“Boom, boom, boom, boom!” he intoned as he gestured with animated hands to indicate bombs exploding. The old Japanese gentleman was recounting a childhood experience of seeing the firebombing of Fukuoka–one of many cities in Japan devastated by such raids during WWII. An even older gentleman, thin and frail in those last couple of years of his life, stood by quietly, listening and sipping his sake. He had been a war veteran, shipped off to Southeast Asia where, incidentally, my grandfather had also been stationed. Decades earlier, they were enemies, but here I was in my neighborhood liquor store in Fukuoka, drinking with him and other locals. There was a sake dispensing machine that drew them all in–every evening for some.
In 1997, for my first job out of university, I was dispatched by the JET (Japan Exchange and Teaching) Program to Fukuoka, where I worked as a “coordinator for international relations” (fellow Sake Today cofounder John Gaunter is also a JET alum, and that’s when he discovered sake). Part of my job involved publishing a culture magazine–imagine that. Across from my dreary government apartment was this small, cramped liquorstore, called Futaba after the last name of the elderly couple that ran it. They were childless and seemed to appreciate the company of the customers as much as their financial patronage. My parents had accumulated significant debt to send me to a university where I studied Japanese for four years. I swear I learned more in that liquor store. I also became ‘fluent’ in the local dialect, Hakata-ben. Everyone used it there. But I mostly went to hear the stories.
We often joked that I was fulfilling my job duties as a coordinator for international relations by drinking there. The word in Japanese for international exchange is kokusai kôryû. The word word kusai, meanwhile, means stinky and can refer to somebody drinking. So we used to chuckle that this was koKUSAI kôryû, or exchange over alcohol breath. We were all so very clever after a few drinks. But again, we also shared stories…
I remember the war veteran talking about bartering for food during the war (my own grandfather had talked about bartering with locals for things). Another guest was the son of a retired professional baseball legend who had also become a coach for the local team. He and some others told stories about lifetime home run king Sadaharu Oh, who was the team’s manager. The local university bookstore manager came regularly and talked about yakuza (his father was in the ‘real estate business’, though he had chosen a straighter path). He was only a few years older and we became friends. I spoke to his father only once–by phone–and he told me to call him if I ever got into trouble and needed help. During the late 1990s, I had also started translating the poetry of Chûya Nakahara (1907-37). Some of the older guests could remember the 1920s and 30s, and were able to explain to me some of the imagery and phrases. The liquor shop was a mini university in more ways than one.
This activity of standing around a liquor store and drinking is called kakuuchi, literally, “hitting the corners”. Others call it tachinomi (standing and drinking), but the Futaba guests used the word kakuuchi. The local post office employee who drank there explained that the corner refers to the masu, or square cup for drinking. When you’re done and want another, you ‘hit’ it down on the counter. Other sources have speculated that ‘corner’ refers to drinking in a corner of the store. Either way, the activity is obviously about more than just drinking. There’s an important community aspect to it.
After I moved away, I still dropped in to Futaba from time to time, though I haven’t seen the proprietors for well over a decade. I wonder if they are even still alive. At least I have many fond memories of the place. I also did kakuuchi at liquor stores in other cities I lived in or traveled to. Proprietors and regulars can be amazing sources of information and stories. And, of course, there’s the benefit of drinking local specialties sometimes.
The customs that have grown up around sake are also what make it so special to me. People often call alcohol a social lubricant, but as with kakuuchi, it has even helped create a social space. This is, for many, a source of simple comfort.
Sake Today can provide information and stories, ideas and inspiration. I sometimes remember kakuuchi when I read through the articles and smile at the anecdotes. I feel like these are things that people could tell each other in a small, neighborhood liquor store. But what Sake Today can’t give you is that satisfying social aspect. You have to go out and drink for that. I could think of worse things to do when you finish reading this issue (and thank you for that). Please consider going out and getting a sip. Keep the sake flowing, the traditions going, and the sense of community strong.
