Chris Isbell probably never thought rice farming would put his name on the international map.
Uninspired by college courses in the 1980s, the fourth-generation farmer returned to the family business in Arkansas, his calling to the combine harvester stronger than to the confines of a traditional college classroom. “I’m not super educated, but I’m not stupid,” says Isbell with a chuckle. “I’ve always been real curious. I never quit trying to learn.” While Isbell never picked a major, he was always interested in the sciences, and his insatiable curiosity would eventually be the catalyst for doing something Japanese agronomists thought couldn’t be done: growing sushi and saké rice varieties in the southern United States.
Arkansas is a hotbed for U.S. rice production; the agricultural powerhouse—where the majority of farms are still family owned—produces more than 40% of domestic supply with little fanfare, outgrowing California stock by producing around 9 billion pounds of rice a year. Long-grain commodity rice is the bread and butter of the state’s crop, but you’ll find a few surprises there too, like Yamada Nishiki, a variety of short-grain rice highly regarded by Japanese saké brewers.
While the art of saké has been around for centuries, this prized rice—a cross between Yamadaho and Tankan Wataribune—is a comparatively modern hybrid (rice was first cultivated in Japan over 2,500 years ago) created in 1923. Originally from the Hyogo prefecture, a region in Japan renowned for saké production and agriculture, the variety is known as the “king of saké rice.” It’s also the crop that made the Isbell family a pivotal player in American saké.
Their family farm in England, Arkansas, about 30 miles southeast of Little Rock, might be the last place you’d expect to find sakamai (rice varieties especially suited for saké), but it's the first place many American saké brewers now turn for supply. And in turn, this specialty rice is helping fuel a domestic saké movement that’s proving to be anything but traditional.
The Isbell family joined the rice growing ranks in 1946, having previously farmed cotton in Lonoke County for decades. Leroy Isbell, Chris’ father, was the first to plant rice there after serving in the Navy during World War II. Rice was a relatively new crop at the time, first cultivated in Arkansas as recently as 1904. Leroy, like his son, wasn’t content with the status quo—curiosity runs in the family—so instead of sticking to traditional farming practices, he made his own invaluable contribution to the industry by introducing zero-grade rice fields, thereby reducing water usage and carbon emissions.
Chris Isbell
After Chris Isbell returned home from school in the ’80s, it didn’t take long before he channeled his father’s pioneering spirit into the family business by introducing Japanese varieties to the mix. He doesn’t use the word “challenge” when he tells the story, but it’s hard to look at his first foray into growing sushi rice any other way. In 1988, he attended a rice conference in Davis, California, where Isbell spotted a Japanese man standing alone. Worried he was feeling ignored, and armed with a healthy dose of southern hospitality, Isbell went over to chat with the man, a rice economist named Shoichi Ito. “He was telling me about the rice in Japan and how it’s very special, and I just told him that we put gravy on it here in Arkansas,” Isbell recalls.
The most prized variety, his new friend relayed, was sticky, short-grain koshihikari, but it would only grow in Japan. Curious to learn more, Chris pulled out the globe—“this was pre-internet for us,” he jokes—and traced with his finger to discover how his family’s land in Eastern Arkansas shares the same latitude as Hyogo prefecture. Both regions have similar day-length cycles and heavy clay soils that tend to retain water, a boon for such a thirsty crop. Isbell planted koshihikari seeds to see how they would fare in his part of the world, and after several years of small, experimental plantings, he struck a deal with California-based Nishimoto Trading Co. for the rice to be sold in the U.S.
At the time, Japan still had a ban on foreign rice imports, so trade wasn’t an option yet. Nevertheless, word got back to Japan about Isbell’s success. “I didn’t realize it was a big deal,” he recalls. “Newspapers, magazines, and news crews from television stations all over Japan showed up; limousines and helicopters. Eventually even tour buses.”
In 1994, with the approval of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, the doors for export opened and the Isbells started selling rice overseas, though some farmers in Japan still weren’t thrilled with the idea of foreigners attempting to tread on their storied territory. Many held a healthy skepticism that Americans could grow Japanese varieties as well as Japanese farmers could. But the rice would prove popular with Japanese consumers, though the Isbells would only have three strong years exporting koshihikari to Japan. Then California farmers shouldered in for a piece of the pie, offering fierce competition and the advantage of physical proximity. “It kind of turned a corner over time and became less compelling economically,” Chris’ son Mark explains, “but it opened our eyes to the Japanese market.”
Isbell continued tinkering. He planted single rows of about 40 varieties in a four-acre experimental plot, including the favored saké rice Yamada Nishiki. Like most heirloom varieties of any crop, Yamada Nishiki is neither easy to grow nor particularly high-yielding compared to modern hybrids. It’s tall and gangly, prone to falling over in a strong wind. The reedy stems can easily muck up a combine during harvest and cause a several-thousand-dollar repair bill, so crops must be handled with care. “I knew it was a saké variety, but I didn’t think there was any hope of selling it—it was just curiosity,” Chris Isbell explains, adding how, ironically, he wasn’t even a saké fan.
While it can be tricky to grow, Yamada Nishiki is the hero variety for brewers in Japan and beyond—in part because its physical properties make it easy to work with and create high-quality saké in the long run—so the Isbells persevered with the variety, gradually expanding from experimental, hand-picked lots to a larger scale to meet new demand from saké producers across the country.
Over a decade after the first plantings, Chris Isbell received a call from Takara Saké in Berkeley asking if he had Yamada Nishiki. After a handshake agreement and a few years of testing the variety together, a visitor from Takara arrived at Isbell Farms bearing a gift: a bottle of Sho Chiku Bai Junmai Daiginjo, a yearly release and collaboration that still exists today. At the time, Isbell was surprised at the expressive flavors the saké evoked: “I was really fascinated that it was so fruity tasting, so crisp and clean, as opposed to the heavy, hot saké I’d had in Japan.”
Origami Saké in Hot Springs, Arkansas, which opened in 2023, uses the rice for a portion of its offerings, too. The solar-powered operation was formed around the historical concept of using what grows nearby, in order “to highlight and give back to local agriculture by crafting delicious saké from local resources,” says director of brewing relations Justin Potts, who acknowledges that the Yamada Nishiki nurtured in Arkansas won’t bear the exact same qualities as rice grown in Japan. The growing conditions are similar, but the terroir is far from a carbon copy. “They’re a bit different and behave differently,” Potts says of the Yamada Nishiki from Isbell Farms. “A big part of that is because the environment in which the rice is grown and the practices in planting, growing, harvesting, drying, storing, and milling are all slightly different than what happens in Japan.” However, these unique qualities expressed by terroir are exactly why it appeals to the ethos of Origami Saké.
While it may be the celebrity variety on the farm, Yamada Nishiki only accounts for a small percentage of the specialty rice grown at Isbell Farms—they’re still first and foremost growers of Southern commodity rice. The more traditional Japanese varieties, with their lower yields and fussy disposition, can be cost prohibitive to small operations, prompting Isbell to expand into other varieties that are more cost efficient to grow.
For example, William Stuart of Colorado Saké Co. favors varieties like Titan and Jupiter (the latter of which Isbell brands as “SoMai”), which are newer, southern-bred table rices more akin to California’s Calrose, another popular option for American saké producers. “[The Isbells] were testing out more affordable rice for the saké industry,” Stuart explains, when Mark Isbell sent over a free test pallet of rice—roughly 2,000 pounds of grain—to Colorado, saying, “if it works, then let's make a partnership.” The test run was a success and, Stuart adds, “the quality of the rice is always at a high standard.”
Titan and SoMai offer another perk for small-scale sake breweries: They are comparatively softer than Calrose, thus easier to break down during fermentation as well as offering a higher starch content, increasing efficiency and yield for the brewer when using the same amounts of water and rice. Head brewer Patrick Shearer of Ben’s American Saké in Asheville, North Carolina, says the results from an initial test batch brewed with SoMai “were eye opening—so much so that I accidentally overfilled a tank while pressing.”
But it’s not only about the numbers. Small producers supporting family farms is a symbiotic relationship in many ways. In the grand scheme of things, Colorado Saké Co. and others are small potatoes: They buy rice by the pallet, not the truckload. For the producers, working with Isbell is beneficial because the farm is just a text away, whereas larger suppliers can take days or even weeks to address questions or issues that arise. The Isbells are also considerate of price increases and more concerned with the long-term relationships they’re building along the way, not just an immediate return on investment.
To continue to connect the dots between grain and glass, Isbell has invested in other parts of the saké production chain as well, including the polishing stage, an essential rice-preparation step where the tough outer husks are removed to influence the flavor of the finished brew. Some rice is polished to 60-70% of its original size, while others, like the Yamada Nishiki used by Takara, are taken as low as 45%, for a lighter, cleaner flavor. Larger producers like Takara have their own polishing facilities, but small brewers need the rice to arrive ready to use.
Until recently, the Isbells sent rice to Minneapolis, Minnesota, to get polished by longtime customer Blake Richardson, who first came out to visit the farm after reading an Arkansas Times article titled “Arkan-saké,” featuring the Isbells. Richardson had been making saké since 2008 at his restaurant and brewery, Moto-I, where, at the time, he was also the only rice polisher operating outside of the West coast. He and Isbell soon developed a mutually beneficial drop-shipping arrangement, but sending pallets of rice from Arkansas to Minnesota was an added cost the Isbells increasingly didn’t want to bear.
When Origami Saké opened last year, the rice boomerang began to seem even less ideal, both in terms of carbon footprint and cost, especially for cultivating such a locavore product. The Isbells knew they needed their own polishing facility, but they didn’t want to risk harming their long-standing relationship with Richardson. As it happened, the lease for the storage facility where Richardson housed the machinery was ending, and it would need to find a new home. The most beneficial solution for both parties was for the Isbells to purchase and relocate the equipment to the farm.
Through the relationships they’ve cultivated, the Isbell family has played a prominent part in fueling today’s American-made saké movement, creating a strong foundation for new-wave brewers to build upon for generations to follow. Their investment is more than a commitment to specialty rice; it’s a signal that they’re in this for the long haul, right alongside American saké brewers, no matter the size.
But the family’s modern legacy intertwines with ones that took root long before seeds were planted on Isbell Farms. In fact, this current generation of saké makers, many of the last decade, arguably mark a third wave, an offshoot of the “craft” movement (think spirits and beer) rooted in the farm-to-table mentality. The first and second waves are so closely fused together by Japanese immigrants and their culture, and almost impossibly complicated by war, that it’s difficult to truly separate them.
In 1868, the first Japanese immigrants to arrive in Hawaii were dubbed the Gannenmono, a group of 150 (mostly men) including those with specialized jobs: cooks, potters, tailors, and saké brewers. By 1890, small amounts of saké were imported to Hawaii and California, both officially and off the books—and likely in the suitcases of those bringing the familiar comforts and staples of home. Those imports included traditional recipes for home-brewed saké to be shared amongst friends and family in their new country.
The turn of the century brought hope for a burgeoning category of commercial saké breweries to emerge from these social practices, but the sparks never caught full flame. During Prohibition, legal distilleries were shuttered, and those that flouted the law were raided. Then came the bombing of Pearl Harbor, when thousands of Japanese-Americans and immigrants were rounded up and imprisoned in WWII internment camps. “The forced removal of Japanese-Americans from the West coast simultaneously interned the owners and employees of companies that produced saké, and the entire market for the product,” writes Christian Driver in his master’s thesis titled Brewing Behind Barbed Wire.
Despite these devastating circumstances, saké production for personal use would continue quietly in captivity. At Colorado’s Amache internment camp, saké was mostly consumed by men, and during special occasions such as birthdays, Driver writes. The activities were illegal, but officials did little to curb them. “Instead of being viewed as social problems on the level of other issues such a juvenile delinquency, alcohol acquisition, production, and consumption appears to have been tolerated by those in positions of authority as long as it was not related to antisocial activities such as disturbances or sale at extremely high prices.” And this didn’t only happen at Amache—accounts by family members at other camps indicate prisoners would use rice left over from meals to secretly brew saké, burying bowls of rice under the soil to ferment.
Some carried these traditions with them into the post-war landscape, though the number of professional saké breweries in the U.S. was fairly small until the 1970s and ’80s, in part stymied by racism and anti-Asian sentiment—also a factor before the war, but much worse in its aftermath. The outlook for the category wouldn’t improve for some time. A 1950s tax adjustment that changed the classification of saké from beer to wine increased the tax rate from 29 cents to 67 cents a gallon. The market for saké drinkers in the U.S. was also shrinking. Vodka was booming. Younger Japanese-American drinkers, who would have been the ideal consumer base for U.S.-made saké, favored modern cocktails over the old-fashioned brew, which at this time still wore the cultural stamp of Japanese tradition.
Eventually, increased interest in Japanese cuisine and pop culture—the TV series Shogun was one of the highest rated in the 1980s—threw saké a lifeline. During this uptick, Portland’s SakéOne began as a premium saké importer in 1992; five years later it started producing its own, making it one of the first self-defined “craft” saké producers in the U.S. (It was also an early customer of Isbell Farms.) The brewery’s success felt like a signal for the next big craft movement, though it was perhaps too early for any serious momentum. Even as Chris Isbell sought to expand his saké rice production around the same time, he was surprised to find so few American saké producers operating. “I didn’t know that there were but one or two!”
In the past two decades, American-made saké has undergone a further cultural shift. Now, with more than twenty producers scattered across the country (up from a mere five about a decade ago) it is a category born from the seeds—both metaphorical and literal—planted by immigrants eager to hold on to part of their heritage and by intrepid farmers like the Isbells who continue to act as stewards of the rice.
Harrison Jones, social media manager at Isbell Farms
Most production techniques used by American brewers remain on the historically traditional side, but the final product and how it's presented feels free of any limitations. Saké drinkers used to traditional bottles, flavor profiles, glassware, and even the language used to define the categories, will find themselves in unfamiliar territory at most junctures. “American Standard” saké is Colorado Saké Co’s flagship offering, for example. It’s a Junmai Gingo, but you won’t find that traditional verbiage on the label. The brewery also has flavored offerings that span the culinary map: blueberry-hibiscus, horchata, and classic apple pie.
Other brewers—many of whom source rice from the Isbells—adapt regional taste profiles, like Arizona Saké’s addition of Southwestern flavors of prickly pear. In Asheville, Ben’s American Saké has some traditional offerings including Junmai Gingo and Nigori (unfiltered saké), but leans heavily into modern formats like hard seltzers—some of its brews are blended with fruits and spices and served carbonated. “We often get customers coming into our bar not interested in trying our saké because they had a bad experience with cheap saké in the past,” says head brewer Patrick Shearer. These familiar touchpoints help make the saké more accessible.
This cultural melting pot of experimentation happening in the category today is thoroughly American. But it also represents a microcosm of the global saké landscape, and one that has the potential to weave legacies together in a lasting way, as American drinkers giving saké a second chance may find themselves looking back at history to learn about its origins. “The growth of the U.S. craft saké movement provides an easy gateway product to the category,” says saké expert and book author Nancy Matsumoto. “Japanese makers are hoping that from there, new fans will want to go to the sources, and start learning about Japanese saké, its history, and the many excellent brands that are available abroad.”
For now, American saké is building itself up, but it’s only as strong as the sum of its parts, a bit like a good southern gravy on rice. Farmers and brewers working together to form a strong foundation for the budding category will be the key to its success, which will hopefully last for many more generations to come.
When asked what kind of legacy he wanted to leave behind, his family already well on their way to making their own mark, Chris Isbell’s answer wasn’t about fancy rice: “I want my children and grandchildren to just be happy ... to not be stressed about the business, and just enjoy it.”
Words by Nat HarryPhotos by Sara Reeves
