Picking the Factory

I've wanted to go on a brewery tour for a while. I finally booked one. The most convenient one to get to seemed to be the Asahi Brewery in Ibaraki. I had to do a double-take. Ibaraki?

In Japan there is this thing called the 都道府県魅力ランキング, or when literally translated into English, the "todoufuken" allure ranking. The todoufuken is another name for the collection of the prefectures of Japan. The ranking takes into consideration various things, such as things to see and do in the prefecture and the local delicacies. It was big news when Ibaraki moved up one rank last year from 47 to 46, what with 1 being the most desirable place to go. Ibaraki has a longstanding reputation of being the 47th least desirable prefecture to visit. I recall the variety show I was watching last year. It was the first time I had seen such a prefectural ranking, but even I was getting a kick out of it, seeing these people representing Ibaraki celebrating, elated to be 46th place. There are 47 prefectures in Japan, by the way.

46th is arguably worse than 47th, because if you're dead last for a long time, you're famous for that. Who remembers the second-to-last, though? Take the city of Hamamatsu in Shizuoka, for example, which in 2020 earned the right to remind everyone that they hold the tied record of the hottest place in recorded history in Japan, and we're talking about weather. I've met Japanese who only know Hamamatsu for its hottest-place-in-Japan record.

Anyway, the official Asahi website listed only Osaka as the alternative, so Ibaraki it was.

When making a reservation by phone, the staff confirmed that my party was all 20 or older and asked whether we were coming by car or bicycle by chance. In Japan, expect to receive alcohol after a brewery tour in what is effectively someone else's dry workplace. If you will partake, you go by train. The factory runs its own bus from the site to the closest station, 守谷駅 (Moriya Station), in part for convenience but also because in Japan you are not to drive a car or ride a bicycle if you've had even one sip of alcohol.

The Beer Factory

We got off the train and headed to the central east exit at Moriya Station where the shuttle was to pick us up. The stop for the shuttle bus also curiously showed signs for the Ibaraki Rehabilitation Hospital, the translation of which into Japanese misspelled rehabilitation as "Rehabili Station." What a place, Ibaraki.

Almost as soon as we got in line for the bus, a family came and waited behind us. It appeared to be a mother, her sister, and perhaps their parents, but they also brought two kids who looked to be in elementary school. "I've been three times," the boy said while scurrying around. His sister was never far behind.

"Are we in the right line...," my Japanese partner wondered.

"It is Ibaraki...," I said. She was in on the todoufuken joke.

The bus arrived and looked like it was brand new. The cushy seat and air conditioning were luxurious compared to standing in line in the warm, near-summer day. We were on our way to the factory.

About "factory," in English, we'd call the place a brewery. In Japanese, a ブルワリー ("brewery") is typically a smaller place that doubles as a tasting venue or even a restuarant. The literal term 酒 造場 ("shuzoujyou") is more for things like sake, and the buildings that house those are often more like what non-Japanese people might call a Japanese-style building. The place we were going to was a factory by all means. Only after having visited it could I understand just how important beer was to the Japanese economy.

Which reminds me, last year the Japanese government declared that they were concerned that young Japanese adults were not drinking enough. The message and tone were clear: according to the National Tax Agency, young people ought to drink more. For the sake of the Japanese economy. The Agency created a program called Sake Vida! that was essentially a bounty for business ideas that resulted in getting younger people to drink more alcohol made in Japan. The growing tendency to drink less was supposedly due to COVID-19 and the aging population and declining birthrate issue. Those sound a lot like causes and difficult ones to address at that, so the Tax Agency appears to have gone after one of the symptoms instead. It's unclear whether consuming alcohol is what will save Japan in the long run.

So there we were, arriving at the factory anticipating consuming alcohol.

When we entered, we were greeted by a reception desk to the right, but my eyes first darted to the massive Asahi Beer logo to the left, in front of which you could take pictures with props you can hold--large cans and bottles of Asahi beer. There were also various "origami" pieces crafted out of aluminum from used Asahi beer cans. After taking photos and just being amazed at how enthralling the entrance alone of a place that supposedly "just" makes beer was, we headed to the reception desk. There we were asked again how we got to the factory and whether we'd be taking a bicycle or car home. They gave us yellow wristbands indicating that we were commuting by train. One fellow got a blue wristband, as he had driven a group in a van and would do the same on the way out. Afterward, we walked to a vending machine and bought entrance tickets for the two of us, ¥1,000 each.

Shortly after, our tour group of 15 people or so was ushered into a small theater. On the way in, we handed over the entrance tickets we had purchased. The video we watched introduced us to the modern mission of Asahi, something about putting a smile on every customer's face by giving them the best beer in the world. The production quality and theater equipment was top-notch, although the massive sound system was a bit overwhelming to the ear. Afterward, before we started the tour, one of the staff took attendance. It was a very strange thing to do since we had all handed over entrance tickets before entering the theater. It turned out that one person had arrived late and the members of their group that had already entered has purchased a ticket for the late-comer. The staff called the group out by name, asking if the late-comer had already talked to the receptionists and whatnot, and the answer, from the Japanese fellow, was a single, loud, matter-of-fact もちろん ("of course"), which even my foreign eyes opened wide to. His response was surprisingly cutting, but the staff lady, just doing her job, acknowledged, apologized, and 我慢'ed ("gaman'ed"--endured) the uncalled-for attitude and moved everyone along to start the tour. I won't go into "gaman," a Japanese cultural wonder, here. I'm sure I'll write about that another time.

The walk through the factory started at the beginning of a long, dark hall illuminated by tall digital screens staggered on either side, facing the visitor as they walked down the hallway. Along the roof were two lines of red LED strips that followed the walkway. The whole thing looked like some entrance to a Disneyland ride. We made our way to an escalator that took us up what must have been at least 3 floors in one go. To the side of the escalator was a wide staircase that had Asahi beer cans printed on the face of each step, so when you stood in front of it just right, it appeared as if there was a 3-story-tall stack of beer cans. We weren't allowed to walk up the stairs, though. When we got to the top of the escalator, something had happened that required one of the guides to return to the reception desk, so she got to walk down all the stairs; can't say I envy her, though; didn't even get to look at all the beer cans on the way down.

As we made our way through the factory, the tour guide walked us past many neat facts printed on the walls. We walked so quickly that I couldn't read them fast enough, even the ones that also had English translations. The tour guide was narrating the whole experience in Japanese, but the personal speaker system she was using was a bit muddled and then echoed in every hallway we were in, so I could barely make out what she was saying.

Before we reached the first big fact-on-the-wall in our journey, the guide stopped us and asked how much beer we though the factory produced each day. Before anyone could say anything, the boy that was in line behind us at the bus stop shouted a number. To my surprise, the tour guide said he was close but not quite right. We walked up to the wall and read that the Ibaraki factory produces 5.9 million 350 ml cans of beer each day.

Now, in 2021 the population of Tokyo-proper was about 14 million people. Of that number, the working age group (15 to 64 years old) had roughly 9 million people. The drinking age in Japan is 20 years old, so the number of people who can legally drink in that group is less than 9 million people. Also, we know from the Tax Agency situation that not everyone is drinking often if at all. I don't know how many people that amounts to, but what with the Ibaraki factory producing near 6 million cans every day, there being multiple Asahi factories across Japan, and the fact that there are numerous large beer companies--not to say anything about the other kinds of alcohol manufacturers or that people at restaurants more often drink beer on tap instead of out of cans--it seems to me that barring some private, gigantic warehouses stocking tens of millions of cans of beer, Japan is doing just fine with its alcohol sales. I assume many cans get exported. Despite the questionable campaign advertising, the Tax Agency doesn't really care whether Japanese alcohol is consumed. They just care that it gets sold.

This was quickly shaping up to be quite a factory tour!

As we proceeded on, the host asked which ingredients Asahi used to make its beer. The young boy piped up once again, and the host responded, eyes wide, with "wow, you certainly know a lot!" The boy jumped up and down and exclaimed, "I've been here three times," to which everyone gave a hearty laugh. I was laughing too, but then I was like, wait, why has this underage kid been here three times? The world only knows. I chalked it up to Ibaraki. Asahi beer is made with water, malt, hops, rice, corn starch, and corn grits, which disqualifies it from the Reinheitsgebot and explains why the Germans I know here all say Japanese beer is not beer. With that said, Japanese beer-making has its roots in Dutch and American practices, what with the Japanese having learned from these foreign influences around 1860, so there was at first strong similarity to the European practice.

Among some of the facts printed along the walls and windows of the tour were nuggets such as, "'New Super Dry' offers satisfying drinkability upon hitting the taste buds and instant crispness," and, "Yeast strain No. 318 used in Asahi Super Dry has been carefully selected from among the hundreds of varieties at the Laboratory." Compelling, but do I really know what makes Asahi different from all the other Japanese beer now? This strain no. 318 is mentioned various times in factoids and is supposedly the thing that creates the signature 辛口 ("dry") taste. Without going into more detail, the tour notes that this strain was found in the Asahi laboratories to produce "outstanding fermentation properties."

From ingredients to drinkable beer, the entire process takes what seems to be about 1 month. The first week is fermentation, the following several weeks has the concoction sitting outside in 0-degree Celsius maturation tanks, then the concoction is filtered to remove remaining sediment and proteins, and finally the beer is evaluated by humans. The tour notes that despite the technologically-advanced machines involved in brewing, it still requires humans to perform the final "sensory evaluation" in which people judge the appearance, smell, and of course taste of the beer to ensure consistency. How consistent this really is, though, I will never know. I can't help but think of the ramen chefs who work 8-hour shifts and mix broth on the spot, tasting it each time for each customer's order. Can you really tell the difference in flavor after a few sips and all that salt?

Part of the tour was an event called "Super Dry Go Ride." Our group sat in two rows of seats facing a wide screen. The lights dimmed, the screens lit up, and we were suddenly on the automated path through the factory as if we were a can of beer. Our seats vibrated as we moved along the rollers guiding us around the stations, and at one point a device in front of us blasted us with mist, maybe having something to do with carbonation. It was a unique experience that was more akin to something you'd find at an amusement park, and I say it went pleasantly above my expectations of what a factory tour would be.

We did not get to walk around the machinery itself or touch some of the (sample) ingredients used in the beer-making process. I heard this was possible before factory policy changed as a result of COVID-19.

To wrap it all up, we took an elevator to the very top of the factory, which by my possibly-terrible estimation must have been something like the height of a 15-floor building. There we walked into a tasting room and observation deck. We were given 2.5 pints of beer, included in our entrance fee. The first 2 pints were poured for us by employees showcasing fancy frost-enveloped taps and an elegant pouring technique. For my second pint, I participated in receiving a latte-art-like design on the foam of my beer. The last half pint was a self-pour we got to do using small glasses. My partner's second pint was an instructed self-pour with a full-sized glass. We then received free, individually-boxed Asahi-labeled beer glasses as part of the tour. Everyone was smiling, thanking everyone else, clapping, and completely buzzed. The kids were receiving what appeared to be an unlimited supply of sodas and Japanese soft drinks like Calpis in the meantime. I was so focused on enjoying the cool beer and taking in the ambiance that I didn't realize we had a time limit, and the staff closed the doors to the observation deck and ushered us out before I took my opportunity to survey the 46th least desirable place to be in all of Japan.

Quotation Mystery

When it comes to Asahi Super "Dry," the one thing I've always wanted to know is why "Dry" is in quotes. I didn't catch any explanation during the tour, so I had to dig around online. I could only find speculation. Some Japanese sites featured the question itself and a bunch of comments from passersby, the likes of which had jokes, dismissals, and even explanations such as how in English "dry" is a normal verb and adjective, but to use it as a noun you ought to wrap it in quotes. Other sites went on at length explaining how quotes might have just been a design choice from someone competing with others to get their design on the face of the can. This latter article at least notes that this is a great gameshow trivia question.

I asked a few of my Japanese friends, a mix of men and women working in different industries, and they don't know either.

I don't know where the Amari Shinbun goes, how long it will be around, what it will touch on. But maybe the quotes question will prompt another post.