Vessels to Hold the Spirits (3)
Had I heard him correctly?
He was offering to show us his work right here, right now?
“Right now?”
“Aye. Right now.”
Asking to watch the process of crafting an onggi had been pure greed on my part. It was a rare opportunity to see with my own eyes the very vessels where the liquor I brewed would ferment and mature. Who knew? Accumulating this kind of experience might very well aid my brewing down the road.
“But the size I asked for is massive… Will you really be all right?”
“Listen to this brat! As if an old man who’s baked clay his whole life couldn’t handle it!”
Because I had been certain of Dalvorde’s success, I had anticipated that the next batch would need to be far larger. That was why I had requested extra-large onggi jars of ten and fifteen mal—well over a hundred and fifty to two hundred liters each. Yet he was offering to demonstrate right on the spot. Glancing to the side, I saw Se-jun wearing the exact same dazed expression, staring blankly at Grandfather Gyeongsik.
“What’re you two standing around daydreaming for? Said you wanted to watch, didn’t you!”
Paying our shock no heed, the elder barked at us in his characteristically prickly tone. The moment we reached a corner of the workshop, he set to work selecting the clay.
“So you’re makin’ a tart brew with sweet glutinous rice, eh?”
“Yes. I want to craft a liquor with a smooth yet substantial, weighty acidity.”
“Then it’s red clay. Good thing I’ve already kneaded and aged a batch.”
Without an instant of hesitation, he selected the clay and began pounding it flat to fashion the base disc. His hands moved with the effortless grace of someone who had practiced the craft for decades. Then, out of nowhere, he shot a question at me.
“Do you know why we use red clay?”
“Uh… well…”
“Look at you racking your brain when you aren't even an onggi master! Red clay is just what we use most for onggi in the first place.”
According to Grandfather Gyeongsik, red clay owed its distinct hue to a high iron content. If that were the case, the microscopic traces of iron in the onggi might subtly influence the yeast during fermentation, drawing out a rounder, softer profile.
Next came the task of building the walls upward upon the base.
“These here are taremi.”
“You stack the clay coils one by one?”
“What, you want me to stamp ’em out of a mold like some damned factory?”
Chuckling as if pointing out the obvious, Grandfather Gyeongsik kneaded each thick clay coil and layered it atop the shaped base. He would have to let each tier dry slightly before adding the next, repeating the cycle until the onggi reached its full height. It was a long, painstaking process, but he didn't waste a single moment.
“Since you said you wanted to see the whole works, I oughta show you the rest too.”
This stacking stage alone took two to three days. Having demonstrated a pass of surejil—paddling the clay coils with an anvil on the inside to compress the wall and increase density—followed by an explanation of the initial drying, Grandfather Gyeongsik led Se-jun and me toward the back.
“Over this way.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think? The drying shed, of course.”
Once shaped, an onggi underwent an initial drying stage in a cool, shaded area for fifteen to twenty days. Afterward, it was coated with ash glaze, dried once more, and fired in the kiln over several days before it was finally complete.
“It really takes an incredible amount of time.”
“For the size you asked for, one jar will take a good month, easy.”
“Then by any chance…”
“Are you in a rush?”
“No, it’s not that, but…”
Truthfully, there was no rush. We had just rolled out Meari, Meari: Autumn, and Dalvorde in rapid succession, so there was no urgent need to rush out another release immediately. Strictly speaking, as long as we made the submission deadline for the Korean Liquor Competition, that was plenty. Yet my heart was screaming otherwise.
I want to brew it right now!
Watching the master’s dedication poured into every vessel made inspiration surge within me. How would liquor mature inside those jars? What kind of flavors would blossom? My fingertips itched to steam glutinous rice this very second.
Perhaps my yearning was written all over my face, because Grandfather Gyeongsik suddenly muttered, “A while back, without thinking much on it, I happened to fire a few jars in the size you mentioned.”
“Wait. Really?”
“…Just had a notion that some stubborn liquor folk might come knocking one day.”
Claiming he had made them 'without thinking much on it' was almost certainly a lie. A craftsman who poured his entire soul into shaping clay with such fierce, piercing eyes would never make anything on a whim. He was a true artisan to the marrow.
“Could we take a look at them?”
“This way.”
The elder turned and walked in the opposite direction from before. Soon, several earthenware jars came into view—rugged yet brimming with rustic warmth.
“These on this side are unglazed. The ones over there are coated with ash glaze.”
The unglazed onggi looked rough and unpolished without any glaze. But for that very reason, they were ideally suited for fermentation. Since I intended to use a two-stage deotsul brewing method, they were an absolute necessity. The microscopic breathing pores of the unglazed onggi would delicately regulate moisture evaporation, concentrating the mash into a deeper, richer body.
“And as luck would have it, those ash-glazed ones were coated with oak ash.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Wonderful, my foot. Just take ’em. The rest will take two months.”
“Two months… Will you be all right?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself! Load ’em up already. An old fossil like me can’t lift that sort of weight anymore anyway.”
Pointing with his chin toward the magnificent onggi jars, the old master turned on his heel.
“Wait! Grandfather! What about the payment—!”
“Don’t need it! My head’s spinning from all the chatter, so leave your number, take the pots, and get the hell out!”
Cutting off Se-jun’s frantic shouts about paying the bill, Grandfather Gyeongsik practically threw us out before vanishing leisurely back into his workshop. No doubt his head was so full of onggi that he couldn't resist getting back to his wheel right away.
“What is with him…?”
“I understand how he feels, honestly.”
“Good grief, two peas in a stubborn artisan pod. Regardless, we can’t just walk off with jars like these without paying. Will this be enough?”
“More than enough.”
Normally, a standard hundred-liter onggi bought on the cheap went for around two hundred thousand won. What we had requested was more than double that volume, so I decided on seven hundred thousand won per jar. When acquiring genuine masterwork pottery, money was hardly the issue, especially since we would likely need to commission many more from him in the future.
“I withdrew the cash just like you asked, so go hand it to him.”
“Got it. In the meantime…”
“Hup! I’ll load these onto the truck.”
Se-jun hoisted an onggi as effortlessly as if it were a bag of rice. Each of those had to weigh well over fifty kilos…
Leaving him to it, I followed the path Grandfather Gyeongsik had taken. He was already seated at his workstation, thoroughly absorbed in shaping clay.
“Grandfather.”
“…”
Just as his son had told me in my past life, he was so immersed that outside voices simply didn't register. Seeing that calling him was useless, I set down the envelope of cash I had brought alongside a brief note.
Master Lee,
It was a true honor to meet you today. I have enclosed the payment for the jars. I am leaving my phone number below, so please, do give me a call whenever you are ready.
— Song Yeonwoo
I had urged him to call not merely for the sake of picking up the remaining onggi. In my past life, he had passed away without anyone even knowing the exact circumstances, but perhaps in this life, things could be different.
“We’ll take our leave now, Master!”
With no answer from the absorbed elder, I stepped back outside. In that brief span, Se-jun had already loaded the jars into the truck bed and secured them tightly with straps.
“Did you hand it over properly?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“What’s with that vague answer?”
“Never mind that. Let’s head out. I’m dying to start brewing.”
The moment we pulled into the brewery grounds, Ha-jeong and the twins came tumbling out like children whose parents had just returned home.
“Welcome back!”
“Wel… come…”
“Did the trip go well, CEO Song?”
“Yes. We’re back.”
“Wait, why does nobody ever greet me…?”
“Of course we’re glad to see you too, Se-jun! But more importantly, are those the onggi?”
“They are. Let’s unload them first.”
We had brought back four jars in total. Master Gyeongsik seemed to have prepared them with perfect balance: two ten-mal unglazed onggi, and two fifteen-mal ash-glazed onggi.
“It really worked out like an uncanny stroke of luck.”
“All right, now spill it. What kind of liquor are you planning to make, and how?”
“I’ve been dying to know too! What about you two?”
“Yes! We want to know!”
“Me… too……”
Once the heavy lifting was done, the team huddled around me in a tight circle, eager to hear what lay ahead. Yes, it was finally time to lay it out.
“We’re going with a two-stage iyangju base. As I mentioned before, the core flavor profile will be a smooth yet dense, weighty acidity. But this time, we’re going to try something a little different.”
“Uh… I heard the words, but I still have no idea what that means…”
“Neither do I!”
“Same here……”
“Then seeing it made in person is the best way to understand.”
We adhered strictly to the traditional two-stage brewing method. The first order of business was preparing the mitsul, the primary starter mash. We steamed glutinous rice into firm godubap, holding back slightly on the water volume to enhance the body and density of the finished brew.
“And for this batch, we’re going to use a different kind of nuruk.”
“Different how?”
“Until now, we’ve relied solely on the wild nuruk native to Songhadang. But this time, we’re blending in something else.”
Namely, red yeast rice—hongguk.
Ordinary nuruk relies on common Aspergillus molds, cultivating golden-yellow fungi across the grain. Nearly all traditional Korean nuruk falls into this category. But hongguk was an entirely different beast.
“It uses Monascus purpureus, a red mold fungus.”
True to its name, the mold produced deep crimson fruiting bodies. The resulting hongguk carried an enchanting, mysterious red hue.
“Wait, so we’re making that right now?”
“No, cultivating pure hongguk directly is far too tricky. I purchased a prepared batch in advance.”
“Ah, so that’s what that package was.”
The nuruk passed down by my grandfather was an artisanal wild starter blossomed from the airborne microbes around Songhadang. Hongguk, on the other hand, required pure inoculation of the red yeast mold, leaving me no choice but to source it separately. Even so, because we were blending it with our own starter, the quintessential character of Songhadang would remain intact.
“After mixing everything together thoroughly, we let it ferment for about two days.”
“Inside the new onggi jars?”
“Yes. I think you can look forward to the results.”
I could already see it unfolding before my eyes. Wispy, tender spirits of aroma began taking shape, reaching out their tiny hands as they slipped into the onggi. The moment they entered, they clung comfortably to the microscopic breathing pores of the clay, exhaling gentle, rhythmic breaths of air.
Two days later, just as planned, we moved on to the next phase.
“When tiny bubbles surface like this and release a crisp, tangy fragrance, the mitsul is ready.”
“Aha! Understood!”
“Got… it……”
While walking the twins through the principles of two-stage brewing, we began preparing the deotsul, the secondary mash. We steamed a fresh batch of godubap until the grains were distinct and tender, let it cool completely, and blended it into the actively fermenting starter mash. If the steamed rice was even slightly warm when added, the residual heat could kill off the delicate yeast colonies nurtured over the past two days, requiring utmost caution.
“Now we let it ferment again.”
“How long does this stage take?”
“By my estimate, around fifteen days.”
<It’ll take less time than that, boy! I’m dyin’ to taste what liquor aged in an onggi is like. Heh-heh-heh!>
Just as Moktong predicted, the fermentation wrapped up faster than the initial fifteen-day estimate. Next, we transferred the brew into the ash-glazed onggi for stabilization and maturation, smoothing out the harsh, jagged edges of the young alcohol.
The aging process took roughly a month.
During that time, I wasn't just researching new spirits; our days were packed to the brim. Preparing and submitting every document required for the Korean Liquor Competition was a given. The remaining onggi jars crafted by Grandfather Gyeongsik arrived in steady succession. And as word of Dalvorde’s sublime profile spread, orders flooded in, keeping our stills and vats working overtime.
Before long, the full month of aging had passed.
<Khaaaah! Now that’s some damn fine booze!>
With an endorsement from Moktong—who had undoubtedly snuck more than a few generous sips—I finally broke the seal and lifted the lid of the onggi.
“Whoa…”
A collective gasp of wonder rippled through everyone gathered at Songhadang.