There aren’t many beers in the world named after the city where they were created. About the only other one I can think of is Shiner, a beer brewed in Shiner, Texas. Thus, when I heard that Sapporo Beer, the oldest in Japan, has been fermenting in its namesake town for 150 years, I needed to visit the factory and take the tour. Heck, if this beer represents its entire city, it must be pretty special!
Interestingly, in true Japanese fashion, the Sapporo brewery has its own shrine! Just outside the main gate, one finds a small, classically-constructed, wooden structure, the type you expect to see in a traditional place like Kyoto, with a sign proclaiming, “Based on the spirit of the Hokkaido Shrine, the guardian deity of Hokkaido, (this shrine was installed) on the completion of a beer manufacturing plan.”
Fantastic! Not only can I expect to sample a tasty brew, but my beer might even be blessed by the gods!
Unlike other brewery and distillery tours I’ve visited in the past, the Sapporo beer museum is a fairly modest affair. No mechanized assembly lines bottling alcohol here. Just a small, FREE museum, two-stories high, tracing (in English and Japanese) the history of the facility and the brand – very compact, very interesting. One of my favorite sections displays the history of Sapporo’s advertising campaigns, with posters dating back to 1908 and running all the way to present. I find it fascinating that the early 20th century posters feature a serious-faced Japanese woman in a kimono, flanked by 3 beer bottles. By 1920, the woman model (still in a kimono) is holding a beer and smiling. By 1930 she’s showing her bosom and dressed as a flapper. By 1958, she’s changed to a mod dress straight out of Mad Men. And in the 80s, she’s back in a kimono, still modest but with an extremely confident smile on her face. Who would’ve thought you could follow the development of feminism via a beer company’s ad campaign!
The reward for touring the museum display is, you guessed it, a final tasting room/beer hall.
Note: this is not a Munich beer hall where you get rowdy and do the chicken dance to a raucous, oom pah pah band. Like so many public spaces in Japan, this is a place adhering to a certain propriety. You stand in a line, order a single beer (or perhaps a tasting flight) from a vending machine, take your ticket to the counter, receive your quaff(s) and find a place at a table. A sign clearly indicates that you should limit your intake time to 30 minutes or less!
I scoot onto a bench opposite what I can only describe as a Japanese Goth boy, albeit a neat and rather cute one, dressed in a dark, ankle-length robe and sporting a cut little braid across his forehead. Needless to say, he’s staring at his cell phone, because that’s what ALL the young people do in Japan (some things are universal I guess!). After asking him to take my picture, which he does very politely before going back to his phone, I settle in and drink my Sapporo Draft Beer Kuro Label, described as the company’s “flagship product,” launched in 1977, featuring “a perfect balance between the flavor of barley and a smooth aftertaste.” It’s a bit hoppy for my taste, but it’s still better than the rather-odd “corn tea” I’ve also ordered. (Imagine corn dropped in a cup of black Lipton tea and you get the idea.)
What strikes me, however, is how quiet it is in this “beer hall.” Folks chat in hushed voices – not exactly out of reverence, but more as a reflection of the cultural mores. “Let’s not spoil the experience for others by raising a ruckus.” Plus, that 30-minute limit forestalls much in the way of public drunkenness.
Like its eponymous host city, the Sapporo beer museum is a polite, laid-back place with a rich history. I suspect the guardian deity of Hokkaido would approve.
(Although I wouldn’t call Japan a particularly “Buddhist” country, or even particularly “spiritual,” I would say that it’s quite a “mindful” place. People really do pay attention to details – how they wrap packages, how they display items in a bakery, how they cut their sushi. I suspect even in a beer hall like Sapporo, folks are giving intent attention to the nuances of their beers…its taste, it’s carbonation, it’s mouth feel. I wonder what it would be like if we all spent less time talking and more time quietly attending to whatever actions we’re in the process of doing. In other words, staying present to the moment and to our internal, rather than our external lives. Why not try that one day this weekend and see how it changes your perspective?)