Hakko Blog Post (Shopify) — Sansho (Mizansho)

Format: Shopify blog post (EN) + photo insert suggestions
Tone: B (standard) with ~5% friendliness

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A quick hello

Pickles guy here—Tomonori Tanaka.

Some people call me Hakko Shisho (hakko = fermentation, shisho = master).

I live in Kyoto, and I make pickles almost every day.

This blog is a record of those small daily scenes—so you can taste “time” in ordinary food.

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Mizansho (Fresh Sansho Berries): The Green Spice That Wakes Up Rainy Season

[INSERT PHOTO 1: A bowl/branch of fresh green sansho berries (mizansho). Close enough to feel the color and texture.]

Early June in Kansai usually brings a clean breeze and bright light. But some years, the humidity arrives first—and the air gets heavy before summer even starts. That’s when mizansho shows up in markets: small green berries with a perfume so sharp it can cut through the weather.

Sansho has a strange independence. It doesn’t “blend in” with seafood, meat, or vegetables—it stays itself, and somehow you never get tired of it. Pick up one berry and it gives off a cool, green aroma—like citrus peel, like a forest, like the idea of freshness.

[INSERT PHOTO 2: Hands picking berries off the stems. Show the “one-by-one” work.]

The one-hour job: puchi-puchi

The downside: prep takes time. Rinse the clusters, dry them well, then remove the berries from the stems—one by one—because the stems ruin the texture. If you chose the most generous cluster (I always do), you’ve basically booked yourself an hour.

It’s repetitive in the best way: puchi-puchi, puchi-puchi. Your fingers get stained a little by the astringency, and your brain slowly quiets down. This is fermentation logic in a different costume—time, attention, and a small physical cost that pays you back later.

[INSERT PHOTO 3: Macro close-up of berry surface (the tiny pores).]

A tiny observation that changes the story

Look closely and you’ll notice the berry surface has small dimples—almost like pores. It reminds me of a green lime. And the aroma can feel like dried citrus peel. At that point you start asking the good question: “Wait…is sansho basically citrus?” Turns out, it’s in the citrus family. The scent makes sense the moment you learn that.

[INSERT PHOTO 4: A pot of hot water / blanching step, or berries in a strainer right after boiling.]

Sansho water: when pickling turns into a drink

Once I realized the aroma is citrus-adjacent, my brain did what it always does: it left the original plan. I was thinking about making something spicy like mapo tofu, but instead I blanched the berries to remove harshness, then roughly chopped them and soaked them in cold water.

After about an hour, the water carries the scent—call it sansho water. Mix it with sparkling water (around 7:3 soda to sansho water), squeeze in a little sudachi if you have it, and suddenly rainy season feels less sticky. It’s like the resort-hotel “lime water” idea—but with Japanese pepper.

[INSERT PHOTO 5: A glass of sansho soda with citrus (sudachi), condensation visible.]
[INSERT PHOTO 6: The drink by a window with rain outside—quiet mood shot.]

How I keep it around (so it actually gets used)

Sansho is most useful when it’s ready on a normal day. If you prep a batch, you can keep it practical: freeze blanched berries in small portions, or preserve them in salt so you can grab a pinch anytime. Add a little to broth, sprinkle on grilled fish, fold into noodles, or even let it perfume a simple salad. No big ceremony—just a small lever that changes the whole plate.

Taste, attention, and staying awake

I like ingredients like sansho because they reward attention. When you stop and investigate—even briefly—ordinary food becomes a story again. That’s the real reason I keep making pickles and preserved things: not because they’re “traditional,” but because they keep my senses sharp enough to notice time moving.

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Want to keep tasting time?

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• Use the tool I use: See Picklestone (the press-pickling jar behind many of these scenes).

• Work with me: For menus, workshops, or editorial features—contact Hakko Shisho.