The land of Kishiwada and Senshu possesses the capacity to naturally embrace the act of brewing sake.

Now, please allow me to share a little personal story.
It is the story of one person's life that lies behind why we started brewing sake in this land.
In my twenties, I was completely absorbed in my craft.
I loved nothing more than moving my hands, engaging with materials, and giving them form.
I made countless mistakes, and there were innumerable days when things didn't go as planned.
Still, the moment someone was happy with something I had created with my own hands—that feeling was an incomparable joy.
Those were days when I firmly believed I would make a living as a craftsman.
However, life took an unexpected turn.
At 31, the company I worked for was a black company that made employees work until late every night, so I developed a stroke due to working myself to the limit.
Fortunately, my life was not in danger, but it became difficult for me to use my hands with the fine dexterity required of a craftsman.
The path of my father, whom I admired as a craftsman in a different field, the skills I had honed over a long time, and the future ahead—making the decision to let go of these was truly painful.
"I can't create things anymore,"
I told myself, and quietly stepped away from the path of a craftsman.
20 years passed since then.
I continued rehabilitation and daily life while working in a job unrelated to manufacturing.
My life was peaceful, and fulfilling enough.
However, deep down in my heart, something was always smoldering.
The time spent engaging with materials, the moment of creating something with my own sensibilities—I had never truly forgotten that feeling.
Perhaps one cannot easily give up something one has truly loved.

I had the opportunity to listen to a lecture by the president of a sake brewery.
At first, I went casually, without much thought.
The speaker quietly yet passionately spoke about the rigor and beauty of sake brewing, and the meaning of "engaging with the land."
Handling rice, handling water, communicating with microorganisms—all of it was "a collaboration with nature."
As I listened to his talk, I suddenly realized I was shedding tears.
"This is it. This is what I wanted to do again."
The form might be different from a craftsman's handiwork.
But the act of engaging with materials, conversing with time, and carefully creating something was certainly there.
It was the moment when a new wind blew into the embers that had been smoldering for 20 years.
I chose the path of brewing sake under the "other brewed alcoholic beverages" manufacturing license.
This category, different from the sake (nihonshu) license, allows for more freedom in expressing sake, while still primarily using rice and water.
It was the most suitable place for me, returning to the world of craftsmanship after a 20-year hiatus, to learn from tradition while simultaneously challenging new flavors.
Using local Senshu water and rice, I carefully brew over time, guided by my own senses.
Every day until completion, I peer into the tanks, check the aroma, and adjust the temperature.
That activity, at its core, was no different from the "time spent engaging with materials with hands and senses" that I cultivated as a young craftsman.
Even if the form changes, the essence of craftsmanship remains one.
Respecting materials, attuning to time, and trusting one's own senses. After 20 years, I reclaimed that.

The meaning of our brewery deliberately making sake in this land boils down to wanting to embody this land itself in every bottle.
The softness of Senshu's underflow water.
The richness of rice harvested in local paddies.
The warm human connections fostered in Kishiwada, the Danjiri town.
Only when all these blend together can "sake that can only be brewed in this land" be born.
A bottle imbued with the story of the land, impossible to reproduce through mass production. Sake of genuine craftsmanship, infused with someone's hands and heart.
Delivering that is my answer to craftsmanship, reached after a 20-year detour.
"The meaning of brewing sake in Kishiwada, Senshu" – to this question, I now reply:
It is a form of gratitude to this land, gratitude for being able to return to craftsmanship, and gratitude to those who pick up this bottle.
Life probably has more things that don't go as planned.
Still, sometimes a door opens after 20 years.
There are also sights to be found beyond a detour; these are things I learn daily through this sake brewing.
Please, do try the sake we brew.
The hands of a craftsman, set in motion again after 20 years, are poured into each bottle.
Bring the essence of Kishiwada and Senshu to your table.
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この記事を書いた人
旨い酒を作りたいという思いで、岸和田の地にて酒蔵を始めました。また、酒造りの傍ら、古美術商も営んでおり、ぐい呑みなどの酒器を集めています。