If you visit a sake brewery in early spring, you’ll find sake lees left over.

It is a by-product that is inevitably produced when sake is pressed. However, for a sake brewery, the star of the show is sake itself. Sake lees used to play a supporting role.

Small breweries with no links to major distribution networks have nowhere to put their sake lees. As they are devoting all their efforts to the winter brewing season, they simply cannot spare the time to deal with the sake lees produced at the same time. Spring arrives, the temperature rises, and fermentation continues.

I’ve seen that sort of scene many times.

Every time that happens, I find myself thinking...

Is sake lees really just a by-product?

It didn’t seem that way to me. I thought it was simply that no one had yet figured out how to use it.

The Uonuma region is home to natural ‘snow cellars’. A special strain of lactic acid bacteria has been discovered in the nozawana pickled in these snow cellars. It is known as the Uonuma strain.

Normally, lactic acid bacteria begin to become active at around 25 degrees. However, the Uonuma strain becomes active even at a low temperature of 5 degrees. It is a strain of bacteria that has been cultivated over a long period of time in the extremely cold environment of a snow cellar. Furthermore, it is able to lower the pH without producing excessive acidity. This allows the shelf life to be extended whilst maintaining a mellow flavour.

These are characteristics forged over hundreds of years by the harsh environment of a snow-covered region. For the Uonuma strain, temperatures of 5 degrees were the norm. Yet what was normal for them was, from an outsider’s perspective, a rare trait.

The Uonuma variety had probably always been there, hidden amongst the pickles of the snow country. But nobody had noticed it. It wasn’t that it didn’t exist; it simply hadn’t attracted any attention.

Sake lees with nowhere to go and lactic acid bacteria found in a snow cellar. These two came together.

‘JOGURT’, a plant-based yoghurt re-fermented using the Uonuma strain in sake lees, has been created. It is now a food product that retains its quality for nearly a year even when refrigerated.

Sake lees, which had previously played a supporting role in the sake brewery, and the bacteria found in pickled nozawana have been transformed into a new food product. Neither of these was a by-product; they simply hadn’t yet been given the chance to take centre stage.

But when you think about it, it’s strange.

Sake lees are produced every time sake is brewed. The Uonuma strain, too, has been a staple on dining tables in snow-covered regions for decades, even centuries. So why did no one ever notice it?

The reason is simple. It’s because people are watching the lead actor.

Sake brewers focus on sake. Farmers focus on their crops. Fishermen focus on fish. Everyone concentrates on the main focus of their own work.

That’s not a bad thing. On the contrary, it is precisely that focus that produces fine sake and fine rice. However, as a result, the supporting players become invisible. Hidden in the shadow of the star, they are there yet unseen. They end up looking like mere leftovers.

And once something has been labelled ‘leftovers’, that label is very hard to shake off. The assumption takes hold that, because it is leftovers, it has no value. Because it has no value, nobody pays it any attention. Because nobody pays it any attention, it becomes even more of a leftover. This cycle continues.

There’s one more thing I’ve realised.

The longer people have lived in a particular area, the less likely they are to appreciate its value. This is because they see it every day.

People who live in snowy regions aren’t moved by the sight of snow. People who work in sake breweries don’t think sake lees are anything special. That’s because it’s all part of their everyday lives. But visitors from elsewhere are different. They are amazed by the sight of snow. They are amazed by the aroma of sake lees. They see potential in them.

I was the same myself. Snow, which I’d taken for granted as a child, only began to appear valuable to me once I’d come to know the wider world. When a friend from Taiwan described it as ‘the whiteness of God’, my perspective on snow changed.

The value of a community can sometimes be discovered through an outsider’s perspective. That is why I believe communities need people who come from outside. The deep knowledge of those on the inside, combined with the fresh perspective of those coming from outside. When these two overlap, things that were previously unseen can come into view. Values that neither long-time residents nor newcomers alone could have perceived emerge from this encounter.

I used to think that new value came from new things: new technologies, new systems, new ideas. I believed that introducing something new was what created value.

But in reality, it turned out to be different.

New value is often found in things that have been there for a long time. Sake lees are nothing new. Nor is the Uonuma strain. They have existed for decades. It was not the things themselves that changed, but the way we viewed them.

There’s something I’ve realised whilst working in the local area.

It is harder to ‘discover’ value than to ‘create’ it.

If you’re creating something new, you can draw up a blueprint. But to discover the value in something that already exists, you need a different perspective—one that doesn’t take the ordinary for granted, and one that recognises the potential of a supporting role to become the lead.

There are plenty of things like this in the local area. It’s not that they have no value; it’s simply that their value hasn’t yet been recognised.

Things we’ve grown too used to. Things so commonplace that nobody notices them. Things that have always been there, yet have no name. There are plenty of such things in the local area.

One such possibility lies in the potential of microorganisms that have evolved in the unique environment of a snow-covered region. We still know very little about the characteristics that the microorganisms found there have developed over hundreds of years. Microorganisms such as the Uonuma strain may well be lying dormant in various parts of Niigata. Should someone with an eye for discovering them come along, new value will be created.

In the previous chapter, I wrote about the constellations.

The stars had always been there. But the moment someone drew a line and gave them meaning, a constellation was born.

I think the same applies to leftovers.

Sake lees had always been there. The Uonuma strain had always been there too. It was just that no one had yet drawn the line. It simply hadn’t attracted any attention; its value had always been there.

Value only becomes apparent once it has been discovered.

What appears to be surplus to requirements may simply be something for which no one has yet found a purpose. When I think of it that way, the scenery changes slightly as I walk around the neighbourhood.

Leftovers are not really leftovers. They have simply not yet met someone who can give them meaning.

ATSUSHI KABASAWA

FARM8 Co. Ltd.,

Next Chapter: ‘Regions That Become Constellations’ – Chapter 17 : The Engine of Joy