Imagine for a moment running a family-owned business founded in 1550. What would you feel? Excitement? Honor? Nervousness? Now consider that this business suddenly has to operate in a global market–the alcohol beverage industry–and that this space is fiercely competitive. What then? Pressure?
“No, no pressure at all,” says Shintarô Konishi, 15th-generation president of Konishi Shuzô in Itami, Hyôgo prefecture. His tone reveals equal parts confidence and humor. “But my daughter probably does.” Akiko Konishi, sitting beside him laughs, “No comment.”
Konishi Shuzô is Japan’s oldest brewery still run by the same family. There are a few older ones that changed hands between families or were outright bought by corporations. It is also one of Japan’s most fascinating, in my opinion, because of its historical achievements and diverse business operations. The quality of its products almost goes without saying–you don’t survive over 460 years (and several warring periods) with poor quality.
Seven years ago when I first spoke with Shintarô about his role and his company, he commented on the great sense of responsibility he feels. During the many times over the intervening years I met–and, sometimes, drank–with him and his daughter, he is consistent with his comments about responsibility. It’s not as if he’s being coy in not talking about pressure. They both must certainly feel it. All company leaders do, family legacy notwithstanding. What seems to temper any sense of pressure, however, is an attitude akin to confidence. It’s more like a steady presence of mind that owes to deep historical perspective.
Every generation of the company has no doubt faced some crisis of great proportion. Shintarô’s father saw the company through World War II and post-war, socio-economic upheaval. His grandfather and great-grandfather navigated the frenetic modernization of Japan’s society that took place over a matter of decades. If Shintarô’s challenge wasn’t having to engage in an increasingly global market where there was no roadmap provided by his predecessors, then it was certainly having to deal with the aftermath Japan’s economic bubble collapsing toward the end of the 1980s. Fortunately, through good stewardship, Konishi Shuzô hadn’t put itself in a bind like many companies.
“When I considered our company’s history during the Edo period, I realized that there were good times and bad times; this is just part of the cycle of history. Understanding that gave me a sense of reason. The bubble was not going to last–I understood that. I knew that if there was a mountain, a valley would follow. We didn’t invest a ridiculous amount of money in expanding our business. When times got hard, we struggled but were okay.”
Shintarô officially became president of the company twenty-five years ago at the ripe age of 39. At the time, it was unusually young for a president. “It seems like you had to be over 60 at most places,” Akiko pipes in. He officially joined the company in 1975, but first went to England to study English and then business for two years. He returned to the brewery to learn everything from brewing techniques to office management and computers–rather novel equipment at the time. He then had a year-long stint working in New York.
He was not working for the company but vividly remembers as a teenager when the massive new plant where brewing operations continue today opened. It was 1963 and the facility was the first in Japan with year-round brewing capability, thanks to that revolutionary technology called air-conditioning. The plant has several floors and takes up an entire city block. It was clear to the young Shintarô that he would be taking over an enormous operation.
Konishi Shuzô’s engagement with the global market, as largely inaugurated by the opening of its New York office in the 1970s, included forays into other alcoholic beverages and endeavors, most notably importing. Even before Shintarô became president, the company began handling wine from overseas. In a move that would change the landscape of alcohol consumption in Japan, the company started importing Belgian beer beginning in late 1988.
The company was one of the first to introduce this exotically different style of beer to a nation thirsty for light lagers. It quickly became a large importer (which it still is today) and is partially responsible for the so-called Belgian beer boom in Japan. The meteoric popularity of Belgian beer helped acclimate people’s palates to bold flavors and their wallets to premium prices. It’s no exaggeration to say that this paved the way for craft beer in Japan when that industry launched a few years later in 1995. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Konishi Shuzô also started a craft beer brewery–one of Japan’s first. It is now housed in its former kura, which acts as a restaurant and tasting room for its sake as well. Their beer has won multiple international accolades, including a gold medal at the most recent World Beer Cup for a beer made with sake yeast. Shintarô’s dedication to Belgian beer, meanwhile, has enabled him to build an enduring partnership and friendship with Michel Moortgat, CEO of the company that produces the world-famous Duvel beer. Shintarô was additionally knighted in Belgium for his work in introducing the beverage to Japan. Not bad side-accomplishments for the president of a company whose mainstay is still very much sake.
Milestones the sake brewery has achieved are even more interesting and impressive. It seems the brewery has been challenging itself for centuries by engaging in markets outside its local one. In 1612, it began sending sake to the new de facto capital of Edo on horseback. Eventually it launched its own seafaring shipping company to keep up with the demand. The name for its flagship brand, Shirayuki (white snow), supposedly originates with a trip the second heir, Sôtaku, was making to Edo to deliver sake when he saw a snow-capped Mount Fuji. By the late 17th century, its sake had become so popular in Edo that it even opened a wholesale sake trading company, which handled the sake of other Itami producers as well, similar to the way the company distributes Belgian beer today. Even the company’s export endeavors have an older history. In 1893, Konishi Shuzô sent its Shirayuki brand to the World Fair in Chicago.
These days Konishi Shuzô is grappling with how to make its sake appeal to a new generation of drinkers–something nearly all sake breweries are going through. Wisely, the company is considering the opinions of youth, including Akiko’s. She joined the company in a fashion similar to her father. Following education in Europe (she speaks English very well, but claims to have forgotten her German), she began learning the ropes around 2010, including hands-on brewing operations. Years earlier when I spoke to her about this experience, she responded that she wanted to understand the company better and realized she needed to experience it from the ground up, even if that meant the physical labor and long hours of brewing. These days, she is in more of an administrative role.
Canvassing opinions to use in product development includes both consumers via surveys and company employees via internal systems. One way they come up with new ideas is by creating teams within the company to brainstorm them. The teams are sometimes created with diversity in mind; they may not be comprised of brewing staff or the sales force alone. Akiko says they are mindful of including young employees, women, and those in desk jobs.
Many of the products they come up with are quite intriguing, including two sake that were designed to pair well with cheese and nuts, respectively. Akiko says they will usually give new products several years to see if they have any appeal in the market–one year is just not enough to gauge long-term interest. Shintarô notes that they are seeing signs of revived interest in sake meant to be consumed warm. The brewery typically puts out several new products a year, including seasonals, and its complete portfolio is rather large and diverse. Right now they are pushing four brands in particular with attractive, but simple and easy-to-understand labels and names. Launched with the “Konishi” name (as opposed to “Shirayuki”), they include: Ginjo Hiyashibori, Daiginjo Hiyashibori, Junmaishu Kokuagari, and Aosae no Sumikiri Junmai.
When asked to describe the character of the company’s sake, Shintarô embarks on a lengthy and passionate monologue about how the sake market has changed in the last twenty-five years, noting the ways people have become obsessed with specific aspects of sake, like aromatics or category, while forgetting the simple act of just enjoying what they are drinking, whatever style it is. He concludes by proclaiming that this is what they are aiming for–simple consumer enjoyment. And to that end, he notes, “We strive for good balance of aroma and flavor. Some sake assert one over the other. Whether you are drinking ours cold, warmed or at room temperature, that balance needs to be there.”
Akiko, seemingly not totally satisfied with her father’s answer, adds, “Our flavor is good, but we’re also traditional in some ways. Maybe even a little conservative.”
At this point, Shintarô jumps in again, protesting that their flavor is not conservative, but Akiko holds her ground, “Of course we are using new brewing techniques and refining our ways, trying to improve quality. But we are not abandoning our past as we try to appeal to current tastes.”
Indeed, when you drink their sake, you get an understanding of what she’s trying to articulate. There are no bold flavor spikes in any direction. It’s conservative in the sense that it is well-rounded sake–“balanced” as Shintarô would put it–but not boring by any means. It’s very approachable sake that lends itself just as easily to pairing as simple drinking.
One of their most experimental, interesting, and flavorful sake brands is ironically as pure a throwback to the past as they could achieve: Edo Genroku. The recipe comes from old documents the brewery still had in its possession and dates back to the Genroku period (1688 to 1704). Shintarô explains with great excitement that they didn’t want to just rebrew the recipe; they wanted to try to recreate the conditions under which the sake was brewed. That included returning to wooden fermentation vessels instead of stainless steel, among other adjustments. Their research into how it might have been made also indicated it probably used a whole lot less water than typical sake today. Basically, it’s a genshu with no water having been added at the end of the brewing process. It’s slightly higher in alcohol, a lovely amber in color, and rich.
The sake is a marvel of technique, tradition, inspiration and dedication. Shintarô talks about a sense of responsibility, but he has also inherited these characteristics with his brewery. They don’t just express themselves in Edo Genroku, either. Definitely seek out the brewery’s more mainstream varieties where you can taste the culmination of generations of work. While sipping, hopefully you’ll also transcend the vicissitudes of time, whether you’re on Shintarô’s proverbial mountain, valley or, like most of us, somewhere in-between.
