Awamori: A stiff taste of the tropics in Tokyo

In the West, 'tropical drinks' are normally fruity concoctions festooned with plastic monkeys and paper umbrellas. Nothing wrong with that, of course, but Japan, as usual, has its own unique take as to what constitutes a tropical drink. And there's nary a sword-skewered Maraschino cherry in sight. In sunny Okinawa -- sometimes called Japan's Caribbean -- the drink of choice is awamori, straight up or on the rocks. 

Similar to shochu, awamori is a transparent distilled spirit with a kick -- around 30 to 40 percent alcohol by volume, though the majority tend to hover around the lower end of that spectrum. (A few tough customers like Donan soar upwards of 50 to 60 percent.) Unlike shochu, awamori is made exclusively from just three ingredients -- water, Thai rice, and black koji yeast-cultures -- giving it a distinctive flavor that sets it apart from its potato, barley and soba-flavored mainland cousins.

"It's all about the Thai rice and black koji," says veteran Tokyo barman Tsutomu Yasumoto about his beverage of choice. "I like to compare awamori to bourbon, in that it has a hint of sweetness. And no two are alike. Each is ever so slightly different -- that's what makes drinking awamori so much fun."

Habushu: That which does not kill you makes you stronger.

Advanced varieties: Kusu and habushu

In addition to the standard variety, cask-aged versions called kusu (written with the characters "old liquor", 古酒) are broken out for special occasions. With a higher alcohol content and a mellower, richer taste, kusu plays the single-malt scotch to awamori's whiskey. Most are aged from three to 10 years, with even older versions existing as well. (Some 200 and even 300 year vintages were once commonly available locally, but the clay jugs in which they were traditionally stored turned out not to be World War II-proof.)

And for the truly adventurous, there is habushu, jugs of awamori with a pickled pit viper inside. (It tastes pretty much how it looks, which is to say a specimen bottle from your high school biology class.)

The price is right

For many, price is the thing that makes awamori so attractive. It's cheap. Really cheap. Almost unbelievably so if you happen to be down 'in the islands,' but it is still reasonable even in the big city. Large bottles can be found for well under ¥2,000 at liquor stores throughout Tokyo and even occasionally at convenience stores. Even high-end kusu rarely tops ¥4,000 or so.

The problem is the sheer variety: With hundreds of competing brands, choosing your first awamori can be confusing. Your best bet is asking a more knowledgeable friend (my personal faves include Yaesen from Ishigaki-jima and Donan from far-flung Yonaguni). Barring that, try 'em by the glass -- preferably at some seaside shack along the Okinawan coast.

Drinking awamori in Tokyo

Fortunately, there are plenty of places where you can toss back some awamori even if you're stranded in a higher latitude. As an essential ingredient in Okinawan cuisine, you can find it at any Okinawan restaurant worth its salt. (In fact, if a joint doesn't feature a healthy dozen or so varieties on its menu, it's a good sign you're probably better off dining elsewhere.)

As with so many Tokyo watering holes, the very best Okinawan places are often hole-in-the-wall affairs to which you're better off being introduced by regular customers. A good spot for beginners, however, is any one of the Nirai Kanai restaurants, a local chain with outlets in Kichijoji, Hachioji and Tachikawa. Also highly recommended is tiny Goppachi, which opened earlier this year in Takadanobaba. Be forewarned: with just sixteen seats in the house, it fills up quickly.
   
Painu Nirai Kanai (Kichijoji): Minami-Cho 1-17-1, Musashino-shi, tel. 0422 46 2900, www.copa-a.co.jp/

Goppachi: Takadanobaba 3-12-5, Shinjuku-ku, tel. 03 5937 5948, www.wally-t.com/Goppachi/goppachi-op.html