There’s a folk tale that has been handed down for generations in Ojiya, a small city in Japan’s northwestern Niigata Prefecture known for its traditional textile industry and nationally recognized crop, the koshihikari variety of rice.
According to “The Legends of Ojiya,” a book published in 1979, near the town’s Mitsuboshi-ya liquor store once stood a centuries-old cedar, planted back in 1658. There was nothing special about the tree, goes the story, but one day it began to leak sake — a lot of sake.
“It is a natural phenomenon — one that can be said to be the origin of alcoholic beverages,” the tale concludes.
“Wood alcohol” typically refers to methanol, a chemical used in formaldehyde and an ingredient in making plastic, paint and many types of fuel, as well as numerous other everyday products. Until the early 20th century, the flammable liquid was often made from the destructive distillation of wood — hence its moniker — although that’s no longer a common method. It’s highly toxic, too, and ingesting even a small quantity can lead to loss of eyesight or even death.
A revelation came when Otsuka was visiting the forests of Fukushima Prefecture, adjacent to Niigata Prefecture and also known for its rice production.
To begin with, harvested wood is crushed into 2-by-2-centimeter pieces using a chipper, and then processed using a hammer mill with a 0.7-millimeter screen.
The alcohol made from cedar lets off that familiar, refreshing woody aroma, while the mizunara oak is mellower, reminiscent of whisky, perhaps because the tree is often made into barrels that are used to age the liquor in.
In fact, the possibilities are stunningly diverse. Regionally unique spirits could be made using wood and spring water sourced from mountain villages and used to promote their respective communities. Different types of wood-based spirits could be mixed to produce original blends.
On the ninth floor of a narrow, nondescript building around a five-minute walk from Shinjuku, the world’s busiest station, is the bar Ben Fiddich. The name means “mountain” and “deer” in Gaelic, a reverse translation of Kayama’s surname.
Is the elevator opens, a wooden sign above an open-air staircase illuminated by a candle greets visitors. Soaring Renaissance music leaks from the heavy, lacquered door leading to a small, dimly lit room with a dozen or more seats and a woody interior.
The place has an earthy, medieval feel. There’s a mounted deer’s head on the wall and stained-glass lamps hanging from the ceiling decorated with dried herbs. Deep shelves occupy the back of the bar counter lined with bottle upon bottle of liquor and infusion-filled jars of different shapes and sizes.
It’s like wandering into an alchemist’s laboratory, and that’s how Kayama, 39, sees his sanctuary — as a way to experiment and delight his guests with his original cocktails. He has traveled the world, picking up exotic local liquors and herbs and incorporating them into his heady concoctions based on the likes of gin, whisky, Chartreuse and homemade absinthe.
Trees are, perhaps needless to say, vital for our planet’s ecosystem and the fight against global warming.
The ubiquitous plants appear in legends, folklore and myths around the globe, and have been considered sacred by numerous religions and cultures over tens of thousands of years.
That prompted the government to launch what many experts describe as an ill-advised, and ecologically hazardous, nationwide reforestation campaign.