The Artisan Behind the Edo-bitsu: A Cooper Who Brings Out the Ultimate Flavor of Rice.

Kawamata's workshop is in Fukagawa, a 'shitamachi' (downtown) area of Koto Ward where the spirit of 'monozukuri' (craftsmanship) is still alive. The business was founded in 1887. After the Meiji Restoration, the first-generation master, Shin'emon Kawamata, started his cooperage here, a place perfect for sourcing high-quality wood thanks to its proximity to Kiba, a well-known lumber town.

In those days, wooden buckets ('kioke') were used for everything, from bathtubs and sushi tubs ('sushi-oke') to rice containers ('hitsu'). Okeei specialized in the 'Edo-bitsu,' a rice container with a round lid slightly larger than the body. Of all the different kinds of wooden buckets, it is the one that demands the most skill.

"A regular bucket is made by fitting a round bottom plate into a groove in the side staves and securing it with hoops ('taga'), so it won't leak water even if it's slightly distorted. However, the 'Edo-bitsu' has a structure where a lid fits over the top. Any distortion means the lid won't fit, so it requires the skill to create a perfect circle so that the lid and body join without any gaps."

Okeei's 'Edo-bitsu' are beloved everywhere, from high-end 'ryotei' restaurants to everyday homes. Made from 'sawara' cypress, a member of the cypress family, the 'Edo-bitsu' is said to make rice more delicious just by storing it inside.

"When you transfer freshly cooked rice to an 'Edo-bitsu,' it adjusts the moisture level and lets the temperature settle, resulting in a delicious finish. The rice stays tasty even after time passes. It also has natural properties that preserve freshness, such as being antibacterial and mold-resistant."

Rice is indispensable to the Japanese people—it was once even circulated as currency. As a celebrated artisan of the 'Edo-bitsu,' a vessel that draws out the 'umami' of this precious grain, Kawamata has dedicated himself to passing down his craft.

"We have continued using the same materials and techniques since the Edo period, so we call our craft 'Edo yuo-ke' (Edo cooperage), a term that has become archaic now. Furthermore, the kanji character '結' (yui/musubi) also holds the meaning of 'musuhi'—the divine power of creation and formation—as mentioned in the '古事記.' This word is filled with my pride as a 'yuo-keshi' (cooper)."

From Fashion to Craft: A Deep-Rooted Passion for 'Monozukuri'

Kawamata grew up watching his grandfather and father at work as coopers in their workshop, where he would play with scraps of wood as a child.

"Back then, my father and two or three other artisans were making 'Edo-bitsu.' There were many sharp tools, and bucket-making involves cutting wood from raw logs, so there were also stacks of logs piled up. My grandfather used to warn me that it was dangerous."

But with the rise of plastic products, the cooperage industry entered a steady decline. Not expecting to walk the path of an artisan, Kawamata studied business administration at university and took a sales job at a fashion brand.

"At the time, ready-to-wear clothing was factory-produced, but there were still opportunities to encounter manual work, such as with haute couture, where seamstresses did embroidery or textiles were created from a designer's drawing. After working for about two years, I began to think that if I were to continue in the clothing business, I felt I couldn't touch its essence unless I was the one making things."

Invited by a designer he knew, the path of becoming a fashion designer was also an option. After much soul-searching, Kawamata realized that his family's business was, at its core, a profession of 'monozukuri' (craftsmanship).

"Fashion was interesting, but I also felt the difficulty of being caught in the seasonal cycle of spring/summer and autumn/winter collections. I was drawn to the idea of genuinely creating something timeless, even as the world changes. That's what attracted me, and at the age of 26, I decided to take over the family business."

Updating Inherited Techniques for the Modern Era

Making an Edo-bitsu, a traditional wooden rice container, involves a staggering 80 steps. As an apprentice, Kawamata worked alongside his predecessor, gradually mastering more of the craft.

“The traditional art of oke (bucket) making is entirely manual. You can't last a full day on brute force alone. In the beginning, it was physically grueling because I hadn't yet figured out how to use my body efficiently, in sync with my breath and rhythm.”

It took seven or eight years for the rhythm of repetitive tasks—like cutting logs and planing wood hundreds of times over—to become second nature. He also found it was essential to adapt his predecessor's teachings to his own way of working.

“My father and master taught me, ‘Extend the plane blade this much for a finishing shave.’ But when I followed his instructions exactly, it didn’t work. I eventually realized that my body is fundamentally different from his—my musculature, finger length, height, and even the way I bend at the waist. By tailoring my use of the tools to my own body, I got closer to achieving the ideal finish.”

This spirit of adaptation went beyond just his technique. He also introduced modern updates, like switching the material for the taga (hoops) from traditional copper to nickel silver.

“Copper can develop a green patina, which requires cleaning with a cleanser. I discovered nickel silver—a metal used for cutlery and wind instruments—as an alternative that suits modern lifestyles. By using nickel silver for the hoops, which boast a luster similar to pure silver and the practical benefit of being rust-resistant, I’ve been able to elevate the quality of the wooden buckets.”

Leaving a Legacy of Quality: The Resolve of the Last Craftsman

The beauty of Okeei's yuioke (assembled wooden buckets) has captivated people around the globe. He has been invited to exhibit his work not only in Japan at venues like the 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art in Kanazawa, 21_21 DESIGN SIGHT, and Tokyo Midtown Design Hub, but also in international cities such as New York, Paris, Milan, and Copenhagen.

“Something that left a big impression on me in Europe was when someone asked if I create as an artist or for a job. People were surprised when I replied, ‘I make my living as a craftsman.’ It reinforced my sense that handmade crafts are disappearing, not just in Japan, but worldwide.”

Many yuioke craftsmen have closed up shop, and the artisans' guild is no more. As Tokyo's last yuioke craftsman, what are his thoughts on passing the torch to the next generation?

“It’s hard for one person to handle everything, so to be honest, I can’t really think about preserving the craft itself. For now, my focus is simply on creating as many high-quality pieces as possible to leave a physical legacy.”

“Even if the tradition is lost, if someone in a future generation sees my work and thinks, ‘Wow, they made something this incredible,’ it might inspire them to create beautiful things as well. If only mediocre work survives, they’ll just assume, ‘Oh, that was the standard back then,’ and the story ends there.”

He has had potential apprentices in the past, but after he candidly explained the industry's challenges and financial realities, none came to fruition. In an era that prioritizes efficiency and cost-performance, continuing to create with soul is an uphill battle.

“An artist might pour their entire being into perfecting a single masterpiece. A craftsman or woodworker’s job isn’t quite so focused on one piece; it’s about consistently producing 100 or 200 items of exceptional quality over 10 or 20 years. And you can’t just say, ‘Oh, they’re handmade, so each one is unique.’ There's a particular discipline to it.”

The Edo-bitsu and originally designed vessels he creates are so beautiful you can't help but sigh when you hold one. The warm touch of the wood, the practicality that blends seamlessly into daily life, and the simple, modern aesthetic stripped of all excess have long brought joy to the dining table.

“I feel that in modern Japan, we've started to neglect our own feelings and senses—the simple pleasures of savoring a delicious meal or wearing clothes that lift your spirits. I hope that by having a beautifully crafted vessel in their lives, people can rediscover the joy of living and find moments of enrichment.”

This April, an exhibition of his work will be held in Shinjuku, Tokyo. Carrying on the spirit of Edo, Tokyo's last yuioke master quietly continues his dialogue with wood.