Stories about people, stories about life.

Hometown Stories.

Iburigakko - this smoked and pickled type of daikon radish is traditionally produced in northern Japan.

You can eat all you want.

One woman in her eighties has earned a stellar reputation for her iburigakko.

Her name is Takahashi Asako.

My back hurts.

She began selling it when she was around 60 and has won many local awards.

However...

Asako has encountered some unprecedented hurdles.

The law now requires pickle producers to meet strict hygiene standards.

And that's not all...

"It's 2 to 4 degrees hotter than average."

Record-breaking heat is threatening the pickling process.

I felt that I had no choice but to quit.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

The future of Asako's delicious pickles is less than certain.

Today's story is based in Sannai, which produces a lot of iburigakko.

Just 3,000 people live here.

About 100 households make iburigakko, using unique recipes that have been passed down for generations.

Can we go over there?

The process starts in summer.

Asako also raises fruit. Her day starts early.

I tend to the grapes, I prune the apple trees...

I stay busy all day.

I'm doing what I can with the horsepower of an eighty-year-old.

On this day, she will plant seeds which will grow into the daikon radishes used in her pickles.

Well, it's finally time to start.

I hope they grow big and healthy.

Most farmers use machines to plant seeds, but Asako prefers to do it all by hand.

She's so energetic. That's why it's so hard for me.

I feel like she's never going to quit.

As I plant them, I say, "Please grow big."

I care about them.

They're like my kids.

Growing daikon is just like raising children.

Two months later, we visit Asako at 4 am.

The space is brimming with freshly harvested daikon.

She'll start smoking them right away.

I wanted to hang them up to dry today.

The excitement kept me awake.

I got up at 2:30 AM.

I feel shy walking around like this.

- This one's heavy.
- It's a long batch.

Each batch weighs more than 15 kg.

I monitor the heat and the condition of the radishes,

and adjust the fire accordingly.

Tears and a runny nose, all at once.

In snowy regions like this, temperatures are low and days are short.

Locals traditionally preserve daikon by smoking it instead of drying it in the sun.

Asako checks on the fire every three or four hours, even at night.

If you smoke them slowly, gently, and with love,

they'll get plump and fluffy.

Looks good.

She re-arranges the batches so they’re evenly smoked.

I'm rearranging them.

I don't want them to get too dark.

The process involves a series of painstaking tasks.

Why did Asako begin selling iburigakko at age 60?

Asako was born in 1943.

Her parents were farmers.

Her mother died when she was young and she was raised by her grandmother.

That's where she learned to make iburigakko.

We were poor when I was a child.

I learned how to make iburigakko at the age of 10,

by helping my grandmother.

She'd say, "If you have even a moment to spare, use it to work and earn money."

At 19, she married her husband, Juichi.

He was a farmer.

As she raised her three children, she continued to make iburigakko for her family.

Iburigakko is a preserved food that you eat through the winter.

I felt like I had to stock up.

That's why I put so much effort into making it.

They look great.

Asako had her hands full helping with farm work and looking after her family.

Iburigakko provided a turning point in her life.

I pickled some and let my friend try a bite.

That's how it all started.

She told me how delicious it was and wanted more.

That brought me joy.

Two decades ago, she started selling her iburigakko at a local souvenir shop and it became a hit.

What was once a household chore transformed her life.

It makes me so happy.

Of course, things like planting seeds make my hips hurt.

It can be physically taxing,

but it doesn't make me want to quit.

I want to make iburigakko, no matter what.

I really do.

As the years go by, it's getting harder for her to move around.

But when it's time to make iburigakko, she's full of energy.

It's a driving force for her.

Amazing. What a relief.

I think they'll turn out well.

Three days before she began pickling the smoked daikon, Asako's hands were pretty full.

She cleaned the floor of her pickling workshop thoroughly several times over.

Then, she covered the section she uses for storage.

I partition it by covering the items like this.

A tarp keeps out dust and dirt.

This is how it has to be now.

I have to follow the rules.

For a few years, Asako's iburigakko was on the brink of disappearance.

It was all because of a recent revision to food sanitation laws.

By May 2024, pickle producers have to meet strict hygiene standards, and in some cases, upgrade their facilities.

Master pickle makers’ flavors at the risk of disappearance.

In this rapidly aging community, three pickle producers have already shut down

due to the significant costs involved.

At the time, Asako's husband, Juichi, was in poor health, and she was forced to make a momentous decision.

What was the point of spending money on renovations if there was no future?

Since my husband wasn't well, I felt that I had no choice but to quit.

I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Then she received a letter from one of her customers.

"I'm savoring your pickles, little by little."

"I heard about the revised law in the news."

"Please do continue to make them."

I appreciated those words.

I decided to stop deliberating and keep on going.

Thanks to all the support I've received,

I've been able to make iburigakko.

I have my heart set on this path. I want to give it my all.

I had this made.

Asako set up separate spaces for washing her hands and washing ingredients.

The walls were upgraded to make them easier to clean.

Eventually, she received permission to keep producing pickles.

I was so happy when I got this. Such a relief.

I was so relieved, I can't put it into words.

Now it's time to pickle the smoked daikon in her own unique mix of ingredients.

Each household has its own secret recipe.

During pickling season, people tend to respect each other's' privacy.

What makes Asako's recipe different?

I use less salt.

I heard a lot of people in Akita have strokes.

Salt may taste good, but too much isn't good for you.

Malted rice gives it a subtle flavor.

Instead of salt, Asako uses homemade malted rice.

I keep notes on the quantities of each ingredient.

Asako’s iburigakko journal

This one's top secret.

I can't show you. No way.

Asako receives a visitor.

Chikako has been making iburigakko for five years. She's still learning.

Asako is teaching her how to make her secret pickle marinade.

Most people keep the details of their recipes a secret,

but Asako is an open book.

If you're willing to learn, she'll teach you everything.

I want to share whatever I know.

I want this tradition of handmade iburigakko to continue.

Four days after the pickling process began, Asako was faced with an unprecedented situation.

"Daytime highs are expected to be between 16 and 19 degrees Celsius."

"That's 2 to 4 degrees hotter than average."

This autumn has been warmer than ever before.

Around 12 or 13 degrees would've been good.

Ten degrees is best for pickling.

I'm worried since I haven't used much salt.

With less salt in the mix, high temperatures can accelerate the fermentation process.

You can't fight nature.

It's a tense time for me.

She is trying to stay away from her workshop.

I keep the shutters closed during the day

since we don't have AC.

I don't want the space to heat up.

Even my body heat can have an adverse effect,

so I'm not going in there.

It's winter, and temperatures have finally dropped.

She checks the water seeping out of the daikon to get an idea of how things are going.

Fascinating.

There are living microbes in there, so I have to maintain the balance.

Asako had a secret plan to respond to the unusually hot weather.

What's that red thing?

Chili pepper.

I put them in to slow the fermentation.

It's the first time I've used them.

For the first time in her 70 years of making iburigakko, Asako has tried something different.

I haven't put in much, so you barely notice the spiciness.

It was a serious situation, so this was my solution.

Are they ready?

I need to pickle them a little while longer.

And soon...

Perfect.

They taste great. It's the right time.

Just a moment.

Not bad.

I want everyone to try it.

I wonder if you'll find it delicious.

I'm both nervous and happy.

She has produced 3,000 batches of iburigakko.

They are sold in local souvenir shops.

From seed to shop, the road was riddled with challenges.

Now, it's the moment Asako has been waiting for.

Asako speaking.

Thank you for letting me know. I appreciate it.

Asako speaking.

Thank you so much.

Appreciate it.

They said it was really delicious.

I'm so flattered.

It made me happy.

These words are like gifts, treasures to me.

I truly appreciate it.

I'm filled with gratitude.

Annual iburigakko competition

The winner of the 17th Ibur-impics is...

Tokuhira Ieko.

This time, Asako did not receive an award.

But her mentee Chikako won second place.

That made me so happy.

On this day, Asako's products sold out in just three hours.

- You made these this year?
- Yes.

Wow, they're already gone? That's great.

I bet this year was tough.

I can't stop making them.

Because I love it.

I love iburigakko.

They turned out great.

They turned out great.