Yoshinori Horii: Carrying on the Tradition of Sarashina Soba and Being Selected as a "Contemporary Master Craftsman"

Thank you very much. The "Master Craftsman" award is typically given to artisans who have supported a craft, like someone in a kimono shop who has spent their whole life dedicated to dyeing. I took over the family business right after graduating from university and entered the workshop to hone our family's soba-making techniques. So, while I am the president now, in a sense, I have a very strong artisan side. Having that recognized feels like a reward for my life's work, and I am very happy.

The founding of "Sarashina Horii" dates back to the first year of the Kansei era (1789). Originally, our ancestor, who traveled between Shinshu and Edo as a cloth peddler, was said to be very skilled at making soba. Then, Danjo Hoshina, the lord of Shinshu, suggested that since the Hoshina family's upper residence was in Azabu, he should come to Edo and open a soba shop. That was the beginning.

We took the "Sara" from Sarashina District in Shinshu and the "Shina" from the Hoshina name, and started in Azabu-juban under the name "Shinshu Sarashina Soba-dokoro."

Because the lord was our sponsor, we had many connections, and it seems he introduced us to high-ranking customers, including the Shogun's family. A lord wouldn't walk through a shop curtain to eat. Therefore, all the soba was delivered to the residences. For delivery soba, if it's dark soba like mori soba, it has a lot of protein and becomes sticky and clumps together. So, we milled the flour and sifted it through a fine sieve to provide white soba.

That's right. Furthermore, in the Meiji era, the fourth generation decided to "make it even whiter" and changed the sifting and milling methods for Sarashina. He then collaborated with a company called Ishimori Seifun, with whom we still have a relationship today, to create "Sarashina flour."

At a time when mori soba was 15 sen, it was sold for 1 yen, so it was a very high-end product. In today's terms, if mori soba is 500 yen, it would be like selling it for 3,000 or 4,000 yen. But thanks to the connections from the Edo period, it seems to have been well-received by the nobility and others. We would deliver 400 or 500 portions for garden parties, and it became quite popular during the Meiji period.

Moreover, because it could be easily loosened even after being boiled and left for a while, it could be transported long distances, so business was booming. However, when a business goes well, a prodigal son often appears, and the person who was my grandfather was a real playboy (laughs). He had two Leica cameras, and according to my grandmother, he would come to the shop with a woman, take the shop's money, and go straight to Atami by taxi. In addition, the bank he had invested in went bankrupt during the depression, and the shop was forced to close once in 1941.

However, because it was a famous shop, after the war, the local people of Azabu-juban said, "Let's definitely rebuild it," and provided funds to revive it as "Nagasaka Sarashina," which is still in the middle of the shopping district today. My grandfather joined that shop, and my father also joined in 1960 after graduating from university. It was the period of high economic growth, and they were mass-producing and selling to department stores.

But even though it was thriving, my father began to think, "Wasn't our family's soba even more delicious?" He wanted to revive it once more as a family business, as Horii's soba, and make the truly delicious soba from the old days. So, in 1984, the year I graduated from university, he opened an independent shop at our current location.

But because "Nagasaka Sarashina" already existed, we didn't sell well at all at first. However, we discovered that the shops that had branched off from us and become independent before the war still retained traditional Edomae techniques, such as traditional hand-kneading and how to make the broth. We went there to learn again and gradually got the shop in order.

What my father and I did was like a return to our roots; as an antithesis to mass production, we tried to revive the old ways of working. We put in the extra effort to bring back the self-milling from the Edo period, simmered the sauce for a long time, used a water bath, and unearthed techniques that were about to disappear to revive Edomae soba. I think that's what was recognized.

Of course, I think there was an element of elegance, but the production method was complex and expensive, so commoners wouldn't buy it. However, because of the connections with the lords, there were customers who would order it.

Yes. I went to train there and at "Nunotsune Sarashina" in Omori Kaigan.

I did consider staying for graduate school. Professor Natsuo Mikumo even asked me, "What are you going to do?" I also had a desire to study more practical subjects like economics or getting an MBA in the US.

While I was wavering, my father told me, "You're the ninth generation, so you have a mission," and I think that made me reconsider, thinking, "Maybe I have a value in existing here too."

At that time, that might have been all I felt. I suppose I had a sense of pride in being born into such a family and being the ninth generation. After all, we were reviving a shop that was once called a famous establishment. Being born into such a house might have become a part of my identity.

I think I read quite a lot of books. My graduation thesis was on Descartes, so I read things like "Meditations" until the book was literally falling apart, and I think I read Husserl quite thoroughly as well.

I have very fond memories of holed up in the library, enjoying reading books. I still read philosophy books today. I finished re-reading all of Bergson by last year.

I like Bergson. I really like Hideo Kobayashi, and I'm quite fond of French philosophy like Alain and Valéry. People who played an instrument as students are on a completely different level even later in life, right? It's the same as that; I think having read philosophy books as a student is like a special skill of mine.

It does change, doesn't it? I think being in an environment where I could read such philosophy books for four years is a great treasure.

I certainly feel the strength of the connections when doing business. There are really many Keio people among those in long-established businesses, and there is definitely a sense of being able to open up to each other from the first time we meet.

I'm also a member of a group of long-established shops called the "Toto Noren-kai," and it's full of Keio people from places like Eitaro Sohonpo and Yamamoto Noriten. So, there's a sense of being able to fit right in.

That's right. Since around the time of President Torii, they have been coming consistently. Mr. Torii used to come to our shop regularly, and the previous President, Mr. Haseyama, has also been coming for a long time. He sits in the narrowest spot in the back, and I think, "Is it okay to confine the President to such a small space?" (laughs). I'm always happy when Keio people come.

First, the ingredients change. The soy sauce from when I started and the soy sauce today have different levels of mellowness and umami. Old soy sauce would turn black immediately if left on the table, wouldn't it? But if I added sugar the same way as before, the sauce would become incredibly sweet. That's because the umami in soy sauce has become stronger.

Also, when I was young, I couldn't imagine having tea in a vending machine. In the past, sweet things were a treat, and people wouldn't spend money on anything other than sweet things like Cheerio or Cola in vending machines. I think the whole world was oriented toward sweet things, an era where people wanted to consume calories.

But now, people don't have that same preference for sweet things. The world's sense of taste is changing. I probably inherited my own sense of taste from my father. There is a core to it, but there are parts where doing things exactly like my father did won't work. So, against my internal standard of "delicious," the ingredients have changed and my body has changed, so I think it's about adjusting to that.

Therefore, my son, who is growing up with my sauce, will probably change the taste of the sauce in ten years. Even if the central part is inherited from our ancestors, I think there are parts that we change more and more to suit the times.

Since we have continued for nine generations, I think there is a core part. However, while using that as a standard, I think we change the taste more and more to suit the times, like saying, "Let's make it a little sweeter based on this."

The first trigger for the overseas spread of Washoku was in 2010, when a Japanese food festival called "Foods of Japan" was held at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America) in the US. Over 30 chefs specializing in Japanese cuisine, French, sushi, soba, tempura, and more went from Japan.

People like Kiyomi Mikuni, Yukio Hattori, and Hiroo Rikiishi were there, and a Washoku team was formed. From there, we all lobbied the government, which led to the movement to register Washoku as a cultural heritage. Then, in 2015, Washoku was registered as a World Intangible Cultural Heritage.

That team was also at the center of it. Since it was a food expo, it felt like we were trying to convey it to the people of the world.

It feels like it's still a bit behind compared to sushi and ramen. One of the charms of soba is slurping it, but people overseas often find it difficult to slurp, and they are not yet as familiar with buckwheat as a grain compared to wheat.

However, buckwheat itself is gluten-free and highly nutritious. My son (Yoshimitsu Horii, 2016 SFC) was in Professor Yoko Hasebe's seminar while at Keio and was planting buckwheat in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Apparently, it bore fruit and they were able to harvest it. The high infant mortality rate in Central Africa is due to a lack of protein and vitamin B1, and buckwheat can supplement that. Moreover, it grows in three months and can grow even in poor soil, which is the strength of buckwheat.

Buckwheat is highly nutritious and grows even in barren land, so while soba as a noodle is attractive, I think there is potential in the crop itself.

That's right. I was originally interested in veganism, and a company called Fuji Oil developed a technology called MIRACORE that creates a bonito-flavored extract by combining only plant-based ingredients. This works well even with something as concentrated as soba sauce.

Edo-style sauce involves simmering bonito flakes, but vegetable broths were thin, and until now, we couldn't make a concentrated sauce like soba sauce. However, by learning about MIRACORE, I encountered something and thought, "This is what I was looking for." After all, if you have an awareness of a problem within yourself, an encounter that provides a hint makes you think, "I can incorporate this." I think this is something I noticed precisely because I delved deep into Edomae techniques.

Mikio Sakai (1983, Faculty of Commerce), the president of the Fuji Oil Group, is also a Keio senior one year ahead of me, and we provided soba with that sauce at the Rengo Mita-kai Convention.

Quite a lot. At our main shop, inbound tourists currently account for 5% of sales. Even before COVID-19, we were introduced in videos overseas and people came often. I think the fact that it's an area with many embassies also plays a role.

Not just soba, but in the food and beverage industry itself, there are parts where young people are still hesitant to enter. I hope that by being in the spotlight as a "Master Craftsman," it becomes an industry where people think, "Being a soba shop owner is interesting."

I hope they see it as "business-wise interesting" not just for the techniques, but also for expanding overseas and the vegan or gluten-free aspects.

I want to pass on the things I've learned that I think "might become seeds for the future" to the next generation, saying, "This looks interesting, why don't you give it a try?"