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Post title: Suguki: Following a Scent Trail to Kyoto’s Winter Pickles

Handle / slug (suggested): suguki-kyoto-scent-trail

Author: Tomonori Tanaka (Hakko Shisho)

Category / blog: Hakko Notes / Pickles

Tags (suggested): pickles, fermentation, Kyoto, Japan, winter, lactic fermentation, taste of time

Excerpt (short): In Kyoto’s Kamigamo district, winter pickles announce themselves before you see them—through the smell of lactic fermentation. A short walk, a few barrels, and a reminder: time has a scent.

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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.

Suguki: Following a Scent Trail to Kyoto’s Winter Pickles

Some mornings make you curl tighter under the blanket. On one of those sharp, cold Kyoto mornings, I decided to go for a walk in Kamigamo—the home of suguki-zuke, one of Kyoto’s most distinctive lactic-fermented pickles.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 1 (top / hero): Kamigamo street scene in winter (quiet road, morning light).

I’d heard a rumor: “When suguki season arrives, the town smells like lactic bacteria.” That sentence was too good not to test with my own nose. Suguki isn’t something you see often outside Kyoto, and most people have never seen it before it becomes a pickle. So I left my phone behind, kept the research light, and decided to follow the scent instead.

A smell trail through Kamigamo

Near the Kamo Shrine area, I parked and started walking the main street. I’d heard there are dozens of makers in the neighborhood, which makes guessing part of the fun. At first, nothing. Then—almost like a drawn line in the air—the smell began to concentrate. It wasn’t unpleasant. More like: alive.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 2: A narrow lane / small alley (the “turn here” moment).

“Ah—this way.” I turned into a thin lane, and at the dead end the scent got unmistakably stronger. That’s when I found them: pickling barrels set out and drying, quietly announcing the season.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 3: Barrels outside (the first “found it” shot).

A man working in the back noticed me hovering and I said, honestly, “I got pulled in by the smell.” He laughed—something like, “I’m so used to it I don’t even notice.”

What makes suguki different

Suguki (the vegetable) is a Kyoto-grown turnip variety, and suguki-zuke is the pickle made from it. The method is old—hundreds of years old—and the logic is simple: salt, pressure, and a controlled warm finish that pushes lactic fermentation forward.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 4: Fresh suguki (before pickling) OR trimming/peeling close-up.

Watching the process up close, the thing that stood out wasn’t a secret ingredient. It was repetition and judgment. They peel the suguki thickly by hand, then start a first salting in a large barrel. How fast the moisture leaves, and how far to push it—those decisions live in experience, not a timer.

Why weight matters

If you’ve been reading my posts, you know I talk about weight a lot. Suguki makes the reason obvious: pressure shapes texture, and texture shapes the whole story.

This shop uses strong vertical pressing to pull water out, and you can literally see fermentation beginning—white bubbles collecting along the rim. They even showed me tools from earlier days: a long lever press and heavy stones (around 30 kg). With systems like that, a tiny shift in balance changes the result. They told me it wasn’t rare to wake up at night just to check and adjust the press.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 5: Pressing scene (vertical press) OR old lever press / stone weight detail.

The warm room that finishes the pickle

The finish is my favorite detail: a warm fermentation room (muro) kept around 39°C for about a week. At that temperature, lactic fermentation accelerates and the town’s signature sour aroma becomes real and loud. They said something I loved: even if another maker pre-salted the suguki somewhere else, once it goes into their muro, it becomes their flavor.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 6: The “muro” door / interior vibe (warm, steamy, industrial calm).

How I ate it: suguki ochazuke

Before I left, they handed me a piece that was still young—pale, barely fermented. The bite was crisp and fibrous, almost like it was still deciding what it wanted to become. I bought a pack nearby, went home, made hot hojicha, and ate it as ochazuke.

PHOTO SUGGESTION 7: Bowl of ochazuke with suguki (steam + pickle texture shot).

The contrast between a “new” suguki and a well-aged one isn’t about which is better. It’s simply time, made edible. You can pay for something delicious anywhere—but the bowl you earn by walking a smell trail through a neighborhood tastes like a small luxury.

That’s the real point of fermentation for me: not tradition as a label, but tradition as a working system—a way to notice time, and then eat it.

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Want to keep tasting time?

• Get new posts: Subscribe to this blog for one small fermentation note at a time.
• 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.

Photo Notes (for layout / sourcing)

If you reuse photos from the original 543life column, choose a consistent aspect ratio per section (e.g., hero wide, then 1:1 or 4:3 for process shots). If you shoot new photos, prioritize: (1) smell-trail street mood, (2) barrels/press/stone weight, (3) the warm-room concept, (4) the final ochazuke bowl.