The Urban Vigneron & the Nation's Kitchen

The story of Fujimaru Winery begins not in a vineyard but in a wine shop — FUJIMARU, opened by Tomofumi Fujimaru in 2006 near Osaka's Kuromon Market, the historic commercial district known as "the nation's kitchen." Before he was a vigneron, Tomofumi was a merchant — a man who tasted wines, met winemakers, and sold only the bottles that satisfied his own standards. He travelled to wineries across Japan and Europe, building relationships with producers, understanding the trade from the inside, and developing the palate and the network that would later make his own winemaking possible. But as he worked, he noticed something troubling: the number of vineyards and grape growers in Japan was decreasing year by year, and nowhere was this decline more visible than in Osaka itself — a city with over 120 years of viticultural history, where abundant sunshine had once made grape production rank among the highest in the nation.

Urbanisation was the culprit. As Osaka grew, vineyards that had existed for generations were transformed into houses, factories, and office buildings. The grape farmers — many of whom had tended their vines for decades — were increasingly forced to seek work in the city, abandoning land that had become too valuable to farm and too small to compete with industrial agriculture. Tomofumi, who had worked in the Osaka wine industry for many years, could not stand by and watch this erosion of viticultural heritage. In 2010, with the aim of connecting Osaka's viticulture to the next generation, he took over abandoned land in Kashiwara City, Osaka Prefecture, and began growing grapes himself. The variety he chose was Delaware — a grape deeply rooted in the region, cultivated in the local area for many years, and capable of producing wines of light body and refreshing acidity that paired naturally with the everyday cuisine of Osaka: tomato-based pasta, pizza, seasonal vegetable tempura, and the city's signature dish, takoyaki.

For the first three years, Tomofumi vinified his grapes through a custom crush service at Katashimo Winery — the established local facility that had the equipment and expertise he lacked. But his success was immediate and striking. The wines from his Kashiwara vineyard — released under the Domaine de Papille brand — were an instant hit with customers who had never tasted Osaka-grown wine of such quality and character. Word spread quickly, and requests from grape growers asking him to take over abandoned vineyards continued to increase. As the number of vineyards under his management grew, the custom crush arrangement became untenable; the winery could not handle the volume, and Tomofumi needed control over every stage of the process. In 2013, he finally established his own winery in Shimanouchi, Chuo-ku, Osaka — in the heart of the city, not in the countryside near the vineyards — creating what would become Japan's first urban winery: a facility where wine was made, sold, and consumed in the same building, where the distance between vine and glass was collapsed into a single multi-concept space.

The Shimanouchi winery was only the beginning. As Tomofumi's reputation grew, he began receiving offers from dedicated farmers across eastern Japan — from Yamagata, Yamanashi, Ibaraki, Chiba, and beyond — who had heard of his success and wanted to collaborate. These growers, many of whom had been struggling to find buyers for their grapes in a market dominated by large industrial wineries, saw in Tomofumi a partner who would pay fair prices, respect their farming, and transform their fruit into wines that expressed their specific terroir. But the logistics were challenging: grapes from eastern Japan could not easily be transported to Osaka for vinification without compromising quality. The solution was characteristically bold. In August 2015, Tomofumi opened a second urban winery in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa, Koto-ku, Tokyo — a négociant-style facility dedicated to vinifying grapes from farmers in eastern Japan, complementing the Osaka winery's focus on western Japanese fruit. Two cities, two wineries, one philosophy: wine as a farm product, made by the hands of grape growers, consumed by the people of the city.

At Fujimaru Winery, the winemaking philosophy is guided by a simple conviction: wine is an agricultural expression shaped by its growers and environment, not a manufactured product designed in a laboratory. All wines are fermented using wild yeasts — the indigenous populations that live on grape skins and in the cellar environment — with the addition of sulphites kept to an absolute minimum. This is not dogmatic natural winemaking; it is pragmatic minimalism, a recognition that the best wines are those that require the least manipulation, and that the vigneron's role is to guide rather than to dominate the transformation of grape into wine. The approach varies by wine and by vintage, reflecting the specific characteristics of the fruit and Tomofumi's evolving understanding of what each variety can achieve.

One of Tomofumi's most distinctive technical innovations is his use of qvevri — the large clay vessels traditionally used for winemaking in Georgia, buried underground to maintain stable temperatures during fermentation and ageing. Tomofumi was the first to import qvevri from Georgia into Japan, a bold move that connected his urban winery to one of the oldest winemaking traditions on earth. The qvevri are used for skin-fermented white wines and for extended ageing of both red and white cuvées, providing gentle extraction, stable temperature conditions, and a neutral vessel that does not impart oak flavours or aggressive tannins. The Cuvée Papilles Osaka White 2019, for example, is 86% made as a regular white wine and 14% fermented on skins in qvevri — a combination that adds phenolic texture and spice to the delicate pear and table grape fruit of the Delaware base. The Delaware by Qvevri 2020 is skin-fermented and then pressed to qvevri, resulting in a full yellow-gold colour, appealing pear and apple notes with a touch of citrus, and layers of flavour that evolve in the glass. These are not orange wines in the conventional sense; they are Japanese expressions of an ancient technique, adapted to local grapes and local palates.

The Cuvée Papilles line is the heart of the Fujimaru portfolio — wines that embody the "everyday wine" philosophy while maintaining the quality and character that distinguish natural wine from industrial product. The front label of every Cuvée Papilles bottle carries the mantra "No Wine No Life" — not a slogan but a statement of conviction, a declaration that wine is not a luxury but a daily necessity, as fundamental to the table as bread or water. These wines are designed to be drunk with food, not contemplated in isolation; they are delicate rather than flashy, subtle rather than bombastic, harmonious rather than dominating. The Delaware-based whites pair with Japanese cuisine in ways that oaky Chardonnays or heavily extracted reds never could — their light body, gentle aromatics, and refreshing acidity complement the delicate flavours of seasonal vegetables, grilled fish, and Osaka's rich culinary tradition without overwhelming them.

The red wines of Fujimaru Winery demonstrate the same commitment to restraint and food compatibility. The Muscat Bailey A-based reds — made from grapes sourced from Yamanashi and other regions — are light, fragrant, and gently spiced, with the strawberry and cherry aromatics that make this Japanese hybrid variety so distinctive. The Merlot from Yamagata and Osaka shows a more open-knit, delicate character than its Bordeaux cousins — less tannic, more approachable, with a savoury edge that pairs beautifully with Japanese beef, mushroom dishes, and the umami-rich cuisine of the Kansai region. The Yamabudou from Iwate — a wild Vitis amurensis variety — produces wines of vivid brightness, high acidity, and low alcohol (around 9%), with cherry, raspberry, and redcurrant fruit that is primary, linear, and refreshingly youthful. These are not wines for collectors seeking power and concentration; they are wines for drinkers seeking pleasure, compatibility, and the honest expression of Japanese terroir.

Tomofumi's technical repertoire extends beyond conventional winemaking into the creative and the experimental. The Chill-Out White 2022 from Hokkaido — a varietal Kerner — was partially made in a 500-litre qvevri, resulting in lovely aromatics of pear, peach, white pepper, and spice, with a vibrant, expressive palate, nice citrus drive, melony richness, and good acidity finishing with a slight salinity. The Tabletop Orange — an annual release that has become a cult favourite among Japanese natural wine enthusiasts — is a skin-fermented cuvée that changes character each vintage, reflecting the available fruit and Tomofumi's creative impulses. These wines demonstrate that minimal intervention does not mean monotony; within the framework of wild yeast, low sulfur, and gentle handling, there is room for experimentation, for vintage variation, and for the kind of creative freedom that keeps both maker and drinker engaged.

To understand Tomofumi Fujimaru, one must understand that he is not merely a winemaker; he is a systems architect, a merchant, a restaurateur, and a cultural activist who has built an enterprise that encompasses nearly the full chain of the wine industry. He is a vineyard manager, reclaiming abandoned land and convincing elderly farmers to keep their vines. He is a winemaker, fermenting with wild yeast in qvevri and stainless steel in the heart of two Japanese megacities. He is a négociant, purchasing grapes from trusted farmers across the country and transforming them into wines that express their specific origins. He is a distributor, importing some 400,000 bottles annually through his wine business and selling them through his shops. He is a shop proprietor, operating FUJIMARU and Cave de Papille in Osaka. And he is a restaurateur, serving Italian-based cuisine with Japanese ingredients in the dining rooms above his wineries, creating the direct connection between wine and food that is the essence of his philosophy. This is not vertical integration for profit; it is vertical integration for mission — every stage of the chain controlled, every hand that touches the wine known, every dollar that flows back to a farmer accounted for.

The "No Wine No Life" mantra on every Cuvée Papilles label is the philosophical core of this enterprise. It is not marketing; it is theology. Tomofumi believes that wine is one of life's daily necessities — as fundamental as rice, as essential as water, as natural as breathing. This conviction shapes every decision: the pricing must be accessible, the quality must be consistent, the character must be food-friendly. He wants a bottle on the table every night — not for special occasions, not for collectors, but for ordinary people eating ordinary meals. The wines are therefore delicate rather than flashy, subtle rather than bombastic, harmonious rather than dominating. Brash, extracted, oaky wines will never be found in the Fujimaru stable because they violate the fundamental principle of daily drinkability. A wine that overwhelms takoyaki is not a wine for Osaka; a wine that fights with grilled fish is not a wine for Japan. The Cuvée Papilles are designed to accompany, to complement, to elevate without imposing — the servant of the meal, not its master.

The sustainability initiatives at Fujimaru Winery extend beyond the vineyard into every aspect of the operation. Pressed grape lees from both the Osaka and Tokyo wineries — materials that would otherwise go to waste — are transported to a sake brewery in Ehime Prefecture, where they are distilled into a grappa-style brandy. Grape pomace is reused as an ingredient in pasta and focaccia served at the winery's own restaurants. And in one of the most inventive circular-economy innovations in Japanese wine, grape pomace is used as feed for sea urchins, resulting in richly flavoured "grape sea urchins" known for their abundant meat — a collaboration that connects viticulture to marine aquaculture in a way that is both practical and poetic. These are not greenwashing gestures; they are the logical extension of a philosophy that treats every byproduct as a resource, every waste stream as an input, and every stage of production as an opportunity to create value rather than to discard it.

The future vision of Fujimaru Winery is both local and global. Locally, Tomofumi continues to expand his network of contracted growers, to reclaim abandoned vineyards, and to convince the next generation that farming grapes in Japan is not merely viable but necessary. The workshops for children, the hand-pressing experiences, the visible winemaking in the heart of the city — these are all investments in a future where viticulture is not a dying tradition but a thriving one. Globally, Tomofumi aims to introduce Japanese urban winemaking to Europe and beyond — to demonstrate that wine need not come from châteaux in Bordeaux or estates in Tuscany, but can emerge from the rooftops and basements of Osaka and Tokyo, made by merchants who became vignerons, served in restaurants that double as cellars, and drunk by people who understand that the best wine is the one on the table tonight. The 2020 export to Artisan Cellars — the first time Fujimaru wines left Japan — was a milestone not merely commercial but symbolic: proof that Japanese natural wine, made in cities from reclaimed land, could find an audience among the most discerning drinkers in the world.

In an age of industrial wine production, of homogenised flavours and marketing-driven branding, Fujimaru Winery stands as a radical alternative — not a rural estate with centuries of tradition, but an urban operation built from scratch in the heart of Japan's largest cities, reviving abandoned vineyards, importing Georgian qvevri, feeding sea urchins with grape pomace, and serving wine to children who may one day become winemakers themselves. Tomofumi Fujimaru is not merely making wine; he is making a system, a culture, a future — one reclaimed vineyard at a time, one wild yeast fermentation at a time, one bottle on the table every night. His name has become synonymous with the urban winery concept in Japan, and the human-grape connection he has built grows ever stronger. No Wine No Life is not a slogan; it is a promise — that wine will survive, that vineyards will thrive, that farmers will endure, and that the city and the countryside will remain connected through the simple, profound pleasure of drinking something made by hand, from the earth, with patience and with love.