Located in eastern Kochi Prefecture, Aki City is bordered by the Shikoku Mountains to the north and overlooks Tosa Bay to the south. With 89 percent of its land covered by forests, the city features a rugged terrain of deep mountains and numerous valleys. As a result, charcoal-burning huts once dotted the mountainous regions, shaping the local culture. However, due to declining demand for charcoal as a fuel and changes in the industrial structure, the fires in the charcoal kilns eventually went out.

A young charcoal maker has reignited the charcoal-making industry in Aki City, which had once fallen by the wayside. His name is Toshiyuki Kondo, who transitioned from a career as a teacher to launch “Tosa Binchotan Ichi” in July 2015. Ten years later, he continues to produce charcoal as the only charcoal kiln operator in Aki City.

A Fresh Start in a Former Binchotan Production Area

When you stand in front of the kiln, the first thing that strikes you is its beauty. When people think of charcoal-burning huts, they tend to imagine a workplace covered in dust and soot. However, Mr. Kondo acquired this structure—originally built by the prefecture and city—10 years ago and has continued to preserve it by making repairs. The well-maintained atmosphere exudes his pride as a craftsman.

Another distinctive feature is that the charcoal kiln is fully enclosed. While kilns with roofs to shelter them from the rain can be found throughout the country, it is quite rare to see one enclosed to this extent.

Even in Wakayama (Kishu Binchotan) and Miyazaki (Hyuga Binchotan)—regions famous for producing Binchotan—the kilns are generally left exposed to the elements. In contrast, Kochi (Tosa Binchotan) has long had a tradition of enclosing kilns within buildings. “I suppose it’s to prevent moisture from seeping in and causing the charcoal to crack in Kochi, where the rain and wind are strong. Though, to be honest, I’ve also taken extra care to enclose it securely here,” says Mr. Kondo. This wisdom, aimed at preserving quality, has taken tangible form.

Felling high-quality Binchotan logs is a life-threatening job.

The logs used to make Binchōtan charcoal are broadly categorized into two types: Ubame oak and Japanese oak. The harder and denser the wood, the better the charcoal. “The higher the density of the log, the higher the temperature of the charcoal and the longer it burns,” says Mr. Kondo.

While Ubame oak can be found in some areas of Aki City, its distribution is limited to very specific regions, such as Wakayama Prefecture, the Chita Peninsula in Aichi Prefecture, and Muroto City and Toyo Town in Kochi Prefecture. In all of these locations,

Ubame oak does not grow on flat land but rather in harsh environments such as rocky terrain and steep slopes. Growing slowly in these harsh conditions tightens the wood’s fibers, resulting in trees that are hard and strong—with the density ideal for use as raw logs for binchōtan.

Consequently, the mountains where these logs are harvested are far more rugged than one might imagine.

“The mountains in Kochi Prefecture have steep slopes, and the trees grow on steep inclines. Logging sites are always fraught with life-threatening danger.”

Binchotan charcoal, with its unique character, is known as the “cooking partner.”

There are two types of charcoal: “white charcoal” and “black charcoal.” Tosa Bincho-tan is classified as white charcoal, and its firing and finishing processes differ significantly. White charcoal is carbonized all at once at temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees, removed from the kiln while still glowing red-hot, and then rapidly cooled by covering it with ash. It is called “white charcoal” because the ash turns white when applied. Black charcoal, on the other hand, is slowly burned at low temperatures between 400 and 700 degrees and cooled while sealed inside the kiln, resulting in a charcoal that remains black.

In the culinary world, these distinct characteristics of the charcoal make a decisive difference.

“White charcoal doesn’t produce open flames; instead, it cooks food slowly using high-temperature far-infrared rays, allowing heat to penetrate all the way through without charring the surface. Black charcoal produces open flames, so the surface gets a fragrant, charred finish. For example, yakitori grilled over black charcoal turns pitch black even if it isn’t actually burnt, right? “As chefs say, there’s a golden hue that only white charcoal can produce, and a deep black that only black charcoal can achieve,” says Mr. Kondo.

Chefs understand the unique characteristics of each type—such as heat output, how quickly the temperature rises, burn time, and aroma—and select the appropriate charcoal based on the dish. This is why binchōtan is called a “partner in cooking” rather than simply a “cooking tool.”

An innovative kiln-firing method known as “yokokube” propelled Kochi to the top spot in Japan in terms of production volume.

Tosa Bincho-tan employs a unique method of loading the kiln that is unlike any other. Unlike the “vertical loading” method traditionally used in Wakayama and Miyazaki—where logs are stood upright in the kiln—Kochi uses “horizontal loading,” in which the logs are laid flat. Because the logs are stacked horizontally, large quantities of raw wood can be easily piled inside the kiln. This technique actually originated from an interesting coincidence.

During an era when the fuel revolution had caused charcoal sales to plummet, a disheartened charcoal maker in Kochi—exclaiming, “I can’t take this anymore”—casually tossed logs into the kiln. To his surprise, the result was beautifully charred charcoal. From there, the craftsman refined his technique, and in just about ten years, he perfected the “yokokube” method.

The “yokokube” method made it possible to build larger kilns, and Kochi grew to become Japan’s largest producer of binchōtan, operating kilns in the 9- to 12-metric-ton class.

Tradition cannot be sustained simply by preserving it. Sometimes, chance can spark a revolutionary shift in thinking.

Criteria for Distinguishing Between Good and Bad Charcoal 

High-quality Tosa Binchotan is charcoal that is approximately 24 to 20 centimeters long, produces a clear, metallic “ting-ting” sound when tapped, and has a hardness of 16 degrees or higher.

“You can tell right away just by looking at it. Good Binchotan has a smooth, polished, and beautiful surface. Conversely, pieces with a rough, splintered surface or holes are not good. Air enters through the cracks, causing the burning time and temperature to become inconsistent. For customers who require a consistent heat source—such as those at yakitori or unagi restaurants—this makes the charcoal difficult to handle. As a result, it is evaluated as not being good charcoal,” says Mr. Kondo.

Toward Creating Workplaces Where People with Disabilities Can Work 

It has been 10 years since he opened his business. Mr. Kondo, who previously worked as a teacher at a special education school, apprenticed at a kiln in Muroto City—a town known for its traditional Tosa Bincho-tan charcoal industry—where he spent two years mastering the craft before opening his own kiln in his hometown of Aki City. However, the world of traditional industries is by no means an easy one. What has driven him to keep going all this time?

In fact, it seems Mr. Kondo did not originally enter the charcoal-making trade with “charcoal” as his primary motivation. While working as a teacher and supporting students with disabilities in their growth and career paths, he was confronted with the reality that there were almost no employment opportunities for people with disabilities in eastern Kochi Prefecture. It was around that time that, through his hobby of kendo, he met a Tosa Binchotan artisan and learned about the charcoal-making process, which is divided into 17 detailed steps. He realized that “with the right support, there are steps in this process that even people with disabilities can perform,” and decided to make the transition to becoming a charcoal artisan.

“I pushed aside all the opposition from those around me and jumped into this world, but I thought, ‘I made a mistake.’ It’s exhausting, it’s grueling, the pay is low, and there are no days off. But since I quit my job as a schoolteacher saying I wanted to create a workplace that employs people with disabilities, I couldn’t go back without achieving that goal. I decided I wouldn’t quit until I’d created those jobs, no matter what.”

Finally, he was able to hire people with disabilities, and some time later, one day, his staff told him:

“I’m glad I was born with a disability.” “I’ve lived my whole life in the online world, but for the first time, I’ve found a place for myself in the real world.”

These words affirmed the path Mr. Kondo had chosen.

The Reward for a Job That Puts Your Life on the Line

The production of Tosa Binchotan No. 1 involves a series of processes—logging, transportation, loading into the kiln, 10 days of drying, 10 days of carbonization, and unloading from the kiln—that take approximately 30 days to complete. This is followed by sorting, packaging, and shipping. This is the cycle that Mr. Kondo spent 10 years perfecting to best suit his workshop’s kiln. The safe and easy-to-master processes are handled by staff members with disabilities. Mr. Kondo has previously employed four people with disabilities, and he reports that a fifth staff member is currently working there and performing well.

Mr. Kondo explains:

“I think the image most people have of charcoal burning is quiet work in front of the kiln, but it’s the work in the mountains involved in making binchōtan that I really want to convey.”

The logging takes place on steep slopes with gradients of 50 to 60 degrees. You reach the site by driving along a narrow mountain road—with a ravine yawning on one side—as the vehicle jolts along the bumpy path. Wearing spiked tabi socks, you climb a ladder to reach the base of the trees. On unstable footing, you maneuver a chainsaw, taking care to fell the trees in the correct direction. The felled trees are cut to a length of about 180 cm, and one by one, they are slid down the slope until they reach the point where the transport vehicle can access them.

In half a day, we load 30 logs—about one metric ton—onto the transport vehicle, transfer them to a light truck, and haul them to the kiln. Working in the mountains means that a single mistake could cost you your life. In fact, there have been accidents where people have fallen.

“It’s not exactly cost-effective,” he says with a wry smile, though his serious gaze remains unwavering.

Yet Mr. Kondo continues because of his strong desire to create a workplace for people with disabilities, to meet the needs of chefs waiting for his charcoal, and to protect the mountains.

“My current dream is—well—to increase employment opportunities for people with disabilities a little more. I’m not satisfied with the status quo. Once I achieve a goal, I set another one. I feel happiest when I’m pursuing what I can do.”

Connecting the Future of People and Mountains Through Charcoal Burning 

To protect the future of the mountains, Mr. Kondo has adopted the “selective logging” method—a practice long used by producers of Kishu Bincho-tan charcoal—and continues his efforts to regenerate the mountains on a 10-year cycle.

Selective logging is a method of harvesting only mature trees from within a forest. Because it involves selecting and cutting only the necessary trees while leaving the rest of the forest intact, it allows the forest to be utilized while preserving its natural functions—such as providing habitats for birds and animals and maintaining water-retaining soil.

In contrast, clear-cutting—which has been the standard practice until now—involves cutting down all the trees in a specific plot at once, offering the advantage of yielding a large amount of timber in a short period. However, immediately after logging, the ground is left bare, and the forest environment changes significantly as the patterns of light and wind are altered. For this reason, reforestation—planting saplings and nurturing the forest anew—is essential after logging.

It is said that with clear-cutting, it takes approximately 25 years for the next generation of trees to grow. In contrast, with selective logging, it is possible to return to the mountain once every 10 years to harvest timber.

However, selective logging isn’t possible on every mountain. In mountains that have long been left untouched by humans, trees can grow too thick and too large. If such large trees are felled, they may snag on surrounding trees or pull them down with them, potentially leading to serious accidents. Prioritizing safety can result in the need to clear a wide area, which in some cases can end up resembling clear-cutting.

Mr. Kondo says:

“I practice selective logging because I believe that if we adopt this method in Kochi as well, we can prevent our resources from running out. Right now, with the global boom in Japanese cuisine, we’re receiving many inquiries about binchōtan. Since there are few producers, we’re in a situation where the more we produce, the more we sell. However, if we cut down too many trees for raw materials, we’ll eventually run out of supplies and be unable to produce it. I don’t want to see our resources depleted or our techniques lost, so I think striking the right balance is absolutely crucial.”

That is precisely why Mr. Kondo places such importance on not leaving the mountains untended for long periods.

“Mountains can be passed on to the next generation by having people enter them at regular intervals to harvest trees and nurture the next generation of trees. I believe the work of a charcoal burner isn’t just about cutting down trees to make charcoal—it extends to using the wood while simultaneously nurturing the next generation of the mountain.”

Today, once again, a single tree is being transformed into Tosa Binchotan charcoal.

This process sustains a place where people with disabilities can live with pride and supports the future of the mountains. For Mr. Kondo, charcoal-making is a job that connects the future of people and the mountains.

The post Charcoal-Making That Brings People Together: “Tosa Binchotan Ichi” / Aki City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture’s official fish is the skipjack tuna, and the prefecture ranks first nationwide in consumption. Skipjack tuna is deeply loved by the people of Kochi.

Even in this “skipjack tuna prefecture,” Myojin Suisan in Kuroshio Town is a well-known name. Myojin Suisan’s straw-grilled tataki isn’t just delicious. The company protects marine resources from overfishing by using single-hook fishing methods and eagerly adopts techniques to ensure the utmost freshness. To secure high-quality straw for making tataki, they established an agricultural corporation, revitalized fallow fields within the town, and return the straw ash to the rice paddies as fertilizer—thus creating a circular model that connects the sea and the mountains.

It is the prefecture’s official fish, and consumption of it ranks first in Japan. The prefecture’s love for bonito

Located about 90 kilometers west of Kochi City, Kuroshio Town in the southwestern part of Kochi Prefecture has long been known for its thriving single-line fishing industry, which tracks skipjack tuna riding the Kuroshio Current off the coast of Tosa, solidifying its reputation as the “Town of Skipjack Tuna.”

In recent years, the town has also attracted large numbers of visitors from both within and outside the prefecture through experiential tourism—such as “whale watching,” which makes use of the area’s natural resources—and sports tourism centered around the Tosa Southwest Large-Scale Park.

Located right next to Saga Fishing Port, where fishing boats set sail, is the headquarters of “Myojin Suisan,” famous for its “straw-grilled bonito tataki.”

Shoichi Myojin, the company’s representative director—who, even now as the head of his own business—still takes out his boat to fish for bonito as a hobby—explains the origins of “tataki.”

“Originally, tataki was a method devised by fishermen in fishing villages to safely eat bonito that had lost some of its freshness in an era before refrigeration or freezing. They would place vinegar and soy sauce in the palm of their hand, slice the lightly seared bonito into sashimi, and then pound it to let the flavors soak in. They would then top it with garnishes such as green onions, onions, and garlic.”

We will continue to preserve line-and-hook fishing

Riding the Kuroshio Current, the “first bonito” migrate northward off the coast of Tosa Bay from around February to March. Afterward, they head south while feeding heavily on krill off the coast of Chiba and in the Tohoku region; by the time they return to the waters off Tosa in the fall, they are rich in fat and are called “returning bonito.”

Myojin Suisan, founded in 1959, has been practicing Tosa’s traditional “single-rod fishing” method—catching bonito with a single fishing rod—off the coast of Tosa Bay.

“Nationally, there may be an image that ‘skipjack tuna equals Kochi,’ but in reality, our catch volume isn’t particularly high. In other prefectures, such as Shizuoka and Kagoshima, the primary method is purse seine fishing, which allows for massive catches—sometimes exceeding 100 metric tons at a time—essentially sweeping up the entire school of skipjack tuna in a single net. Our daily limit is 40 to 50 metric tons. Even today, Kochi and Miyazaki still use the traditional single-line fishing method. If a school isn’t feeding, we stop there and look for another spot. It’s a sustainable fishing method that avoids overfishing and is gentle on the environment,” Mr. Myojin says with great pride.

By using a lure hook without a barb, the skipjack tuna—which is jerked high into the air—slips off the hook at the apex of its trajectory, allowing anglers to catch them one after another. It takes about three years of practice to master the rhythm of this technique. The larger the skipjack tuna, the more difficult it is to handle, and this is where differences in skill become apparent.

Because line fishing minimizes damage to the fish and ensures high quality, the catch is traded at a unit price 3 to 4 times higher per kilogram than that of net fishing. Consequently, the fishery has remained viable even with relatively small landings.

Currently, the company owns four inshore vessels and, through a group company, three large freezer vessels, one of which is the “Katsuei Maru,” capable of operating in the open ocean. This vessel is known as a “B-1 ship.” The caught skipjack tuna are immediately placed, one by one, into a fish hold containing a “salt brine solution”—a highly concentrated saltwater solution maintained at around minus 20 degrees Celsius—where they are rapidly frozen while still alive, preventing any loss of freshness.

Furthermore, veteran fishermen reel in fish at a rate of one every two seconds. To prevent overfishing from filling the fish hold and slowing down the freezing process, the fishing master monitors the catch volume and calls a halt when necessary.

“When they’re really biting, we can go nonstop for an hour and a half to two hours. In terms of weight, that’s 55 or 60 metric tons—or 60,000 kilograms—and they just keep coming, one after another,” says Mr. Myojin, who has served as fishing captain for many years, speaking with passion.

The skipjack tuna from Myojin Fisheries, which has mastered the art of single-hook fishing, is highly regarded nationwide as “B-1 (Brine-Frozen First-Class Product).”

On the other hand, with purse seine fishing, if, for example, 100 metric tons are caught, that entire 100-metric-ton haul is loaded into the ship’s fish hold all at once and frozen. This results in “slow freezing,” where the core temperature of the fish drops gradually, which tends to degrade the quality of the flesh.

At Myojin Fisheries, all top-grade bonito caught by their B-1 vessels are processed into straw-grilled tataki; even so, this accounts for only about half of the annual volume of bonito used for their in-house tataki production.

Kenta Tomioka, the department manager in charge of public relations, explains, “For example, if one of our boats catches a very high-quality, fatty bonito, we can assume that the catch from other companies’ boats in that same fishing ground is of the same quality. By purchasing from them, we can select and gather only the best raw materials.”

Mr. Myojin adds, “Due to soaring fuel costs and the issue of finding successors, the number of fishing vessels is decreasing year by year. To the untrained eye, one might think that fewer rivals would be an advantage, but from a fisherman’s perspective, fewer boats mean it becomes even harder to catch fish. Precisely because we’re scattered across the vast Pacific Ocean fishing, we rely on data shared among fellow fishermen to locate fishing grounds.”

Skipjack tuna vessels are required to share information three times a day regarding their current location and catch volume, and all of this information is publicly available. When Mr. Tomioka showed me his smartphone, I was able to immediately pinpoint the “Katsuei Maru’s” location using AIS (Automatic Identification System). While vessel safety is certainly a factor, the fishing world—where competitors coexist and thrive together—is fascinating.

The intensity of straw-grilling is directly proportional to its deliciousness.

In 1986, Myojin Suisan began processing and selling seafood, as well as manufacturing and selling straw-grilled bonito tataki. The company was founded with the desire to introduce people across Japan to the delicious taste of authentic Kochi-style tataki.

Since the straw burns rapidly and turns to ash almost instantly, only the surface is seared, leaving the inside raw. This creates a unique aroma and texture that cannot be replicated by gas grilling. The combination of frozen bonito with exceptional freshness and the aroma of the straw-grilling process is what makes Myojin Suisan’s tataki so appealing.

What instantly made this appeal famous was the “Myojin Maru” store located at Hirome Market, a popular tourist spot in Kochi City. There, they demonstrate the straw-grilling process and serve the freshly prepared dish on the spot. The aromatic, delicious flavor of their bonito tataki has earned them a stellar reputation, and they now operate restaurants both within and outside the prefecture. They also manage “Roadside Station Nabura Tosa-Saga” in Kuroshio Town, where customers can enjoy the same straw-grilled bonito tataki.

Currently, Myojin Suisan operates six restaurants in Kochi Prefecture, five in Tokyo, two each in Osaka and Okayama, and two in Shikoku. At these restaurants, they use straw grown at “Myojin Farm”—a farm the company established to secure high-quality straw—to grill the tataki, and they also use rice harvested from the farm.

The staff’s hard work is evident in the massive straw warehouse.

Myojin Suisan has focused its efforts on securing both skipjack tuna and straw.

Initially, staff members collected straw from farmers in neighboring municipalities, as well as throughout the prefecture and across Shikoku. However, as many farmers stopped growing rice due to an aging population, the straw shortage became a serious issue. Consequently, Mr. Myojin decided, “If that’s the case, let’s grow our own rice,” and launched “Myojin Farm” in 2014. The company leases abandoned farmland and has been expanding its operations year by year. In collaboration with local farmers, they are also preserving traditional techniques such as drying rice on racks.

They have also set up a dedicated warehouse to further dehumidify the dried straw and store it in a condition that ensures it burns well. I was shown around the massive straw warehouse, but I learned there are actually about six such warehouses where the straw is stored. Even so, this is still not enough to meet their annual demand of 40,000 bundles, so the staff are constantly on the move throughout Kochi Prefecture to secure more straw.

Experience the intensity of minus 50 degrees

I was given a tour of the processing facility. The ultra-low-temperature warehouse where the skipjack tuna is stored to maintain its freshness is kept at minus 50 degrees. Because it is stored at such low temperatures, the tuna has a long shelf life, allowing the facility to supply skipjack tuna year-round without ever running out.

While still frozen, the product is cut into portions—such as single or double servings—to meet customer needs. Then, using a proprietary straw-grilling machine, the surface is grilled for about 5 to 6 minutes while carefully monitoring the day’s temperature, humidity, and the fat content of the bonito to adjust the amount of straw used. The product is then packaged for gifts or sets, sorted on the production line, and subjected to “liquid flash freezing” at minus 35 degrees before being stored in cold storage.

Reportedly, 80 to 90 percent of production consists of tataki, with the remainder being rice bowls made with tuna.

Paving the Way for the Future with the Traditional “Single-Line Fishing” Method

Mr. Myojin says, “Our strength lies in the strong bonds we share—our executives, fishing captains, and food service managers are all family members, including siblings and relatives.” He adds, “As long as we have our boats, we can keep going, and our own vessels are indispensable for securing a stable supply of skipjack tuna.”

Currently, there are plans to build a new skipjack tuna vessel. From a company that knows the sea inside and out, one can sense a determination to constantly evolve. Mr. Myojin describes the current challenge as follows:

“You see, having served as a fishing captain from the age of 28 until I was 71, I can’t help but notice that every time I look out at the sea, the fish are dwindling. Compared to the size of the schools I saw in my 30s and 40s, the fishing grounds these days are worlds apart. I don’t think the fish themselves will ever completely disappear, but it’s certain that their numbers are declining. If we don’t secure our own supply of bonito, no matter how much people say ‘Myojin’s tataki is delicious,’ there’s nothing we can do once the raw materials run out. “We need to expand our deep-sea fishing operations.”

Myojin Suisan’s commitment to preserving marine resources through single-line fishing is unwavering. While facing the changing sea, they are striving to pass the baton to the next generation. I can’t help but hope that this time-honored fishing method will not only continue uninterrupted but actually expand, so that we can continue to enjoy delicious bonito.

The post Founded in 1959, “Myojin Suisan Co., Ltd.” has steadfastly preserved the tradition of pole-and-line bonito fishing and continues to support Kochi’s food culture / Kuroshio Town, Hata District, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kami City in Kochi Prefecture has long been a hub of forestry and agriculture. The Monobe River, a Class 1 river that originates at Mount Shiraga and flows into Tosa Bay, runs through this area. Pure water carried down from the upstream mountains, the excellent drainage typical of alluvial fans, and an inland climate characterized by significant temperature fluctuations between day and night. Captivated by this blessed environment, newcomers have established a brewery and are working alongside the local community to create one-of-a-kind craft beer.

From Osaka to Kochi: The Beginning of a Move Inspired by the “Lifestyle”

Shinya Setoguchi first visited Kochi because his brother-in-law was attending Kochi University.

Unspoiled nature, food that delights the palate, and warm-hearted people. Captivated by all of it, he recalls thinking, “First of all, I want to live in this area.”

At the time, Setoguchi was an engineer who had studied science and engineering from technical high school through graduate school. Even while working in the electronics industry, he was always searching, deep down, for “a job to which he could devote his life.” In his late 20s, amid a period of uncertainty and soul-searching, he discovered craft beer.

He traveled to breweries across the country, witnessed the dedication of the brewers, and learned that beer had become an integral part of local culture. He then underwent training in Portland, Oregon, and upon returning to Japan, spent a year apprenticing at Iwami Beer Co., Ltd. in Shimane Prefecture. That was the moment when “what he wanted to keep making for the rest of his life” began to take concrete shape.

Craft beer is a craft that involves engaging with ingredients, the land, and people. Mr. Setoguchi was captivated by its depth and eventually came to strongly desire, “I want to brew my own beer in a place of my own choosing.”

The Birth of a Small Brewery Supported by the Community

Eight years after moving to Kochi, Mr. Setoguchi opened a brewery in Kami City.

His first workshop was an old, turnkey property offered to him by a local resident who said, “I can rent this to you cheaply.” He polished the floors, painted the walls, built the equipment himself, and handled the entire brewing process all by himself. It was truly a start from scratch, but with nothing but his determination to “brew here in this region,” Mr. Setoguchi continued working quietly.

Eventually, after being featured in newspapers and on television, orders skyrocketed. Even brewing twice a day wasn’t enough to keep up, and his exhaustion reached its peak.

It was then that a local resident asked, “You’re in a bind, aren’t you?” and volunteered to help him apply labels for a full six months.

It was the moment when the entire community embraced him, a newcomer to the area. Mr. Setoguchi says he felt strongly that “I’m not brewing beer alone. I’m brewing it together with the community.”

Beer that can only be brewed in Kochi. A philosophy that puts the ingredients front and center.

At the heart of Mr. Setoguchi’s beer-making is always the “ingredients.” His first projects featured Kochi-grown yuzu, rice from terraced fields, sansho pepper, and Tosa bunkwan.

“I make the ingredients the stars, not just a subtle accent,” he says. For ingredients that impart astringency, he designs the beer to envelop them; for those where he wants to bring out the aroma, he refines the profile through fermentation temperature and hops. He creates harmony in the beer while respecting the individuality of each ingredient. Although the malt currently comes from Germany, he repeatedly tests saccharification efficiency and flavor compatibility, blending them over and over to find the optimal solution.

This approach—working backward from the ingredients to define “the meaning of brewing in Kochi”—gives the beer an unshakable core.

Mr. Setoguchi explains, “The taste of the beer is shaped by the very background of the ingredients.”

The producers’ passion, the local climate, and the changing seasons—all of these are part of the beer. That is precisely why placing the ingredients at the center is also an act of encapsulating the very essence of Kochi itself within the beer.

A Return to Our Roots Amid the COVID-19 Pandemic: The Birth of “Regional Beers”

The COVID-19 pandemic struck the brewery, which had been growing steadily. Sales plummeted by half, forcing the company to furlough its employees. However, this “forced hiatus” led Mr. Setoguchi to return to his roots.

A strong passion—“to brew beer for the community”—was rekindled in his heart.

This led to the creation of region-exclusive beers such as “Shimanto Bushukan Ale” and “Hidaka Village Fruit Tomato Ale.” Following a newspaper feature, requests poured in from roadside stations across the prefecture, and collaborative regional beers began to emerge one after another.

Beer made with local ingredients, crafted with local people, and enjoyed locally.

It was more than just a product; it served as a medium for telling the stories of the land.

“Wa-Jo Kölsch”: Where Japanese and Western Fermentation Cultures Meet

Mr. Setoguchi’s workshop features a “koshiki,” which is a rare sight in a brewery.

Here, rice, sweet potatoes, chestnuts, and heirloom corn are steamed over an open flame and then converted into glucose over the course of 48 hours in an amazake saccharification tank.

Furthermore, we developed “Wajo,” a unique fermentation technique that combines sake yeast with beer yeast.

The fruity aroma and crisp, clean finish produced by this process were reminiscent of “Kölsch,” a beer style traditionally brewed in the Cologne region of western Germany, so we named it Wajo Kölsch.

The aroma, a harmonious blend of the delicacy of sake yeast and the robustness of beer yeast, is the magic of fermentation—something that can never be replicated through cooking.

He continues to take bold risks by incorporating local ingredients, such as using “kaya nuts” in place of hops.

This beer, where Japanese and Western fermentation cultures intersect, embodies Mr. Setoguchi’s philosophy.

“Using local ingredients, local water, and creating it with local people.” This approach is giving birth to a new culture of fermentation.

The “smooth finish” created by Ryugakudo’s hard water

The area has such limestone-rich strata that Ryugado Cave—one of Japan’s three great limestone caves—is located on the mountain where the brewery stands. The brewery’s well water originates from an underground water source within this mountain; having flowed underground for over 100 million years, it is a moderately hard water rich in minerals and magnesium. While many breweries in Japan brew with soft water, here they can brew using water whose quality is closer to that of European ale culture.

Mr. Setoguchi says, “The water determines the direction of the flavor.”

Moderately hard water provides not only sweetness and umami but also forms the backbone of bitterness and astringency. This water is what supports the “clean finish”—a smooth, unbroken line that flows seamlessly from the aroma to the aftertaste.

This hard water, which shares its origins with Ryugado Cave, gives Kochi Campagne Brewery’s beers a unique crispness and depth, creating a character found nowhere else.

“Beer for Sharing.” Promoting the Monobe River Basin Brand!

Mr. Setoguchi’s dream is to develop the entire Monobe River basin into a single brand. He hopes to create a place where visitors can fully experience the charm of this region through dining, lodging, and hands-on activities.

An essential part of that experience is a beverage that brings people together around the same table to share a toast and laughter. To appeal to both beer lovers and those who aren’t fond of beer, he has made the development of low-alcohol and non-alcoholic beers a priority for the future.

Preparations are also underway to welcome a video production team to share the stories behind the ingredients and the producers’ passion.

Co-creating and conveying inspiration. With this philosophy in mind, Mr. Setoguchi continues to brew beer today that could only be born in this region.

The post “Kochi Campagne Brewery”: A One-of-a-Kind Craft Beer Crafted from Kochi’s Local Ingredients and People / Kami City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture is known as the “Yuzu Kingdom,” accounting for about half of the nation’s total production. With an annual output of approximately 10,000 metric tons, it boasts an overwhelming market share and a presence that stands head and shoulders above the rest. Among the villages in the prefecture, Umaji Village ranks only fifth in terms of production volume within Kochi Prefecture, but it has gained nationwide fame thanks to popular products such as the yuzu drink “Gokkun Umaji Village” and the ponzu soy sauce “Yuzu no Mura.”

Once a small mountain village where forestry was the primary livelihood, it has transformed over the past 60-odd years into the “Yuzu Village” that attracts so many visitors.

A Turning Point for a Village Where 96% Is Forested 

Maji Village is about an hour and a half’s drive east from Kochi City. You drive deeper and deeper along winding mountain roads before finally arriving. It is one of Japan’s rainiest regions. Surrounded on all sides by mountains over 1,000 meters high, the village is 96 percent forested. Houses and fields are clustered together on the remaining 4 percent of flat land in the narrow valleys.

“It really is deep in the mountains,” laughs Momota Nagano, chairman of the Maru Village Agricultural Cooperative, which supports the village’s economy.

The village has a history dating back to the Warring States period of producing the prized “Yanase cedar,” which was even presented to Toyotomi Hideyoshi. At its peak, it is said that 3,500 people lived here. However, from the 1940s onward, the forestry industry declined as it was unable to withstand the tides of change—including dam construction for postwar reconstruction, the decommissioning of the forest railway, and the influx of imported lumber. And so, the new path they chose was “yuzu.”

A Small Yuzu’s Journey, Which Began 60 Years Ago  

According to Mr. Nagano, it is said that yuzu seeds were originally brought to Shikoku—including Kochi Prefecture—by “fugitives of the Heike clan,” and that they were introduced to Maru Village approximately 800 years ago. While yuzu is relatively easy to cultivate almost anywhere, from coastal areas to mid-mountain regions, its quality reportedly varies remarkably depending on the growing region.

In Maru Village, where daylight hours are short and temperature fluctuations are extreme, yuzu grow to be small. However, it is precisely this small size that leads to a more intense aroma. When squeezed with the peel still on, a large amount of essential oil is released, resulting in a strong fragrance. This was the “distinctive character” bestowed by the deep mountainous terrain.

The village began full-scale cultivation in Showa 38. Initially, it was said to be a series of hardships.

Since they were latecomers to yuzu cultivation within the prefecture, they sought sales channels outside the prefecture. However, at that time in Japan, yuzu was not yet a widely known citrus fruit, and days went by without it being appreciated. “How should we market this?” The village agonized over the question, thought it through thoroughly, and eventually created the yuzu beverage “Gokkun Umaji Village” and the ponzu soy sauce “Yuzu no Mura,” both of which would later gain nationwide recognition.

Promoting the Countryside: The Birth of “Gokkun Umajimura”

Although they succeeded in developing products made with yuzu, they struggled to expand their sales channels afterward. In the Showa 60s, the village made a major decision. Rather than chasing after the city, they shifted course toward “turning the rural charm of Umaji Village into a selling point.”

“After talking with a designer, we decided to ‘sell the countryside.’” It was a major decision.

The packaging captured the rustic atmosphere of Maru Village exactly as it was. They named the product “Gokkun Maru Village.” Although supermarket buyers harshly criticized it, saying, “We can’t tell what kind of juice this is,” the village stuck to its decision.

The ingredients are simply yuzu, honey, and water. The shelf life is a mere four months. The philosophy of “being a place of origin rather than a manufacturer” is embedded in both the taste and the approach. Rather than adopting a manufacturer’s mindset that prioritizes ease of distribution and long shelf life, they focused on the intrinsic quality of the yuzu. That was their pride as a producing region.

Gradually, the product began to sell. Eventually, despite limited funds, they produced a TV commercial that showcased the village’s natural beauty. It became a hot topic within the prefecture, and “Gokkun Umaji Village” grew to become one of Kochi’s signature beverages. The commercial marked a turning point for the small village as it turned its way of life into a commercial product.

We will continue to value warm, heartfelt communication with our fans

Over the course of about 30 years since its launch, “Gokkun Marumura” has grown into a nationally recognized product, and the village’s total annual sales of processed yuzu products have reached 3 billion yen. Sales have remained steady at that level for the past 20 years. “The target range—which allows us to maintain stable production using yuzu grown within the village and provide benefits to both the yuzu farmers and the village—is between 3 billion and 3.5 billion yen. “We have no plans to source raw materials from other regions to increase production,” says Mr. Nagano. Since 2006, the agricultural cooperative has offered “Yuzu no Mori Processing Plant Tours” to give visitors a behind-the-scenes look at the production line. Additionally, the call center responsible for customer service places great importance on “person-to-person interaction” over the phone.

“I feel that our fans in Umaji Village are looking for our ‘voices,’ not just automated responses,” said Mr. Nagano. “Sometimes they ask, ‘How’s the scenery in Umaji Village these days?’ I think being able to have that kind of back-and-forth conversation is something unique to this village’s call center.”

The village continues to steadfastly deliver its “rural charm” to this day.

A “Major Industry” Created by a Small Village

Producing processed yuzu products is not merely about creating local specialties. It was an “industrialization” effort that created jobs in the village and supported people’s livelihoods. Mr. Nagano explains that the village office, the agricultural cooperative, and the producers have worked together to develop this into a major industry to replace forestry.

“Simply selling raw materials doesn’t create jobs. It’s through processing that jobs are created within the village.”

Currently, the Umaji Village Agricultural Cooperative employs about 90 people. It is remarkable that a village with a population in the 700s has generated this many jobs. Ponzu, beverages, jams, marmalades, yuzu kosho—over 100 different products are produced at the village’s factory.

The latest hit is canned chu-hai. True to Maji Village’s commitment to recreating the flavor of yuzu without additives, Mr. Nagano says with delight, “We’ve finally perfected a yuzu chu-hai that we’re truly satisfied with.” Sales have already reached 12,000 cases.

Furthermore, cosmetics made with “seed oil” extracted from yuzu seeds are also popular. “By putting these seeds—which previously had no use—to good use, we can give back to the farmers. We want to continue focusing on these efforts to minimize waste,” says Mr. Nagano. Yuzu has become a driving force supporting the village’s future.

The Pride of Organic Farming 

All yuzu grown in Maru Village have been organically cultivated since 2001. No chemical pesticides, chemical fertilizers, or herbicides are used.

“Precisely because we use the fruit with the peel intact, we want people to be able to eat it with peace of mind. That’s why we chose organic farming.”

However, organic farming tends to result in “black spots” on the fruit’s surface, which can sometimes put the produce at a disadvantage in the market. Even so, the village has remained committed to growing yuzu in a way that stays true to nature.

“It’s easier to convey the value of organic farming through yuzu tea and products made from the peel. Going forward, we want consumers to choose ‘peace of mind’ over appearance,” says Mr. Nagano.

The village also produces compost by mixing cedar bark with yuzu pulp and allowing it to ferment. This initiative, which recycles the bounty of the mountains, is characteristic of Maru Village.

The Future Illuminated by Yuzu: Where the Village Is Headed 

Thanks to the yuzu industry, Umaji Village has become a “village where people can live comfortably.” Currently, there are reportedly 190 yuzu farming households, including those who farm part-time. Since yuzu is used as a raw material for processing, it has the advantage of being easy for even people in their 70s or 80s to continue farming. For seniors, it’s said that life in the mountains is perfectly sustainable if they have supplementary income of 1 million to 2 million yen from yuzu, in addition to their pension. Since the village offers employment opportunities at the agricultural cooperative and the town hall, there are actually a surprisingly large number of young people here.

“Actually, I moved here from another region too,” Mr. Nagano says with a smile. “Maru Village is a truly rural area with a population in the 700s. However, it has a solid business foundation. I don’t think there are many other municipalities of this size that offer such opportunities.” You can choose either rural life or business in this mountainous area, or you can enjoy both. Furthermore, the fact that it’s possible to work in agriculture as a side job is quite unique. In addition, even though the forestry industry has declined, it still exists, and we’re seeing cases where young people are starting to work in the mountains. I want to promote both the livability and the sense of fulfillment here.”

I want to increase the number of people who feel, “I’m glad I live in Maro Village.”

However, the population decline continues. There are challenges that cannot be solved by yuzu alone. Looking to the future, Mr. Nagano said, “Going forward, I want the agricultural cooperative to be the force that solves the village’s challenges. I believe it is our role to work on education and welfare as well, and to preserve the village’s prosperity. I want to increase the number of people who feel glad they live here.”

Plans are underway to renovate Umaji Onsen in collaboration with Snow Peak. The goal is to attract even more tourists than the current annual total of over 60,000. “While yuzu is only available in November, essential oils are available year-round. I think a hot spring featuring the scent of yuzu would be an interesting idea,” said Mr. Nagano, as his vision expands.

Mountain villages across Japan are struggling with depopulation. Umaji Village has forged a path to prosperity by diversifying its primary industries and promoting the unique character of its remote mountain setting. The challenges facing this village of 700 residents will continue for some time to come. We can’t take our eyes off its future.

The post A remote village made famous by the yuzu drink “Gokkun Marumura.” The challenges faced by the “Marumura Agricultural Cooperative” / Aki District, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture is said to be the birthplace of “fruit tomatoes”—tomatoes with a high sugar content—and high-value-added, high-sugar-content tomatoes are produced and sold throughout the prefecture. In Konan City, which boasts the third-highest production volume in the prefecture, Majima Farm has successfully established a brand of “fruit tomatoes” called “Ushi no Megumi.” Mashima Farm is located near National Route 55, which runs through the eastern part of Kochi Prefecture, about 10 minutes from Kochi Ryoma Airport. It is a family-run dairy and vegetable farm where barns and plastic greenhouses stand between residential homes and fields. The farm produces milk, turns cow manure into “concentrated compost” for sale, and has been working to grow flavorful “fruit tomatoes” using that compost. Furthermore, using the same compost, the farm cultivates green papayas on abandoned farmland and grows pasture grass for animal feed, thereby practicing a sustainable, circular system of crop-livestock integration.

Building a cycle between dairy farming and agriculture, and dedicating our efforts to passing it on

Junichi Mashima, the farm’s owner, says, “Our family has been in the dairy farming business for about 60 years, ever since my father’s generation.” Twenty-six years ago, when his mother was hospitalized, Mr. Mashima moved back to the area from out of state with his wife and son to take over the family business.

They raise Holsteins, a breed specialized for milk production, and currently care for 35 head. However, the environment surrounding dairy farming is challenging, due to soaring feed prices and a decline in milk consumption in school lunches caused by the falling birthrate. “Dairy farming is becoming increasingly difficult for family-run operations, and there is a trend toward large-scale operations—such as ‘mega-farms’ and ‘giga-farms’—as well as increased use of IT,” says Mr. Mashima.

Amid these challenges, the Mashima family continues to find ways to create a circular system between dairy farming and crop farming while reducing costs—for example, by switching to self-produced feed. Today, Mr. Mashima primarily handles the dairy operations, while his wife, Mika—who holds a certification as a vegetable sommelier—is in charge of tomato cultivation, and their son, Sho, works alongside them as the couple’s successor.

Making “Dried Cow Manure Compost” (Highly Concentrated Type)

Since taking over the dairy farm from his father, Mr. Mashima has reportedly gone through a process of trial and error to find ways to make effective use of manure and urine, which are byproducts of dairy farming.

He wondered how he could take the composting efforts his father had started and develop them into a marketable product. He researched various methods, including reading books, and devised a unique technique: using a drying machine to reduce the moisture content of the manure and urine to less than 10 percent, then reusing the dried compost as a moisture-regulating agent.

“By mixing in the dried compost once it’s ready, we can adjust the moisture content and produce more high-quality compost. By repeating this process, we’re able to consistently produce high-quality compost without adding materials like sawdust.”

At the same time, with an eye toward sales, my father began growing ‘fruit tomatoes’ around the year 2000 to verify the effectiveness of the compost. He learned cultivation techniques from a relative who ran a tomato farm, and two years later, my husband and I took over the know-how. As a family, we conducted repeated trials, including optimizing the amount of compost applied.

“Once people started saying our tomatoes were delicious and they began selling well, the high quality of our compost was proven, and we were able to start selling the compost as well—but it took about five or six years to really get the business on track,”

It’s not uncommon for dairy farmers to produce compost. Generally, compost with a moisture content of 60% or higher is made by mixing manure and urine with rice husks or sawdust and allowing it to ferment. However, cases like Majima Farm’s—where dried manure is used to adjust moisture levels—are extremely rare.

Mashima Farm’s “dried cow manure compost”—an ultra-concentrated type consisting of 99.9% cow manure—is lightweight, easy to handle, and of high quality as a fertilizer. As word has spread, orders from farmers have increased, and they reportedly can’t keep up with production demand.

“We’re proud that even a small amount is highly effective as a fertilizer for crops,” says Mr. Mashima.

Start with large tomatoes and gradually cultivate them into high-sugar “fruit tomatoes.” 

To begin with, “fruit tomato” is not the name of a specific variety. Regardless of variety or size, any tomato with a sugar content of 8 or higher is called a “fruit tomato.” Small “cherry tomatoes” are often confused with fruit tomatoes, but “cherry tomatoes” is simply a general term for small tomatoes classified by shape. Unless they exceed the specified sugar content, they cannot be shipped as fruit tomatoes. Therefore, cultivation methods designed to increase sugar content are crucial. Generally, it is said that selecting smaller tomato varieties and growing them with restricted water intake makes it easier to increase sugar content, but Majima Farm has established its own unique cultivation method.

At Majima Farm, they use the large-fruited variety “Momotaro Fight.” They selected this variety after testing various types based on criteria such as flavor, tenderness, and skin firmness. They say the texture of the skin makes it enjoyable even for older people to eat.

“We’re still experimenting, but over the past few years, I think this variety has been the best fit for our cultivation methods,” says Mika.

The Mashima School takes more time than anywhere else

What sets them apart most is their philosophy of taking their time to grow healthy plants and then “slowly developing them to achieve high sugar content.” Because they take longer to grow their tomatoes than other farms, they sometimes receive inquiries from customers asking, “Other fruit tomatoes are already on store shelves—when will your tomatoes be shipped?”

While many farmers use “isolated cultivation”—which restricts root spread and strictly controls watering—to quickly increase sugar content and produce “fruit tomatoes,” Majima Farm does not restrict root spread. Instead, they take the time to grow healthy plants with strong root systems. Water restriction is also implemented gradually. Their commitment lies in the fact that they deliberately choose not to treat the plants as “fruit tomatoes” from the very beginning.

“To begin with, there are no seeds specifically for ‘fruit tomatoes’; we take large-fruit tomato varieties and cultivate them using methods that transform them into fruit tomatoes. In our case, we don’t use grafting; instead, we grow the plants so that the stems become thick and the roots spread widely. Furthermore, to ensure the effects of the compost last as long as possible, we apply a slightly larger amount of compost at the start. As a result, the plants initially produce large fruits. From there, we gradually restrict water to increase the sugar content. As a result, the tomatoes do end up smaller, but we produce tomatoes that are larger than average and have a high sugar content.

“I don’t find tomatoes appealing if they’re just sweet,” says Mr. Mashima. “I want them to have a tomato-like sweetness that comes from a balanced blend of sweetness and acidity, and I place great importance on the unique umami flavor derived from our homemade cow manure compost.”

トマトの目利きは、妻と息子

The sugar content is largely determined by the time the fruit begins to change color; as ripening progresses from there, the acidity transforms into umami, and the sweetness becomes more pronounced, resulting in subtle changes in flavor.

“As the sugar content rises, the flesh inside the tomato becomes translucent. Another indicator of high sugar content is a dark green line called ‘base green’ that appears at the stem end of a green tomato. The ‘star mark’ has become well-known, but we also use that as a guide while tasting the tomatoes daily to check their condition. When it comes to judging quality, my wife and son are simply in a league of their own,” says Mr. Mashima. His wife, Mika, continues:

“We divide up the task of assessing the tomatoes among the family. I do think we need to train the next generation, and if we were looking for uniformity, we could just use a sugar content sensor instead of relying on people. But we want to respond directly to the varying preferences of our customers. After all, we’re selling and interacting with customers face-to-face, so this is something we really want to cherish.”

As expected of Kochi Prefecture, known as a production area for “fruit tomatoes,” there is a lot of competition. Amidst this, Majima Farm meets customer requests with meticulous attention to detail.

A unique “diagonal training” method and the handcrafted work that supports 5,500 vines

Upon entering the tomato field, the first thing that catches the eye is an unusual cultivation method called “diagonal trellising.” This involves training the plants to grow diagonally while allowing the roots to spread freely. “We tried the hanging method, but we gave it up because the harvesting posture was too strenuous,” says Mr. Mashima.

With diagonal training, the harvest height rises as the plants grow, making the work easier. However, it requires an enormous amount of labor. All 5,500 plants must be tied with string, side shoots removed, and tended to daily. During peak season, the family alone isn’t enough to handle the workload, so they enlist help. This was the method he was first taught. Since then, for over 20 years, Mr. Mashima has spared no effort in continuing this tradition of diagonal training.

Furthermore, they have managed the temperature and humidity in the greenhouse not through computer control, but through experience and intuition honed over the years. True to its reputation as the “tropical region” of Kochi, it remains warm even in winter, with daytime temperatures ranging from 12 to 16°C. Moreover, while climate change has led to days when the temperature inside the greenhouse reaches 30°C, “We manage it with our own eyes and senses,” says Mika. Their refusal to cut corners and the experience they’ve accumulated over the years make all the difference.

Pest control involves “environmentally friendly agriculture,” which reduces the use of pesticides and utilizes natural predators. 

Furthermore, to control whiteflies—which damage tomato crops—they grew sesame alongside the tomato seedlings and collected seeds for the natural predator, the tobacco green stink bug. They planted cleome, the tobacco green stink bug’s host plant, to allow it to reproduce naturally and suppress pest outbreaks. They also practiced “environmentally friendly agriculture” aimed at reducing pesticide use. Kochi Prefecture stands out nationwide for its high level of awareness and active practice of this “environmentally friendly agriculture.” Led by the JA (Agricultural Cooperative), the region is promoting cultivation methods that do not rely on pesticides.

The “Ushi no Megumi” network, which spread through word of mouth among fellow vegetable sommeliers

The catalyst for expanding their sales channels was when Mika, the owner’s wife, earned her vegetable sommelier certification. A few years after moving to the area with her husband, Mika commuted from Kochi to Kagawa every weekend with five friends to earn her certification. The fellow vegetable sommeliers she met afterward—both within and outside the prefecture—showed their support by connecting them with restaurants and department stores and sharing their story on social media. Word of mouth spread in this way, and orders from outside the prefecture began to increase.

“Our customers bring in more customers,” they say.
For a family-run business with no time to go out and promote themselves, this has been a tremendous help.
Their greenhouse covers 25 ares. Although people ask, “Why not expand further?” they deliberately choose not to in order to maintain quality.

“25 ares is the limit we can manage properly between the two of us,” the couple explains.

Taste over scale. Their top priority is making their current customers happy. That commitment continues to grow their fan base.

Caring for cows leads to delicious milk 

Meanwhile, peering into the barn, I saw the dairy cows peacefully grazing on the grass. A calf looked over at me with curiosity. “Sakura-chan, Sakura-chaaan,” Mika called out. Apparently, every cow in the barn has a name, and she’s been telling them “You’re so cute” ever since they were calves. Even though keeping the cows stress-free is the number one requirement for producing delicious milk, Mika’s voice is as gentle as a mother calling out to her child.

The barn is equipped with misting systems and large fans to protect the cows, which are sensitive to heat. Their horns are cauterized and removed during early childhood to prevent injuries. Four times a day, each cow eats 25 kg of feed and produces about 30 L of milk. Breeding is also handled with great care. The first insemination takes place at 14 months of age, and the gestation period is 10 months. Milking is stopped two months before calving to ensure the nutrients go to the calf.

Furthermore, as part of a prefectural initiative, the farm cooperates with the embryo transfer program for “Tosa Akaushi.” Holsteins serve as surrogate mothers, supporting the region’s livestock industry.

To Surpass “Last Year’s Deliciousness.” A Family’s Ongoing Challenge  

The cycle in which compost from dairy farming nourishes crops, becomes feed for the dairy cows, and ultimately turns into delicious milk is what sustains Majima Farm.

At Majima Farm, the tomato harvest runs from December through the end of June. After that, they take a brief break before starting the next planting cycle, but Mika laughs and says that the period of tending the plants after planting is “the most fun.” Conversely, she says that once the harvest begins, the days become quite nerve-wracking.

“Up until now, we’ve made continuous efforts to improve our produce, and thanks to that, we’ve been able to build a loyal customer base. So now, we’re focusing on maintaining the same great taste as much as possible. My son is working hard on this, but in recent years, I’ve come to realize that managing the farm while anticipating future conditions is extremely difficult in the face of climate change.”

Mika adds, “The memory of ‘delicious’ in our customers’ minds becomes more idealized with each passing year. That’s why I grow tomatoes with the determination to surpass those memories—putting my heart into them so that customers will say they’re ‘delicious’ again next year,” she says.

Water management, adjusting fruit size, and meticulously assessing growth conditions with her own eyes every day—without relying on machines—are just some of the many efforts made to preserve the flavor. Combined with the “expert eye” that only a family can provide, these efforts will bring this year’s tomatoes to fruition.

The “cycle of blessings” created by cows, compost, and tomatoes will continue into the future, sustained by the power of the family.

The post “Mashima Farm,” the family that grows “Ushi no Megumi” cherry tomatoes—which attract orders from all over the country—/ Konan City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

In recent years, “seagrass die-off”—a phenomenon in which seaweed can no longer grow in the ocean due to rising sea temperatures—has become a global marine environmental issue. It is said that Japan’s natural seaweed beds are disappearing at a rate equivalent to 1,200 Tokyo Domes worth per year. Alarmed by this situation—in which the foundation of the marine ecosystem is being undermined, affecting the fishing industry as a whole—Kochi Prefecture-based “Sea Vegetable LLC” (hereinafter “Sea Vegetable”) launched the world’s first land-based cultivation of aonori using underground seawater in 2016. By expanding seaweed farms across the country in collaboration with local partners and actively pursuing both land-based and offshore cultivation, the company aims to preserve the richness of the ocean and the culinary culture centered on seaweed.

Cultivating Aonori, Which Disappeared from the Shimanto River, on Land

Kochi Prefecture is known for its intense sunlight streaming down from the blue sky and its warm climate. The prefecture has a narrow, east-west shape, with the Pacific Ocean to the south and the Shikoku Mountains towering to the north. At Sea Vegetable’s land-based facility, “Suji Aonori”—known as the highest-grade variety of aonori—is being cultivated using the world’s first land-based cultivation technology.

My deep love for the ocean, which I’ve felt since my college days

Co-founder Jun Hachiya, a native of Okayama Prefecture, conceived a business plan for “integrated aquaculture of abalone and seaweed using deep-sea water” while still a student at Kochi University. With the cooperation of co-founder Yuichi Tomohiro, he conducted demonstration research aimed at commercializing the project. Deep-sea water is seawater drawn from depths of 320 to 374 meters off the coast of Muroto in Kochi Prefecture; it maintains a stable, low temperature of approximately 10 degrees Celsius year-round.

Mr. Hachiya says he originally enjoyed diving into the ocean and catching fish he could see up close. “Every year, whenever I dived in the same spot, the number of fish visibly decreased. I realized that wherever fish gathered in large numbers, there was always seaweed, and driven by a desire to bring fish back to the ocean, I threw myself into seaweed research.”

Rising sea temperatures due to global warming have altered fish habitats and impacted Kochi Prefecture’s seaweed industry. The brackish water zone near the mouth of the Shimanto River—known as “Japan’s Last Pristine River”—where freshwater and seawater mix, was once the nation’s premier natural fishing ground for “suji aonori” (striped green laver), but by 2020, the catch had dropped to nearly zero. It is believed that the decline in catch is directly proportional to the rise in water temperature in the estuary.


Mr. Hachiya took action to revive the “suji aonori,” which could no longer be harvested naturally. He explained that his determination grew stronger as he thought, “If seaweed can no longer grow in the ocean, let’s grow it on land,” and “I want to take on this challenge to ensure that the culinary culture of seaweed does not die out.”

In a large tank built near the Pacific Ocean, blue-veined nori drifts about

When you visit Sea Vegetable’s land-based facility along the coast overlooking the Pacific Ocean, you’ll be amazed by the rows of massive circular tanks. The largest one has a diameter of about 25 meters—roughly the length of an elementary school swimming pool.

Suji aonori grows at an astonishingly fast rate; under the right conditions, it can double in size in a single day, and it’s said to possess such vitality that its appearance changes between morning and evening. The tanks come in four sizes, and about once a week, the grown Suji Aonori is transferred to larger tanks.

“There’s an ideal size for harvesting that’s considered the most delicious, so we designed these four sizes of circular tanks by working backward to ensure the seaweed grows to that size,” explains Mr. Hachiya.

Pump up the “underground seawater” and continue stirring

The tanks are filled with “underground seawater,” which reportedly maintains an ideal environment for seaweed growth throughout the year. Pumped from a depth of 20 meters underground, this “underground seawater” is naturally filtered as it passes through layers of sand and other geological strata from the ocean, ensuring clean water and a stable temperature. Furthermore, when it rains, freshwater mixes in, and on sunny days, photosynthesis flourishes. For seaweed that thrives in brackish waters where the sea and rivers meet, this location provides an environment close to nature.

Furthermore, the “groundwater” in the tanks circulated slowly in a circular pattern. Since striped green laver absorbs nutrients from the surface of its thallus and grows through photosynthesis, an environment with constant water flow and even light exposure is essential. Generally, seaweed grows normally by attaching itself to substrates such as stones or rocks using holdfasts, but here, the blue-striped laver is attached to one another. It spreads radially from the holdfasts—which function as roots—and is cultivated as it drifts through the water in a form resembling a bundle of fine threads, allowing it to grow to a uniform size.

Land-based cultivation, which holds potential different from that of marine cultivation

When I reached into the tank, the green suji aonori swayed gently and brushed against my fingertips. When I put it in my mouth raw, its fresh, vibrant green flavor spread throughout my mouth. I’ve heard that dried suji aonori turns a more vivid green and has a stronger aroma than the fresh variety. I’ve also heard that fresh suji aonori can be eaten as tempura, but either way, the natural, refreshing quality of the seaweed is sure to stand out.

Since suji aonori is widely distributed from Hokkaido to Okinawa, even within the same species, characteristics such as temperature tolerance and growth rate vary by region. When Sea Vegetable began land-based cultivation in Kochi, they focused not only on these characteristics but also on selecting elite strains with superior aroma and texture as food ingredients. They reportedly screened suji aonori from across the country and underwent a process of trial and error.

Next, I tried the eating method recommended by Mr. Hachiya. When I sprinkled powdered land-cultivated Suji Aonori onto a bag of lightly salted potato chips, I could taste the umami of the sea and experience its deep aroma. They say that growing it on land allows for meticulous nutritional management, resulting in a richer aroma and umami.

Looking Beyond Aonori: A Vision for the Future

Since seaweed reproduces via spores, the conditions for germination and growth vary by species. At Sea Vegetable, research is ongoing to identify the optimal cultivation methods while unraveling the characteristics of each individual species.

Black nori cultivation is now in full swing

They have also established a land-based cultivation technique for black nori, which has long been a cornerstone of Japanese food culture. They plan to successfully achieve mass production of black nori via land-based cultivation (300 kg or more in dried weight) by fiscal year 2025 and begin preparations for mass production starting in fiscal year 2026.

Mr. Hachiya stated, “There is a huge global market for black nori, so first, we want to establish the technology for land-based production and provide it to fishermen and companies in coastal areas who are losing their livelihoods, thereby creating new sources of income. At the same time, Japan has unique species of seaweed in each region, and quite a few are at risk of extinction. We are also considering raising seedlings for these species on land and releasing them back into the sea in their respective regions to establish aquaculture beds.” Ultimately, the goal is to restore the natural abundance of seaweed in the ocean.

However, per capita consumption of seaweed in Japan has fallen to about half of what it was 30 years ago, due to the diversification of the diet. Seaweed, which once naturally graced dining tables alongside traditional Japanese cuisine, is losing its presence as Western and Chinese cuisines become more widespread in daily life. Mr. Hachiya says, “The potential of seaweed isn’t limited to Japanese cuisine. Aonori goes well with pizza, and sprinkling it on potato chips releases a surprisingly rich aroma. I feel that the key to solving the problem of declining consumption lies precisely in genres we haven’t tried before, so I want to conduct various tests and share our findings.”

Develops Soy Sauce Made from Suji Aonori and Opens a Seaweed Specialty Store

One of their new challenges is “Aonori Soy Sauce,” made from Suji Aonori. This seasoning is produced by fermenting only aonori, salt, and rice—without using soybeans or wheat. It has a pale amber color. When tasted, the aroma of the sea fills the mouth, making it a perfect match for seafood. Because it is gluten-free and soy-free, the company receives many inquiries from overseas, and the product has become a symbol of the new value of seaweed.

Near Tokyo Station, we’ve opened “Sea Veg Stand,” a restaurant specializing in seaweed cuisine. It serves dishes like Suji Aonori Potatoes, dishes featuring “Mirin”—a rare red seaweed traditionally eaten in regions like Kumamoto—and ramen generously topped with seaweed, making it a hub that showcases the appeal of seaweed from multiple angles. This is where our effort to revive the “culture of eating seaweed” is beginning.

Researchers Hold the Key to Success

The lab is the key to Sea Vegetable’s business. It handles the most critical initial stage of land-based cultivation of Suji Aonori. Aonori harvested and cultivated at the lab is transferred to the land-based facility after about one month, where it is grown for another month before being harvested.

The mind-boggling task of sorting spores

“To succeed in land-based cultivation, the most important thing is to consistently harvest spores from the parent plants of striped green laver and raise them without letting them die,” says researcher Nigi. “If they die at that stage, there will naturally be nothing to send to the cultivation site. It’s crucial to remove anything—such as bacteria—that could harm the green laver spores and successfully raise them.”

The greatest challenge in cultivating Suji Aonori is maintaining the parent strains in a constantly healthy state to ensure a stable supply of spores throughout the year. It also involves the process of extracting spores from the parent strains and ensuring they grow stably without dying. To raise the spores healthily, it is necessary to thoroughly eliminate harmful impurities, such as bacteria, and maintain appropriate temperature control.

Holding a small petri dish, Mr. Nigi explains, “At first, they’re really just round specks about 10 microns in size.” Ten microns is 0.01 millimeters. Although the spores are invisible to the naked eye, they can be observed under a microscope, and after a few days, you can see them growing into the characteristic shape of aonori.

Nigi was performing a painstakingly delicate task, repeatedly and carefully using a pipette to aspirate the approximately 10-micron spores, isolating only the “high-purity spores.”

シーベジタブルを支える研究者

Furthermore, Mr. Nigi explains, “The harvest season for natural nori runs from fall through early spring; since growth stops in the summer, it wasn’t suitable for harvesting. However, to maximize the utilization of our facilities for land-based cultivation, we need to grow a combination of strains with different temperature tolerances. So, even within the same ‘Suji Aonori’ variety, we’ve tested about 100 different strains from Hokkaido to Okinawa to find the most suitable ones.”

Generally, land-based cultivation involves significant capital investment and operating costs, making profitability crucial. That is precisely why selecting strains that are resilient to environmental conditions and grow efficiently is the key to establishing this as a viable industry. Researchers are tackling this challenge as they strive to pave the way for the future of seaweed cultivation.

When seaweed returns, the future of the ocean will change

Seaweed forms the foundation of the marine ecosystem. As natural seaweed beds decline, a research report by the Good Sea General Incorporated Association reveals surprising results: using seedlings grown on land for offshore cultivation can increase fish populations by up to approximately 36 times compared to uncultivated waters.

As seaweed increases, fish return, and the ocean regains its abundance. Seaweed cultivation is not only a way to preserve our food culture but also an initiative that supports the future of the ocean. Sea Vegetable aims to become a reliable force—extending beyond the borders of Japan—to pass on a bountiful ocean to the next generation.

The post “Sea Vegetable LLC,” based in Kochi City, Kochi Prefecture, aims to preserve seaweed culinary traditions and the richness of the ocean through the world’s first land-based cultivation of aonori using underground seawater. first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture boasts the highest production volume of binchōtan in Japan. Muroto City is at the heart of this industry. Tosa binchōtan is made from freshly cut Ubame oak and is fired over a process lasting about 20 days. The leading charcoal maker in this field is dedicated to activities that look toward the future of Muroto, including training the next generation, securing raw materials, and environmental conservation.

The Climate of Muroto: Nurturing a Treasure Trove of Charcoal

Muroto City, located in eastern Kochi Prefecture, was once famous for being repeatedly hit by major typhoons. While the coastal area thrives as a fishing town, deep in the mountains, kilns for Tosa Bincho-tan charcoal are still scattered about, quietly giving off smoke. One of these is the workplace of Seichō Morimoto, a charcoal maker who has been producing charcoal for over 47 years.

The kiln where Mr. Morimoto burns Tosa Binchotan is located upstream along the clear Hane River, which flows through Muroto City. The history of white charcoal production in Tosa dates back to the Edo period. Here in Muroto, heavy and hard woods—including Ubame oak, which grows in the harsh environments of the coastline and rocky areas, as well as Arakaashi and Urajiro oak—grow wild. During the Meiji era, charcoal burners from Kishu moved to the Hane area, passing down their advanced techniques. Local artisans worked diligently to further improve the kilns, and eventually, Muroto gained national attention as a production center for Binchotan.

Research on earthen kilns is a lifelong endeavor.

Mr. Morimoto, who is now a prominent figure in the charcoal industry—having been selected as a “Master of the Forest” by the Public Interest Incorporated Association for the Promotion of National Land Greening in 2017—had actually aspired to become a pilot in his teens. After graduating from high school, he enrolled in a vocational school specializing in avionics, but gave up on that dream partway through. He worked as a salaryman in Tokyo until he was 30, then returned to his hometown with an eye toward the future.

At the time, while running a rice farm and raising livestock, he would cut down trees such as Ubame oak in the mountains and sell them to paper companies as raw material for pulp. The turning point came when a senior colleague—the only person in the area producing binchōtan—suggested, “It’s a waste to send this to be made into pulp. I’ll teach you—why don’t you try making charcoal?” That was his first encounter with binchōtan.

     By the Showa 30s, the charcoal industry was rapidly declining due to the development of household appliances and other products. As a result, many charcoal makers left the mountains. Mr. Morimoto restored an earthen kiln that had been left behind in the mountains and, seeking advice from his senior, went through a process of trial and error. Although he was a novice, he managed to produce charcoal of reasonably good quality. “Even my father was surprised,” Mr. Morimoto laughs.

“Even though I was following the same process, the quality of the charcoal gradually began to decline. When I investigated, I found cracks in the kiln walls that were letting the heat escape. After repairing them and trying again, the charcoal turned out to be of such high quality it was unrecognizable. That sparked my interest in the kiln itself, and I began to study the craft in earnest.”

At the time, there were many veteran charcoal burners in the area, and he says he drew inspiration from their individual techniques—even down to the shape of the kiln ceiling, noting that some specialized in “tokkuri” (sake flask) shapes while others preferred circular ones. “The heat retention capacity of the kiln floor, the kiln’s airtightness, and its structural strength—these three points are the most crucial elements in kiln construction,” Morimoto explains.

A blazing furnace. Standing there, feeling its heat with every fiber of my being.

Black charcoal and white charcoal are distinguished not so much by the type of wood used as by differences in “firing and finishing methods.” White charcoal, which includes Tosa Bincho-tan, is carbonized rapidly at temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees, then scooped out of the kiln while still red-hot and rapidly cooled by covering it with soil and ash. The white ash that forms on the surface due to this rapid cooling gives it its name. The charcoal is hard and dense; when struck, it produces a clear, metallic ring, and it burns with intense heat for a long time. In contrast, black charcoal is burned slowly at a relatively low temperature; after being carbonized in a sealed kiln, it is left to cool inside the kiln. The finished product is black and soft; because it ignites easily and is simple to handle, it tends to be preferred for leisure and household use, unlike white charcoal, which is favored by specialty restaurants and other professional establishments.

Muroto became Japan’s leading producer of binchōtan—arguably the quintessential white charcoal—due to a confluence of several factors. These included an abundance of naturally growing oak species, particularly Ubame oak, which is ideal for use as raw timber; and in Meiji 40 (1907), Kuraji Ueno, a charcoal craftsman from Kishu who visited Muroto on the Shikoku Pilgrimage, recognized the shortcomings of Tosa’s rudimentary kilns at the time and taught the region the charcoal-making techniques used for Kishu Binchotan; and the fact that kilns were modified to suit Tosa’s climate, leading to the establishment of techniques for mass-producing high-quality charcoal in large kilns.

Above all, the establishment of a sustainable production system—achieved through the efforts of Mr. Morimoto and others to train successors and plant new trees—has been of immense importance.

So, how is this Tosa Bincho-tan charcoal made? First, Mr. Morimoto harvests Ubame oak from the mountains and arranges the logs side by side in the kiln, as if tossing them in. In doing so, he deliberately leaves gaps between them to create air pathways. He then lights the fire and heats the wood, steaming it for about a week to drive out the moisture from the logs. Mr. Morimoto emphasizes that managing this stage is crucial. If the moisture content of the logs remains too high, cracks will form later on, resulting in charcoal of inferior quality. During the initial stage when moisture levels are high, white smoke emerges from the chimney, but as drying progresses, the smoke gradually becomes transparent. While enduring the heat, he holds his hand over the smoke; if it feels damp, it’s not ready yet, but when it feels dry to the touch, that’s a sign the drying has progressed.

Once drying is complete, the kiln is sealed, and a very small amount of air is introduced to steam-bake the logs, carbonizing them. This process is called “nerashi” (refining) and is a crucial step for burning off impurities contained in the charcoal. Once carbonization is complete, the kiln door is opened to let in air, generating temperatures exceeding 1,000 degrees inside. The wood, now glowing red like iron in a blast furnace, is scooped out, and “subai” (a mixture of soil and ash) is applied to rapidly extinguish the fire and cool the charcoal, causing its surface to turn whitish.

This hard charcoal, unparalleled anywhere in the world, produces a beautiful, clear, metallic ringing sound—like “keen”—when struck.

The process from loading the kiln to unloading it takes about 20 days. The finished charcoal is sorted according to shape and thickness, standardized by size, and then placed in a dehumidification chamber to prevent moisture from re-entering.

The World’s Finest Charcoal, Supporting Culinary Culture

“Good binchōtan looks beautiful and burns for a long time,” Mr. Morimoto says, gazing straight ahead. High-quality charcoal can continue burning for three or even four hours. However, he candidly admits that it’s difficult to produce perfect binchōtan. If the “nerashi” (carbonization process) is overdone, the charcoal may look beautiful, but too many combustible components are lost, causing the heat output to drop. His words, “You have to strike that delicate balance,” reveal the depth of charcoal-making backed by years of experience. Then, his eyes sparkle like a young boy’s as he adds, “This binchōtan contributes to food culture—it’s the world’s finest charcoal.”

Binchōtan not only burns for a long time but also produces no smoke, so it doesn’t impart any unwanted odors to the food, allowing the natural flavors of the ingredients to shine through. Demand from high-end restaurants, eel restaurants, and yakitori shops—all seeking delicate flavors—is constant, and the charcoal is perpetually in short supply. While being pressed by wholesalers for more stock, he says he plans to fire up the kiln three times every two months this year as well.

We warmly welcome successors

Of course, things haven’t always gone smoothly. Starting in the late Showa era, inexpensive Chinese-made binchōtan began flooding the market, dealing a severe blow to domestic producers. Even Mr. Morimoto, who was still a young craftsman at the time, reportedly went through a prolonged period when his charcoal wouldn’t sell. Later, in the 2000s, China banned the export of charcoal; however, in the less than 20 years since then, the number of charcoal makers—which had been around 60—has dropped to about 20, with two-thirds of them having left the trade.

Currently, while production volume is limited, demand continues to come not only from within Japan but also from overseas, resulting in a persistent shortage of binchōtan. “If there are young people who want to make binchōtan their career, they’re more than welcome,” said Mr. Morimoto, expressing his desire to expand his ranks. To make it easier for newcomers to take that first step, he has promoted the adoption of labor-saving kilns that generate a steady income and the use of mechanization. He also lobbied the mayor of Muroto City, leading to the creation of a successor training program in 2011 that accepts about three trainees each year. Even after they become independent, he continues to provide ongoing support, including assistance with procuring ubame oak, the raw material for charcoal.

More than 30 people have already learned the craft from Mr. Morimoto, and about 10 of them have gone on to establish their own kilns both within and outside Kochi Prefecture. Currently, there are about 30 charcoal makers in Muroto City.

Experiencing the Harshness of the Mountains Firsthand

About a 10-minute drive from Mr. Morimoto’s kiln lies a mountain he owns. To reach the summit of this obviously rugged mountain, he personally operated heavy machinery to carve out a zigzagging path and graded it so that transport vehicles, such as four-wheel-drive light trucks, could climb it. Everyone uses chainsaws to cut down the Ubame oak trees located deep within the summit area. In places where transport vehicles cannot reach, they use wires to hoist the logs out.

Connecting the Future of Tosa Bincho Charcoal

In addition to planting “layering cuttings”—which are created by making incisions in the branches or trunks of parent Uba-megashi trees to induce rooting—the cooperative also commissions forest cooperatives and other organizations to plant saplings. A single charcoal maker uses approximately 5,000 Uba-megashi trees per hectare annually, and a 40-hectare area is sufficient to ensure a stable cycle from growth to harvest.

The reason for this is that Uba-megashi, the wood used for Bincho-tan, regenerates over approximately 20 years through “sprout regeneration,” in which new shoots sprout from the stump after felling. If the 40 hectares are harvested sequentially by section in accordance with this cycle, by the time the cycle is complete, the first section will have grown sufficiently. This eliminates the need for replanting or land clearing, thereby maintaining an environment where a single charcoal maker can continue working.

“Last year, we planted 40,000 saplings over 8 hectares, but we still need to plant about another 100 hectares,” he said as he led me to an area lined with rows of seedling pots. “This is Ubame oak; over here are Urajiro oak and Kunu oak. We plan to focus on planting these three species. Urajirogashi can be used for medicine and makes good charcoal. Kunugi is used for kiku-sumi charcoal in the tea ceremony. The acorns serve as animal feed. If we’re going to protect the natural environment, broadleaf trees are definitely better. They put down deep roots to prevent landslides, and even if the trees are cut down, the area returns to its original state,” he explained.

Registration as an Intangible Cultural Heritage: Toward the Dreams That Lie Ahead

Although this marks their third attempt, the prefecture and the charcoal makers are aiming to have Tosa Bincho-tan registered as an “Intangible Cultural Asset.” Mr. Morimoto says, “Preserving the technique and ensuring consistent quality. As long as we bear the name ‘Tosa Bincho-tan,’ we want to maintain a certain standard of quality.” He adds with a smile, “If it’s designated as an Intangible Cultural Asset, I feel like we might even be able to aim for World Heritage status.” “We aim to ensure the semi-permanent sustainability of the raw material—Uba-megashi oak—across the entire region and make this industry viable. We’ll reduce carbon dioxide emissions and protect the environment. I feel there is no other circular model quite like this,” he said, expressing his vision.

Training the next generation, securing raw materials, and preserving the environment. While tackling these three challenges, the veteran charcoal makers continue to forge a path toward the future of Tosa Binchotan and the region, showing no signs of stopping.

The post “Sumino Morisei, LLC”—a charcoal master dedicated to preserving the techniques of Tosa Bincho-tan, expanding its community, and actively promoting the afforestation of raw materials / Muroto City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

“Pure sun-dried salt” is produced using only the heat of the sun and the craftsmanship of the artisans, without any use of fire or electricity. This “living salt” is attracting keen interest from top chefs and confectionery manufacturers both in Japan and abroad. What is the story behind the life of the man who has come to be hailed as Japan’s foremost salt artisan, and what drives his passion for salt-making?

The Courage to Give Up Your Career

Located about 55 km east of Kochi City, facing Tosa Bay, lies Tano Town—Shikoku’s smallest town, measuring 2.2 km east to west and 4 km north to south, yet packed with charm. One of its defining features is its reputation as the “Town of Salt.” The town is home to the “Tano Town Pure Sun-Dried Salt Production Experience Facility,” where many tourists come to observe and participate in salt-making.

The cornerstone of this culture was “Tanoya Enjiro,” who founded his business in the town. Chefs and media from across the country flocked to the town in search of the salt he produced, and pure sun-dried salt became a brand that symbolizes the town.

He is originally from Hiroo, Minato Ward, Tokyo. During his student days, he devoted himself to rugby, and his previous job was at a company in Tokyo that manufactured and sold surfboards and snowboards. At the age of 35, driven by the desire to “work by the sea and become the best in Japan,” he conducted research and narrowed his options down to becoming a tuna fisherman in Oma, Aomori Prefecture, or a “pure sun-dried salt” artisan in Kochi Prefecture. However, becoming a tuna fisherman in Oma required fishing rights and permits managed by the local fishing cooperative, making the barrier to entry too high; thus, by process of elimination, he chose the path of a salt artisan. He abandoned his previous career and applied to become an apprentice under Takeshi Yoshida, who at the time had pioneered the category of “pure sun-dried salt”—the only one in Japan that uses absolutely no fire or electricity—but he says he was completely ignored at first.

“I went to Kuroshio Town in western Kochi Prefecture without an appointment, bowed my head, and asked to become his apprentice, but he wouldn’t even give me the time of day. Out of sheer stubbornness, I couldn’t give up, so I kept visiting him several times, prostrating myself on the ground and begging, ‘Please just teach me the basics. I don’t need a salary—I’ll do anything, even cleaning.’ From there, I spent two years being thoroughly drilled in the fundamentals,” he recalls. After completing his apprenticeship under Mr. Yoshida, he searched for a place to set up his own business. He looked at coastal towns throughout Kochi Prefecture, but nowhere would take him in—until was the mayor of Tano Town, who responded, “Please come here. Make the best salt in Japan.” At the time, there were no expressways, and it was about a four-hour drive from Mr. Yoshida’s saltworks, so he also reasoned that this wouldn’t cause any trouble for his master. “When my master bestowed the business name ‘Tanoya’ upon me, it was meant to tell me to repay the debt of gratitude to the town that had accepted me,” he explains.

Ever since I’ve been able to talk to Shio,

The sea lies right in front of Crystal House. Seawater drawn on days of the full moon or spring tides is poured into wooden crates. Unlike the methods used by many salt producers—such as boiling down the salt or using electricity to concentrate the seawater—”completely sun-dried salt” involves using no fire or electricity whatsoever; instead, we patiently wait inside the house for natural evaporation driven by the heat of the sun. By avoiding any heating process, we manually stir the mixture to lock in the approximately 80 types of minerals found in the seawater. 

“I wanted to do something no one else was doing, so I brought a sleeping bag into the greenhouse and lived there alongside the salt. After about a month of that lifestyle, I began to notice what kind of scent the salt gave off and what sounds it made at night. As I continued this dialogue with the salt, I learned to recognize its changes, which gave me confidence—and suddenly, I was able to produce salt that truly satisfied me.”

To maximize both efficiency and precision in his work, the wooden boxes are custom-made to fit Enjiro’s exact body measurements. It is truly a space where the artisan and his tools become one.

Rather than “delicious salt,” it’s “the salt that humans need.”

Kochi Prefecture boasts the highest forest coverage rate in the nation at 84 percent. The Nahari and Yasuda Rivers, which carry abundant nutrients, flow through the eastern and western parts of Tano Town, supplying organic matter from the mountains to the sea. Because the population is small and there are no public beaches, the seawater is exceptionally clean. Furthermore, the Kuroshio Current, which flows off the coast of Tosa Bay, brings high-quality minerals.

Mr. Enjiro checks the seawater in the approximately 130 wooden boxes once an hour and stirs it repeatedly as he monitors the conditions. Because he is fully focused on the salt-making process, he rarely leaves this spot unless there is an urgent matter.

“Crystallization occurs at the very end of the entire process. By observing it every day, I’ve learned to control the process—for example, thinking, ‘Right now, this much potassium is being released. In that case, I’ll keep it in the seawater and extract the sodium first.’ My goal isn’t simply to make ‘delicious salt’; I want to create salt that people instinctively need—salt that restores the body’s balance when consumed.”

He explains that cutting the surrounding weeds would alter the quality of the salt. “We aren’t the main actors here; we’re merely allowed to play a small role within nature’s cycle,” he says with humble awareness—and it is this mindset that underpins the salt’s flavor.

Control both the grain size and the flavor exactly as you like

Salt is extremely sensitive to temperature changes. “A single summer thunderstorm can ruin the flavor,” says Enjiro, who pays meticulous attention to the weather, humidity, and wind patterns. He allows the salt to crystallize slowly over a period of three to four months—or as long as four years in some cases.

He masterfully controls everything from the balance of the five basic tastes (sweet, salty, spicy, sour, and bitter) to the size of the crystals. Word of his craft has spread by word of mouth, and he now receives a constant stream of custom orders from chefs around the world. It is rarely found on the open market, and there is a waiting list of several years for reservations. This is why it is called the “phantom salt,” a favorite even among Michelin-starred chefs. The highest price reaches 1 million yen per kilogram. Even “Shiojiro (Black),” the brand’s most standard product, costs around 4,000 yen per 100 grams—a far cry from the salt sold at mass-market retailers.

Salt embodies the very essence of a region’s charm.

The first product created when the business first opened was “Taiyo Crystal Salt: Enjiro.” Two years later, he developed a version with different grain sizes and a more pronounced sodium flavor; today, using this as a base, he fulfills over 2,000 different custom orders. “Salt is, after all, just a supporting role,” the artisan explains matter-of-factly. “We even calculate the rate at which it dissolves so that, the moment it melts into the main dish and becomes one with it, customers can experience the most delicious flavor.”

Furthermore, he continues to take on challenges that go beyond conventional boundaries, such as “flavored salts,” where ingredients like pufferfish, strawberries, and truffles are added to seawater to infuse umami during the crystallization process. The idea of creating high-value, rare products—such as those utilizing Tosa Buntan blossoms—also came up in conversation.

Although Enjiro continues to pursue the “ultimate salt,” now at age 55, he voiced an unexpected vision for the future. “I feel like I’ve done everything I can with salt. When I turn 60, I want to spend another 10 years aiming to be number one in Japan in a completely different industry. I get bored easily,” he says with a mischievous smile.

The sea, sun, wind, and vegetation of Tano Town. Enjiro’s completely sun-dried salt, born through a dialogue with all of these elements, is the very vitality of the land crystallized in its purest form. Before we know it, we find ourselves drawn into his profound and pure worldview.

The post Grain size, flavor—experience the life of “Tanoya Enjirō,” the salt artisan who masters it all / Tano Town, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

The sea off Kochi, with its beautiful horizon stretching far into the distance, sparkles as it reflects the sunlight. About a 30-minute drive from downtown Kochi City, at the base of the Yokonami Peninsula jutting out into the Pacific Ocean, lies the Kochi University Comprehensive Research Center’s Marine Biology Education and Research Facility—a spot surrounded by palm trees and exuding a tropical atmosphere.
Upon entering the building, your eyes are immediately drawn to a giant fish specimen. This fish is the “Akame,” a carnivorous species native to Japan and representative of Kochi Prefecture. Although it is a rare species at risk of extinction, many Akame still inhabit the Shimanto River estuary and Urado Bay in Kochi Prefecture. The presence of this giant fish, which can grow to nearly 2 meters in length, has long been seen as proof of the richness of the ocean and brackish waters. However, that abundance is now being seriously threatened.
Comments from fishermen—such as “We can’t catch as many as we used to” and “The fishing season has shifted”—indicate that changes in the ocean are definitely underway.

A Quiet Crisis That Began in the Seas Where Seaweed Is Disappearing

“While the global average temperature has risen by 0.6 degrees over the past 100 years, the temperature along the coast of Kochi is rising at roughly twice that rate,” says Professor Masanori Hiraoka of Kochi University, a leading expert in seaweed research.

Kochi Prefecture lies near the southern limit of temperate seaweed distribution, and in the 1970s and 1980s, the coast of Kochi was home to extensive “seaweed beds” teeming with temperate seaweed. These seaweed beds, also known as “ocean forests,” serve as hiding places for juvenile fish and as spawning grounds for squid. Abalone, turban shells, and sea urchins grow by feeding on the seaweed in these beds. Furthermore, larger fish that prey on these small fish and crustaceans are attracted to the area. The abundance of seaweed—which forms the foundation supporting marine life—was a direct reflection of the richness of the marine ecosystem itself.

A 1-degree rise in sea temperature dramatically changes the ocean

However, due to global warming, sea temperatures are rising, and these seaweed beds are now rapidly disappearing. For example, seaweeds such as aonori and kelp grow in the cold waters of winter. However, once the temperature exceeds their upper growth limit, photosynthesis and metabolism become difficult, and they can no longer maintain their cellular structure. When water temperatures rise and the seaweed senses a threat to its survival, it releases spores to ensure the survival of the next generation rather than extending its fronds and growing further, and its body eventually disintegrates and disappears.

In addition, tropical seaweeds have proliferated rapidly in recent years. Tropical species, which were rarely seen in the 1970s, expanded their range year by year throughout the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s, and it is said that tropical species have now replaced the seaweeds most commonly found in Kochi.

A prime example of this is the tropical seaweed known as Hondawara. Whereas the native temperate Hondawara thrived almost year-round, the tropical variety grows only during warm periods, causing fish that used to inhabit the seaweed beds during colder months to lose their habitat.

Furthermore, changes in the coastal environment also affect fish further offshore. Hondawara growing along the coast can break off and drift out to sea. In Kochi, juvenile yellowtail gather around this “drifting seaweed.” Fishermen catch these juveniles—which they call “mojako”—and use them for aquaculture. Although the mojako fishing season is limited to early spring, tropical kelp does not drift ashore until summer. There are concerns that this will eventually affect the mojako fishery as well.

Furthermore, while tropical kelp can grow up to 2 meters in length, it is not suitable for human consumption, and its industrial use has not progressed.

The professor states, “Before being a food source, seaweed is the ‘foundation’ that supports the marine ecosystem. If seaweed disappears, fish migration routes will change, and the habitats of shellfish will be lost. Furthermore, it will affect the fishing industry itself.”

The Day the Aonori Disappeared from the Shimanto River

Particularly striking are the changes that have occurred at the mouth of the Shimanto River, known as the prefecture’s only seaweed production area. The seaweeds that have long supported Kochi’s food culture—Sujiaonori and Hitoegusa (Aosa-nori)—grew in the estuary where river water and seawater mix. The Shimanto River estuary, in particular, was renowned as Japan’s premier natural fishing ground for Suziaonori, and the sight of Suziaonori growing to over one meter in length was a hallmark of winter in Kochi.

Suziaonori has a strong aroma and is known as a high-quality ingredient essential for okonomiyaki and takoyaki. Hitoegusa has long been enjoyed in tsukudani and tempura. However, changes in the natural environment caused by global warming have dealt a blow to both of these species. The annual harvest of striped aosa, which once ranged from 10 to 20 metric tons, has dropped to zero in the wild since 2020. Cultivated hitoegusa has also been unavailable since 2021, and Kochi’s sole seaweed industry once completely vanished.

Kochi University Aims to Revitalize the Seaweed Industry Through Its World-Renowned “Land-Based Aquaculture”

Around the time the seaweed in the Shimanto River began to disappear, researchers at Kochi University were the first to confront this change.

“If this continues, the seaweed culture itself will disappear”—it was this sense of crisis that quietly spurred the university into action.

What turned the tide was land-based aquaculture technology. In 2004, to rebuild a sustainable seaweed industry in Kochi, Kochi University developed a land-based aquaculture system using deep-sea water off the coast of Muroto City, Kochi Prefecture, and succeeded in producing striped aonori. Muroto is one of the few places in Japan where deep-sea water can be drawn from near the shore. The deep-sea water, drawn from depths of 320 to 374 meters, maintains a stable, low temperature of approximately 10 degrees Celsius year-round, creating an environment where aonori—a type of seaweed traditionally harvested only in winter—could be cultivated year-round.

Furthermore, as research progressed, the team developed a patented technology called the “spore agglomeration method,” which involves simultaneously releasing spores, agglomerating them, and then culturing and suspending them to ensure uniform growth. The ability to stably produce high-quality, tangle-free seedlings through this method was groundbreaking even on a global scale. It dramatically improved spore survival rates, enabled mass production on land, and paved the way for industrialization.

The volume of land-based cultivation of Suziaonori initially stood at 1 metric ton but increased to 3 metric tons within a few years. It now exceeds 10 metric tons, meaning that more than half of the amount once harvested from the wild is now being regenerated on land. Land-based cultivation of Hitoegusa (Aosa nori) is also beginning in large tanks, and a stable supply is expected in the near future.

A Leading Region in Seaweed Research and Land-Based Aquaculture

Although land-based aquaculture requires significant capital investment and efficient cultivation techniques are essential, more than 20 companies nationwide have adopted Kochi University’s technology and are working to restore seaweed beds. Furthermore, there are high hopes that this technology can be applied to the restoration of natural seaweed beds and contribute to the revival of seaweed communities that have disappeared due to high water temperatures.

From Food to Energy: The Future Shaped by Seaweed—A Challenge Beginning in Kochi

The cumulative results of research—beginning with the successful land-based cultivation of seaweed in 2004—are opening up new possibilities beyond the realm of food. In Kochi, a major initiative known as the “Shimanto Seaweed Eco-Innovation Co-creation Hub Project” is currently underway. It is an effort in which government, businesses, researchers, and local residents are collaborating to cultivate seaweed and create new industries. Professor Hiraoka serves as the project leader.

Seaweed is viewed as a promising material for the future, with ongoing developments such as paper, fibers, and edible jellies made from seaweed—which can multiply three to four times in a single day—as well as biodegradable plastics derived from seaweed and research on the seaweed species Kagikeno, which, when added in small amounts to the feed of ruminants such as cattle, reduces methane emissions from their belches by 90 percent. Furthermore, given that one metric ton of seaweed absorbs one metric ton of CO₂, cultivating seaweed itself contributes to protecting the global environment. As a result, seaweed is currently attracting worldwide attention as a food source, a resource, and a material for shaping the future.

The post Vanishing Seagrass Beds and a Future of Regeneration: The Ocean’s Revival as Envisioned by the “Kochi University Comprehensive Research Center Marine Biology Research Facility” / Tosa City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.

Kochi Prefecture is a tropical region rich in natural beauty, nurtured by the bounty of the Pacific Ocean and its mountains and rivers. Among its areas, Haruno-cho in Kochi City is a warm region facing the Pacific Ocean. It features breezes blowing in from the sea, abundant sunshine, and a landscape where plains and hills intertwine. Drawing on these natural blessings, Farm Vegeco is paving the way for the future of agriculture.

Growing Vegetables in Greenhouses in Winter: A Reversal in Agriculture

About 90 percent of Kochi Prefecture’s land area is mountainous, and rivers flowing from the Shikoku Mountains rush down as rapids before emptying into the sea. As a result, sediment does not accumulate over wide areas, and the terrain is characterized by a lack of large-scale plains. So, how can this limited flat land be put to good use? Greenhouse horticulture—which yields high crop yields even on small plots—has developed as a solution to this challenge. Open-field cultivation takes place in the mountainous areas during the summer, while greenhouse cultivation occurs in the plains during the winter. By skillfully adapting to the seasons and the terrain, a unique agricultural system specific to this region has taken shape.

The cucumbers grown by Nagasaki Asahi at Farm Vegeco are transplanted in early October, and harvesting continues daily from mid-November through June. This is a reverse approach: growing in winter crops that typically bear fruit in summer when grown in open fields. The cucumbers, having endured the cold, lose their grassy bitterness and become sweeter. Cucumbers grown in winter greenhouses possess a quiet yet robust flavor distinct from their summer counterparts.

However, in cold regions, the high cost of heating makes it difficult to expand winter cucumber cultivation on a large scale. In this regard, the Pacific coast—with its warm climate and abundant sunshine—is an ideal region for growing winter crops. Among these areas, Kochi Prefecture ranks among the top in the nation for cucumber production, hovering around 6th or 7th place in recent years. It maintains a stable position as a major production center.

Prepare the soil, observe the leaves, and grow the fruit straight

Everything hinges on the three-month summer off-season for Farm Vegeco’s cucumbers. The Nagasaki family, who are also rice farmers, incorporate large amounts of rice husks and rice bran—byproducts of rice cultivation—into the soil and allow them to ferment. This soil preparation is the reason why their winter cucumbers are surprisingly sweet. Just as nuka-zuke pickles become sweet, soil enriched with rice bran brings out the cucumbers’ natural sweetness.

The Vitality of Greenery Thriving in the Greenhouse

Inside the greenhouse, farmers carefully identify the vines—which resemble a “body” and “limbs” extending from a single cucumber plant—and adjust the number of leaves to control the amount of photosynthesis. Each leaf plays a role in nurturing the nearby fruit, so farmers must be careful not to remove too many or leave too many.

In Japanese markets, “straight cucumbers” are in demand. If a cucumber touches a leaf, it bends; if it touches the ground, it turns yellow. Farmers watch over the growth of each individual cucumber, sometimes thinning the fruit and sometimes shaping it by hand to produce “Grade A” produce. “Grade A” refers to standard products that meet specifications for shape, color, and size, with few blemishes or bends. Of course, the taste remains the same even if they’re bent. Nevertheless, the reality is that market standards dictate farmers’ incomes.

Inside the greenhouse, the cucumber vines stretch out thinly as if searching for air, their tips—which have yet to touch anything—gently swaying in midair. It is a quiet movement, almost like hesitation, before they reach out for support.

Within that subtle hint of movement lies the plant’s unwavering will, striving to choose the path its life will take from here on.

A Farm That Has Been in Operation for 50 Years and the Legacy Left by My Family

The history of Farm Vegeco dates back more than 50 years. My father, who had been working at a travel agency, was adopted into a farming family that had been growing melons and tomatoes since my grandmother’s generation, and he took over the farm. He had no prior experience in farming. Nevertheless, with his artisan’s spirit, he engaged with the soil, immersed himself in every task, and honed his skills.

By his side was my mother, who had also worked at the same travel agency. My mother, who possessed the ability to forge connections between people and nature, established the Farm Vegeco brand under the philosophy of “Vegetable Communication & Collaboration.” Valuing dialogue with chefs, she grew not only cucumbers but also herbs and a diverse range of vegetables, continually responding to the needs of culinary professionals. Furthermore, by personally visiting supermarkets in Tokyo and actively participating in product competitions, she quietly yet steadily spread the name of Farm Vegeco among the general public.

To protect the farm his parents had built and pass it on to the next generation, Mr. Nagasaki chose to work the fields himself after a stint as a salaryman in Tokyo. However, in May 2025, his mother passed away due to illness. It was his fourth year back at the farm. Though the time he spent learning directly from her was brief, the spirit she instilled in him—farming to bring joy to people’s faces—remains unchanged and continues to breathe life into the very heart of this farm.

The Reality Facing Farmers Caught Between the Market and Direct Sales

Currently, 70% of Farm Vegeco’s produce is shipped to markets, while 30% is sold directly to consumers. The farm has stopped shipping through the JA. JA shipments involve high commission fees, which can sometimes cut farmers’ take-home pay in half. Pricing is also determined by the JA, making it difficult for farmers to proactively choose their customers. On the other hand, there are significant advantages to entrusting collection, sorting, and sales to the JA, as this ensures stable sales channels.

The appeal of shipping to the market lies in the low commission—around 10 percent—which increases the farmers’ take-home pay. However, this requires farmers to handle all sorting, packing, and shipping themselves, and they are responsible for maintaining consistent quality and building trust. Even so, their love and pride in the cucumbers they grow led them to choose the path of building their own brand.

The unit price of cucumbers is determined by market rates, and farmers have no say in setting the price. Even Grade A cucumbers fetch only about 30 yen per cucumber. It’s a harsh world where non-standard cucumbers sell for just 50 yen per kilogram. Rebuilding a greenhouse costs between 30 million and 40 million yen. Even repairs alone cost millions of yen every year. This is why the number of young farmers isn’t increasing.

Even so, Mr. Nagasaki says, “Farming is fun.”

“I was fortunate to have a foundation because I took over my parents’ farm. But starting from scratch presents a high barrier to entry. If the government had a system to lease unused greenhouses to young people, the farming population would surely grow,” he says.

Increasing direct sales and building connections with chefs and supermarkets that buy at fair prices—that is the path to survival for small-scale farmers. In fact, since winning the Grand Prize at the Vegetable Sommelier Summit in 2013, Farm Vegeco’s profile has risen, and chefs from Tokyo restaurants and international hotels have begun visiting Kochi in search of the farm’s cucumbers. Some overseas chefs even seek out tiny cucumbers still bearing their blossoms. The creativity of these chefs is bringing new perspectives to the farmers.

A “Flavor” We Want to Preserve for the Future: The Aspirations of a Young Farmer

When you take a bite of a cucumber from Farm Vegeco, juice bursts out immediately after harvest, filling your mouth with freshness. What’s more, that freshness is slow to fade, even after several days. Growing slowly in winter tightens the cells, strengthening the fruit’s ability to retain moisture.
Furthermore, the fruits that have endured the winter cold have little of that grassy taste and are surprisingly sweet.

Mr. Nagasaki says, “Even after my father is gone, the last thing I want to hear is that the taste has changed.” . He has no intention of expanding the number of greenhouses. Rather than chasing scale, he prioritizes preserving flavor. And he aims to connect with people who truly appreciate their produce and are willing to pay a fair price for it. That is the future vision for Farm Vegeco.

A single cucumber grown during the winter in Kochi. Behind it lies a family’s history, the local climate, the memory of the soil, and the bonds between people. Inside the quiet greenhouse, even today, a small vine striving to grow straight is reaching out, searching for support.

The post Carrying our family’s hopes into the future. With love from “Farm Vegeco” / Kochi City, Kochi Prefecture first appeared on NIHONMONO.