From a Non-Drinker to the "Fukurozuri" Method

Introduction

To start off, I, the proprietor, cannot drink alcohol.

It's not just that I'm a "lightweight"; my body simply doesn't tolerate it. If I drink even half a glass of draft beer, I've reached my limit.

Despite this, I now run a sake brewery.

Why would someone who can't drink alcohol make it? To answer this question honestly, you'll need to bear with a somewhat long story. It's a tale of a stroke, antique art, and encountering the "Fukurozuri" method—a journey full of detours that ultimately led to a single path.

Longing for the World in a Glass

The first door to the culture of alcohol opened for me about 40 years ago, when I was a high school student.

My grandmother was critically ill, and to fill the empty hours in the hospital waiting room, I picked up a manga that was lying there: "BAR Lemon Heart."

Could such a world exist within a glass? That was my introduction to the "culture of alcohol."

Throughout my twenties, I yearned for the dimly lit counter of a shot bar.

That place where people are sent off with a single drink and a brief conversation. There was a time when I seriously considered owning such a place myself, but the more I learned about the reality of the food and beverage industry, the more I realized that what I truly desired wasn't management, but "that atmosphere itself." So, I quietly abandoned the dream of owning a bar.

The turning point came when I read a chapter on how to make alcohol in a series called "How to Spend Sundays."

The term "moonshine," which now sounds almost like something a middle schooler would say, completely captivated me at the time.

I felt as if I saw the essence of craftsmanship in the act of creating alcohol with my own hands, outside the bounds of the law.

And in recent years, craft bourbon "moonshine" began to gain popularity in the United States.

Alcohol that was once illegally distilled in the mountains during Prohibition is now openly made and sold as legal craft. The romance of moonshine that I admired in my youth was now a legitimate modern industry. Seeing this rekindled a forgotten spark within me.

If I were to do something similar in Japan, what would it be?

The answer was clear: "Doburoku."

It's the oldest form of alcohol that Japanese people have traditionally made by hand. As I researched, I discovered that sake brewing could be done in much smaller spaces than I imagined.

"This is something I might be able to do myself." It was the first time I saw a possible path, not yet a certainty, but a strong possibility.

A 20-Year Detour

Originally, I worked as a craftsman, using my hands to create tangible objects.

However, at the age of 31, I suffered a stroke.

I was left with paralysis, and it became unrealistic to continue the same work as before.

At the beginning of my thirties, I had to confront the reality that my body was no longer obeying me.

I transitioned from work that used my body to work that used my mind and eyes.

I shifted my focus to the retail world, and through a series of coincidences, I became an antique art dealer.

I moved from being someone who created things by hand to someone who assessed handmade objects and passed them on to the next owner.

My position changed, but I believe that my "eye for judging the quality of craftsmanship" was greatly honed over those 20 years.

About 20 years after the stroke, the paralysis began to gradually ease.

It didn't completely return to normal.

Nevertheless, as the feeling of my hands moving as they once did returned, I heard a voice I had long suppressed deep in my heart: "I still want to do craftsmanship."

Approaching my 50s, the urge to return to creating things became irresistible.

I decided to experience the selling side before creating.

I acquired a liquor sales license, and the first place I chose for hands-on experience was a corner of an event held on shrine grounds.

Within the scope permitted by a temporary license, I began selling alcohol directly to customers.

The knack for "communicating value face-to-face," which I had cultivated in the antique art business, also proved useful here.

Subsequently, I shifted my business to online sales, and while handling sake from breweries across the country, I gradually became able to articulate my own preferences and the types of sake that truly delighted customers.

However, the more deeply involved I became with sake as a seller, the stronger my desire to "make it myself" grew.

The decisive moment came on the day I listened to a lecture by the president of a certain sake brewery.

More than the business talk, what profoundly moved me was how he perceived sake brewing itself.

By the time it ended, I had my answer.

I would also start a sake brewery.

The Day I Couldn't Drink, and the Encounter with Fukurozuri

However, a little before that, in early 2020, a decisive change occurred in my body.

One day, suddenly, I couldn't drink alcohol. There was no prior warning, and no discernible cause.

Draft beer, which I had been able to drink normally until then, was rejected by my body before I could even finish half a glass.

It wasn't a matter of mood; a strong physical signal from within my body clearly stated, "I can't take any more."

I underwent medical examinations, but no abnormalities were found, and the cause remains unclear to this day.

Just as I decided I wanted to work with alcohol, I became unable to drink it. The timing was almost laughable.

The turning point came when I visited a certain sake brewery.

Before I could, as usual, decline the offered drink with "I'm sorry, I can't drink," I took just a sip.

It went down. My body didn't reject it.

It was sake pressed using a method called "Fukurozuri."

After that, I confirmed it many times with my own body.

Commercial sake, wine, and beer were still out of the question.

But for some reason, only sake pressed by the Fukurozuri method was accepted by my body.

Only sake made with that gentle pressing method—where the moromi (fermented mash) is placed in cloth bags and the droplets are collected by gravity alone, without any pressure—could enter my body.

At that moment, all the dots connected. My desire to return to craftsmanship.

My desire to work with sake. And the only type of sake I myself could drink.

The sake I should make is Fukurozuri.

I'm sure people will say that it makes no sense for someone who can't drink to establish a brewery.

But for me, it makes even less sense not to make it, now that I've come this far.

The Sake that Nikkoni-ko Taiyo Brewery Aims For

Above all, the sake I want to make is sake that I myself find delicious to drink.

This isn't a luxury I'm speaking of.

For someone whose body can no longer drink, the very fact of being "able to drink" is the most rigorous test of that sake's quality.

I want to put out into the world only such sake—sake that I, who rejects half a draft beer, can finish completely.

And there is one more strong desire I have. I want people who claim to dislike sake to try it.

"Strong aroma," "lingering aftertaste," "causes hangovers"—many of the reasons why sake is avoided, I believe, are not inherent to sake itself, but rather relate to the off-flavors that can arise from certain brewing and pressing methods.

My goal for our brewery is to create a bottle of sake that makes someone who has been wary of the word "sake" change their expression the moment they take a sip, saying, "This, I can drink."

The answer to this is Fukurozuri.

Fukurozuri is a pressing method where the fermented moromi is placed into cloth bags, hung, and only the droplets that drip down by gravity are collected.

No mechanical pressure is applied.

No pressing in a funé (traditional pressing machine).

Relying on gravity, only the portion that comes out of the sake itself is accepted.

The effort, time, and yield are incomparable to conventional pressing methods.

However, in exchange for all these disadvantages, one obtains a clear sake free of off-flavors.

Why is it that only Fukurozuri sake passes through my body?

Even after examinations, the cause remains unknown, but we have come to understand that a chemical reaction called "hydrogen bonding" might be involved.

When pressure is applied during pressing, something gets mixed in—perhaps dead yeast cells, or fine solid particles of moromi—something that my body cannot accept. Is it possible that this substance is thoroughly filtered out and doesn't remain in the Fukurozuri process?

I hypothesize this. The only certainty is that my body doesn't lie.

When I became unable to drink alcohol, I thought I would have to give up on working with it.

But encountering Fukurozuri reversed the situation.

For me, this is not just a preference for a particular method; it is the very reason I started brewing sake.

Precisely because I cannot drink, I can be excessively sensitive to the presence or absence of off-flavors.

I understand the feelings of those who have had bad experiences with sake better than anyone.

Believing that there must be sake that can only be made from this perspective, I started Nikkoni-ko Taiyo Brewery.

As a 12th-Generation Member of the Osaka Product Project

In 2026, Nikkoni-ko Taiyo Brewery was selected as a 12th-generation member of the "Osaka Product Project," undertaken by Osaka Prefecture.

For a small brewery, making sake and accurately conveying its value are entirely different skills.

While I have experience in "assessing value and communicating it face-to-face," cultivated through antique art and retail, I frankly lack knowledge in modern marketing and design.

In the Osaka Product Project, I plan to learn these missing parts from scratch and eventually stand on stage at the presentation event.

To let as many people as possible know about the craft sake made by the Fukurozuri method at our small brewery in Kishiwada.

I will make the most of this opportunity.

Our Sake

Kime Sarari: A pure, plain craft sake, pressed using the Fukurozuri method.

Kime Fuwari: A fruity craft sake, layering seasonal fruit juice over "Kime Sarari."

Kime Torori: Adding nothing, removing nothing. Unfiltered, unpasteurized nama-doburoku as it was brewed.

Finally

Therefore, our brewery will primarily release sake pressed using the Fukurozuri method.

We cannot produce large quantities.

The price will also not be the same as mass-produced sake.

Nevertheless, I do not want to let go of a brewing method where I can take responsibility for every single drop.

Especially for you, who have a negative impression of the word "sake."

Please, just try a sip.

It is the sake that I, who could not drink, was able to finish entirely.

Nikkoni-ko Taiyo Brewery Proprietor Akihiro Sugimoto's Profile is here