One botanical. Juniper, sourced from northern Macedonia, and that is the entire aromatic list - which means everything else you taste has to come from the spirit underneath. Tatsumi-san distils it himself, alone, in Gifu prefecture, in batches of fewer than five hundred bottles, on a kabutogama, the squat traditional Japanese pot still. At 45% ABV the result is a gin that inverts the usual logic: the base is the subject and the botanical is the frame.

There are two bases, not one, and both are shochu. The first is distilled from sake lees, the solids left after sake is pressed, which carry a fermented, faintly yeasty richness that no neutral grain spirit has. The second comes from chicory, and brings the dry roasted bitterness that makes chicory a coffee substitute in the first place. Blended, they give something earthy and savoury before any juniper is counted.

The nose is coniferous and woody, with a hint of citrus and a perfumed edge that is hard to attribute to a single source. The palate is clear juniper, unusually undiluted by competing botanicals, with a pleasant spice running behind it. Then the bases assert themselves: the sake lees push a soft grainy sweetness, the chicory a dry roasted bitterness underneath, and the aftertaste is long, complex and distinctly savoury. It is a gin that rewards attention rather than announcing itself.

A tonic with real bitterness suits it, since sweetness would smother the chicory outright. Chill a highball, pour 5 cl, add large ice cubes for slow dilution, then 15 cl East Imperial Burma Tonic, whose pronounced bitterness and light citrus meet the roasted notes head on. Express a thin strip of fresh yuzu zest over the surface and drop it in - the oils give the aromatic lift the recipe deliberately withholds. Worth trying neat first, in a small pour, to hear what the two shochu are actually doing.