Wednesday, April 12, 2023

How truffles took root around the world



For centuries, the wild delicacy grew only in Europe. But improved cultivation techniques have enabled the pricey, odorous fungus to be farmed in new landscapes.

Every morning for three months of the year, Lola wakes at 8 and goes hunting. She races past oak trees, running at full speed through a 50-hectare field set in the southern end of the province of Buenos Aires, Argentina. The daily challenge — to find her elusive prey — never fails to excite Lola. She darts from place to place until faltering at last: 40 minutes into her day, she gets distracted or simply gives in to exhaustion.

Lola is a Brittany spaniel, and beneath her orange-spotted white coat is the agile body of a hunter. But her most important tool is her sense of smell. “Through training, dogs learn to recognize substances in their long-term memory — in this case, the smell of truffles,” says dog trainer Germán Escobar.

A graduate of the University of Buenos Aires who originally hails from Colombia, Escobar has trained Lola and the eight other dogs of the Argentine truffle farm Trufas del Nuevo Mundo, located in Espartillar, a small town of 785 inhabitants.

With 100 million to 300 million olfactory receptors in the nose — humans have only 5 million to 6 million — and a region in their brains dedicated to odor analysis that’s 40 times larger than that of Homo sapiens, trained dogs are able to do what no human can: Track one of the most valuable and desired delicacies, what’s called the “black diamond” of the kitchen, deep underground.

For centuries, truffles were found exclusively in European countries such as Spain, Italy and France, where they grow in the wild. But over the past 50 years, truffle production has experienced an incredible global expansion, thanks to cultivation techniques that have given rise to plantations in far-flung regions. Today, the United States, China, Greece and Turkey as well as countries across the Southern Hemisphere — Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Chile and Argentina — have emerged as new producers of the famous fungi.

At least 180 species of truffle are known, although only about 13 are of any commercial interest: the black truffle (Tuber melanosporum, from the Latin tubera, meaning lump, hump or swelling) is one of the most celebrated and coveted. In July 2022, a kilo of black truffles went for 1,350 euros. Another highly valued species is the white truffle ( Tuber magnatum), also known as Trifola d'Alba Madonna (Truffle of the White Virgin), for which festivals are organized in Italy every year.

World truffle production has grown in recent years thanks to the increase in cultivation of this prized fungus, says a 2021 analysis published in the journal Forests. Spain leads world production of black truffles, with an annual average of 47 tons, followed by France and Italy.

The scent of truffles

Each of these natural jewels — black, rough, spherical, some as big as apples — is a miniature aroma factory. Some say that the black truffle smells like cold mountain air, or damp earth. Others say it evokes the smell of boiled potato, cauliflower, black olive, butter, mushroom, sulfur or garlic.

In 1825, the French gastronome Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin crowned it as “the jewel of the kitchen” and highlighted it as an aphrodisiac. Italian composer Gioachino Rossini went further and declared this mushroom the “Mozart of mushrooms.” And it was said that the English poet Lord Byron used to keep a truffle on his desk, confident that its perfume would stimulate creativity and attract the muses.

The truffle’s unique aroma is the result of a set of volatile organic compounds (VOCs) produced by the fungus. Far from being the result of a single molecule, the odors we perceive are produced by tens or hundreds of these invisible airborne particles. The structure of each VOC molecule is usually based on a hydrocarbon skeleton, with oxygen, nitrogen and sulfur as the most common atoms other than carbon or hydrogen; the molecules are all around us, and those that are generated by living organisms directly or indirectly influence the life of plants, insects and even humans by contributing to communication, mating and even the generation of flavors and aromas. For example, the smell of coffee is produced by at least a thousand chemical compounds that enter through our nostrils and meet our olfactory receptors. In strawberries, the number is more than 300 VOCs.

Of all fungi, truffles are among those that emit the highest amount of volatile organic compounds. More than 200 of these have been identified so far in various truffle species. Both black and white truffles pump out a mixture of alcohols, ketones, aldehydes, dimethyl sulfide, dimethyl disulfide, diacetyl, ethylphenol, furaneol and octenol.

The aroma potency varies according to truffle type,” wrote Italian chemist Elisabetta Torregiani and her team at the University of Camerino in a paper published in 2020 in the journal Molecules. “Black truffles are considered to be the most aromatic of all,” while summer truffles are the least, and white truffles are in the middle.

In addition, “the truffle’s aroma changes throughout its maturation,” says researcher Eva Tejedor Calvo, from the Center for Agricultural and Food Research and Technology of Aragon, in Zaragoza, Spain. Tejedor Calvo traveled to Argentina to study the aromatic differences between black truffles from that South American country and Spanish truffles. “We know that, depending on the locations within the same country, the aromas can change. They can also vary depending on the climate, depending on the soil, even between two trees in the same field.”

The aromatic potency of these fungi, which grow between 20 and 50 centimeters underground in complete darkness and attached to tree roots, serves a purpose. It is an evolutionary strategy for their survival as a species.

“Fungi are so smelly because they communicate chemically with other organisms in their environment,” explains Joan W. Bennett, a microbiologist at Rutgers University and coauthor of a report on aromatic diversity in the fungal kingdom in the 2020 Annual Review of Microbiology. “Fungi do not have nervous systems, so they must use other means of defense and dispersal. For example, some of the volatile compounds attract insects that clearly help with the dispersal of their spores. While hundreds of VOCs associated with molds and fungi have been chemically identified, we are only now beginning to understand their functionality.”

“Their delicious aroma and nutritional power attracts animals that benefit from eating them, and they carry them in their intestines and thus disperse them in faraway places,” explains Argentine mycologist Francisco Kuhar, a researcher at the Multidisciplinary Institute of Plant Biology of the National Scientific and Technical Research Council of Argentina, and coauthor of the book Crónicas del Reino de los Hongos ( Chronicles of the Kingdom of Mushrooms). “We can say that their exquisite aroma was selected to use us animals to disperse them.”

This sophisticated strategy of olfactory manipulation extends throughout all members of the mushroom family. In the case of truffles, they use it in a similar way as that developed by flowers that rely on insects and birds as dispersers and pollinators. “Unlike most fungi that spread their spores through the air, truffles are found underground and require animals to help with their dispersal,” says Bennett. “It is believed that the truffle odor evolved because volatiles can diffuse through the soil and attracts animals to eat and further disseminate their spores. This production of pungent cocktails consisting of volatile compounds draws a set of small animals that truffles have coevolved with, or at least adapted to, in order to facilitate spore dispersal.”

Pigs are one of these animals. Since the 15th century, black truffle hunters in Italy and France made use of trained pigs, especially females, which were particularly attracted to the intoxicating smell of the truffle that emanates a compound chemically similar to androstenol, a sex pheromone that is also synthesized in the testicles of wild boars.

The problem is these animals are not only mesmerized by the truffle’s aroma but also by its taste, and it is very difficult to train them not to devour it. For this reason, truffle pigs were banned in Italy in 1985. There, professional truffle hunters (known as tartufai) must be licensed. They roam the fields with trained dogs and their knowledge, which has been passed down orally for centuries, is included in UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

From wild to cultivated

In the early 1880s, the King of Prussia asked the forest biologist Albert Bernhard Frank to study truffles. Wilhelm I adored the fungus’s delicate flavor and wanted the researcher to develop a way to produce truffles on a commercial scale.

But Frank failed in attempt after attempt, as did all the other enthusiasts who followed him. Still, the dedicated and meticulous botanist’s many years of study were not in vain, as plant ecologist David W. Wolfe recalls in his book Tales from the Underground: A Natural History of Subterranean Life: Frank noticed that truffles never grew independently, but always appeared near oak, hazel, poplar and beech trees. He surmised that the truffle was a parasite. Later he figured out that the two organisms work in partnership. Trees depend on fungi to help gather essential minerals, and truffles, which cannot photosynthesize, receive nutrients from the tree’s roots. In 1885, Frank described this symbiotic relationship with the term “mycorrhiza” (from the Greek myco, meaning fungus, and rhiza, meaning root).

Since then, intimate associations between plants and fungi have been identified in fossils dating back more than 450 million years. Today, more than 200,000 plant species are known to harbor mycorrhizal fungi.

“Mycorrhizal fungi extend the plant root systems and these fungi ‘forage’ the soil for nutrients, especially nitrogen and phosphorus. They can also confer drought and pathogen resistance,” notes University of New Hampshire ecologist Serita D. Frey, who describes this symbiotic link in a paper published in the 2019 Annual Review of Ecology, Evolution, and Systematics. “In exchange for these vital services, the plant provides the fungus with energy in the form of sugars which the plant makes through photosynthesis.” And she adds that some plants cannot survive without their fungal partner. “They have become dependent on the fungi for nutrition.”

In his book Truffle Hound: On the Trail of the World’s Most Seductive Scent, with Dreamers, Schemers, and Some Extraordinary Dogs, Rowan Jacobsen points out that truffle cultivation remains as much an art as a science. Each farm follows its own techniques, some closely guarded secrets. The truffle’s journey from spore to plate is fraught with biological uncertainty, economic competition and logistical headaches.

Hundreds of conditions and variables must align: This finicky fungus grows only when environmental conditions (temperature range, well-marked seasons, rainfall or controlled irrigation) and soil conditions (acidity, humidity, minerals such as phosphorus and potassium) are exactly right.

Truffles were harvested from the wild until new inoculation techniques developed in France in the 1970s opened the door to growing the species in managed plantations. “In a nursery, it’s first a matter of attaching the fungus spore to the roots of the tree,” explains Faustino Terradas, sales manager of Trufas del Nuevo Mundo. “The spore then begins to germinate and generate a mycelium, or a fungus root, that is going to cover the root of the tree. Then it is taken to the field and planted.”

During the first few years, the tree’s health is cared for, the acidity of the soil is controlled, and water is supplied through irrigation in order to generate the conditions for the underground development of the truffle. “During the spring, the primordia or small truffles, red on the outside and white on the inside, are generated,” adds Terradas. “From then on, it matures. In autumn it widens. And in the winter is when it finishes ripening.”

Yields in France have fallen dramatically for more than a century — first, because of the closures of truffle fields during the World Wars, and then because of decreasing rainfall and rising temperatures.

This situation has boosted the truffle’s expansion. Truffles now inhabit continents where they were not found a hundred years ago. In recent decades, attempts to domesticate them have spread around the world: After centuries of being a delicacy exclusive to Europe and being dispersed by dogs, pigs, squirrels and insects, it is now humans, motivated by their special aroma, who are driving their planetary migration.

The first US black truffle was harvested in Northern California in 1987. In 2009, Chile became the third country in the Southern Hemisphere to cultivate truffles, after New Zealand and Australia. According to mycologist Ian Hall of the Royal Society of New Zealand, who developed methods for the first truffle plantations in the Southern Hemisphere, there may be as many as 1,000 truffle farms outside of Europe.

In Argentina, where harvesting takes place in the colder months of June, July and August, Trufas del Nuevo Mundo got its first “black diamond” — weighing in at 69 grams — in 2016. Since then, this venture has expanded to 20,117 mycorrhizal trees and exports truffles to the Northern Hemisphere when they are out of season in Europe.

The truffle “has a lot of history, but there is little research,” says Terradas. “Wheat has been planted for more than 4,000 years, but the truffle only 50 years ago. We still have a long way to go to understand the truffle and its development.”

Article translated by Debbie Ponchner

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This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

OPINION: Volcanologists warn that magma-filled vents evolve over time, leading to an underestimation of the number that might erupt — especially those capable of the biggest explosions

Many people know that Naples is built on two very active volcanoes, Vesuvius and Campi Flegrei, and that it is one of the cities most at risk from volcanic activity in the world.

But practically nobody knows that Rome is also built right in between two major explosive volcanoes: Sabatini to the north and Colli Albani (or Alban Hills) to the south. These haven’t erupted within historic memory — so Sabatini is considered “extinct” and no one worries much about Colli Albani. Yet both are hot and emitting volcanic gases. There is magma there, but deeper down in the crust, out of sight. Our analysis of the latest data indicates that these are long-lived volcanoes potentially brewing new volcanic eruptions.

These volcanoes aren’t alone. There are hundreds of volcanoes around the world that scientists consider dead but that may actually be active and should be monitored. Researchers have estimated that more than 800 million people live near active volcanoes, but we think hundreds of millions more people may be unknowingly exposed to volcanic explosions. 

As volcanologists, we have proposed an innovative way to determine whether a volcano is likely to reactivate or not: Take into account not just when it last erupted but also the thermal state of its plumbing system. This isn’t the only — nor even necessarily the best — way to do this. But with our new Volcanic Activity Index, we can identify volcanoes that have generally escaped attention but deserve close monitoring (see Box). 

It is generally thought that there are about 1,500 potentially active volcanoes around the world, about 500 of which have erupted in historical times. Some, like Etna in Italy and Mount St. Helens in Washington state, are extensively studied. But only a limited number of volcanoes have any monitoring at all, partly because of a lack of funds. As a result, many eruptions catch people by surprise — like Chaitén Volcano in southern Chile, which erupted explosively in 2008 after 9,000 years of silence, covering the nearby town of Chaitén with more than a meter of muddy ash. 

This has long been an acknowledged problem, and many volcanologists have proposed ways to improve the situation. In the 1990s, which was the International Decade for Natural Disaster Reduction, researchers identified 16 volcanoes worthy of particular attention because of their history of large explosive eruptions and proximity to densely populated areas. Scientists have suggested ways to use satellites and drones to track activity and have called for more local on-the-ground monitoring. But we will also need to design new approaches to identify sleeping giants and look deep into the belly of volcanoes.

Right now, surprisingly, there isn’t a particularly scientific way to define the activity of a volcano. The main data volcanologists consider are the date of the last eruption and certain measures of the known eruptive history (such as the frequency and size of past eruptions). This is often biased by which cultures have kept a record of eruptions or which areas have been studied, and it ignores how volcanoes evolve over time.

Volcanoes change as they grow older. The long-term seeping of magma into the Earth’s crust from deeper below changes the crust’s temperature and physical properties. Younger volcanoes tend to sit above a cooler crust that can’t store a lot of magma; older volcanoes have a warmer crust that can support larger quantities of magma, and so they tend to produce bigger eruptions with longer periods of rest in between. In other words, an older volcanic system needs to have been quiet for a lot longer before it should be considered extinct. You can have a large, dangerous volcano sitting in a kind of vegetative state, with its magma lurking far below, undetected. This magma can rapidly migrate to shallow chambers and the volcano can erupt. 

We created the Volcanic Activity Index because we couldn’t find a good index that takes this aging effect of volcanoes into account. Our index produces a single number that compares the activity of any one volcano to all the others out there, based on when it last erupted, how much magma the volcano has erupted in total over its entire history, and the average rate at which it has erupted over its whole life.

This analysis throws up some surprises. For example, our analysis shows that Italy’s Colli Albani has a higher activity index than the famous — and clearly still active — Yellowstone Caldera volcano in Wyoming.

We have a problem, though: Often, we don’t know how old a volcanic system is. The oldest dated eruption of the Campi Flegrei caldera in Naples, for example, is 80,000 years ago; however, recent investigations have shown that this volcano started erupting at least a few hundred thousand years ago. This would significantly change the activity index for this system. Our analysis highlights what we still need to know. If there is a big campaign to measure these factors around the world, the list of worrying volcanoes will likely change.

What should we do with this list? Many of these volcanos seem to be quiet at the surface, but we don’t know what’s going on deep down below. That’s what we need to figure out next. Right now, researchers use seismic tomography (watching how seismic waves travel through the Earth) or electrical conductivity to try to peer into the depths. However, these methods generally can’t see anything more detailed than about 1 cubic kilometer, and this gets worse with depth, exactly the regions from where we need more information.

We need a big push in the scientific community to find new and better ways to see 15 to 20 kilometers down into the heart of a volcano. We think this would provide much longer warning times to anticipate the reactivation of dormant volcanoes (like Chaitén).

How this information is used is ultimately up to locals. People have been living around active volcanoes since the dawn of humankind; it is extremely difficult to weigh an uncertain future risk against the needs of day-to-day life. It is not our job to tell people what to do, whether to stay or leave. But the people living near such volcanoes deserve a scientific evaluation of the potential risks they face. We hope that our index will help.

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This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.



OPINION: To justify their existence, they must make conservation their top priority

When I was young, my parents took us to a zoo: the kind where you could see animals locked up in cages. I remember looking in admiration at a pair of bears in a cage, stretching out their paws for food. Things have changed. My kids would be horrified to see animals in jail like that. Today, we expect animals to be held in more natural settings, and for zoos to do more to make the world a better place. In order to justify the animals’ captivity, we expect zoos to help with conservation.

Zoos can host great conservation work. Sometimes they act as a kind of Noah’s ark to hold and protect endangered animals. There are about 40 animal species listed as “extinct in the wild”; they exist mainly in captive collections, including at zoos. These collections are used for study, to start breeding programs and, when possible, to reintroduce the animals to the wild.

But not enough zoos do enough of this. I support the recommendation made by some researchers that zoos should assign at least 10 percent of their income to biodiversity conservation. Sadly, a 1999 study from the Association of Zoos and Aquariums showed an average expenditure of only 0.1 percent. That’s 100 times less.

Of course, some zoos do a lot. Perth Zoo in Western Australia, for example, reported in 1999-2000 that it spent more than US$1 million breeding seven threatened species for reintroduction (including the western swamp tortoise, the chuditch marsupial, and the striped numbat), compared with their income of nearly $6 million. In other words, they spent at least 18 percent of their revenue on conservation. According to a 2015 World Association of Zoos and Aquariums report, $350 million is raised annually for wildlife conservation by global zoos and aquariums. That’s about the same as what WWF International — one of the most famous institutions in biodiversity conservation — currently spends on conservation programs each year.

Zoos have helped to reintroduce plenty of animals to the wild, including the black-footed ferret in the US, Przewalski’s horse in Mongolia, the Guam rail (a flightless bird), and island fox of California’s Channel Islands. Zoos can also help during a crisis: When bushfires raged across Australia in the summer of 2019-2020, Zoos Victoria was part of a state-led response to help wildlife.

If zoos were totally dedicated to the function of conservation, we might expect them to mostly house threatened species. But it’s clear that almost all zoos host non-threatened species in much greater numbers. Many zoos are focused on the big mammals and birds that draw audiences and help the zoos to make money, including elephants and giraffes; quite a lot of zoos exist solely as an entertainment business. In this day and age, I say that’s inappropriate. The possible detriment to the individual animals’ welfare is too high a price to pay for entertainment alone.

That’s not to say that zoos shouldn’t be a business at all. The care and feeding of animals can be extremely expensive: Food expenses for mammals in England’s Chester Zoo (which houses tens of thousands of animals) exceed $700,000 per year. I believe that it’s worthwhile for zoos to open their doors to the public to recoup some of this money, and to keep animals beyond the ones they are breeding or studying for conservation reasons in order to attract interest and attention — so long as the animals are kept in morally acceptable conditions that guarantee their welfare.

Opening doors to the public, of course, has a second benefit: education. In the US, 183 million people went to zoos and aquariums in 2022; nearly ten times more than attended professional football games. The opportunity for education is huge. Yet a lot of people don’t bother reading educational signs. And while animal shows are popular and good at conveying information, they can also, controversially, involve animal training. Many studies show that people tend to retain knowledge about animals from zoo visits, but whether that translates into pro-environmental action is debatable.

It seems intuitive to me that visiting animals in real life helps to foster an appreciation for the natural world. Virtual-reality goggles and movies about wildlife are worthwhile, but not the same. A friend of mine who works in the Amazon puts it this way: “To love the jungle, you need to smell the jungle.” Full immersion in real-life environments is a powerful experience that’s hard to replicate.

Some zoos have adopted the promising One Plan approach, which encourages zoos to work in collaboration with researchers and local communities on conservation activities. One good example is Zoos Victoria’s conservation breeding program for the Australian eastern barred bandicoot.

All zoos should make conservation their top priority, which will inevitably be accompanied by education and research. Without that, a zoo becomes just a business: one the world would be better off without.

This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

Getting lab-grown meat — and milk — to the table



Beef, chicken and dairy made from cultured cells could offer a smaller footprint than conventional farms. Companies are working on scaling up and bringing prices down.

Diners at the swanky Atelier Crenn restaurant in San Francisco expect to be served something unusual. After all, the venue boasts three Michelin stars and is widely considered to be one of the world’s top restaurants.

But if all goes according to plan, there will soon be a new dish on the menu that truly is remarkable: chicken that was never part of a living bird.

That peculiar piece of meat — likely to be the first of its kind ever sold in the US — comes from a radical sort of food technology now in development, in which meat is produced by culturing muscle cells in vast tanks of nutrients. A similar effort — to culture mammary cells — is also underway and may soon yield real milk without cows.

The company behind Crenn’s chicken, California-based Upside Foods, got a thumbs-up in November 2022 from the US Food and Drug Administration, which said it had no concerns about the safety of the technology. (The company’s manufacturing facility still requires a certificate of inspection from the US Department of Agriculture.)

This cellular agriculture, as some of its proponents call it, faces formidable technical obstacles before it can ever be more than a curiosity. But if it does reach the mainstream, it offers the prospect of a cruelty-free source of meat and dairy — potentially with a smaller environmental footprint than conventional animal products.

Conceptually, cellular agriculture is straightforward. Technicians take a small tissue sample from a chicken, cow or other animal. From that, they isolate individual cells that go into a bioreactor — basically a big vat of nutrient solution — where the cells multiply manyfold and, eventually, mature into muscle, fat or connective tissue that can be harvested for people to eat.

Products in which these cells are jumbled together, as in ground meat, are easiest to make, and that’s what most cellular meat companies are developing, at least initially. But Upside has a more ambitious goal: to create chicken with whole muscle fibers. “We’ve figured out ways to produce that textural experience,” says Eric Schulze, Upside’s vice president of product and regulation. He declines to explain exactly how they do it.

The process takes two to three weeks from start to finish, regardless of whether they are making chicken or beef. That’s much faster than the eight to 10 weeks required to raise a fryer chicken, or the 18 to 36 months needed for a cow. “We’re doing a cow’s worth of meat in 21 days or less,” says Schulze.

One cellular meat product is already available commercially, though not in the US. In Singapore, a few restaurants and street vendors now offer a chicken nugget that contains a mix of cellular meat and plant-based ingredients. The product sells for about the same price as organic, farm-raised chicken, but the true cost of production is higher. “We’re selling it at a loss, for sure,” says Vítor Espírito Santo, senior director of cellular agriculture at Good Meat, the US-based company producing the nugget.

But the cost should come down once the company expands to larger scale, Santo says. “Everything we do right now is more expensive because we are using a 1,200-liter bioreactor. Once we are producing in 250,000 liters, it will be competitive with conventional meat.” The company is now working on gaining approval in the US.

Meat isn’t the only animal product that can come from cell cultures. Several companies are working to produce milk by culturing mammary cells and collecting the milk they secrete. For example, Opalia, a Montreal-based company, grows mammary cells on the surface of a three-dimensional, branched structure that resembles the lobules of a real udder, says CEO Jennifer Côté. The cells secrete milk into the structure’s lobules, where it can be collected and drawn off. Some other companies, such as North Carolina-based BioMilq, are using a similar technology with human mammary cells to produce human breast milk. None are yet on the market.

In some ways, the process for making milk is easier than producing meat because the cells themselves don’t need to be harvested and replaced. “The cells we use can stay alive for multiple months on end,” says Côté. That means the company can concentrate on developing cells that secrete a lot of milk, rather than ones that divide rapidly. Moreover, she adds, because the cells themselves are not part of the product, Opalia can genetically modify its cells without the milk itself being a GMO product.

Proponents hope that cellular meat and milk can eventually offer several big advantages over the conventional versions. By cutting animals out of the process, cultured products do away with most of the animal-welfare issues that beset modern factory farms. Meat and milk that come from clean culture facilities instead of manure-laden farmyards should also be less likely to carry food-borne diseases, says Elliot Swartz, lead scientist for cultivated meat technology at the Good Food Institute, a Washington DC-based nonprofit organization supporting alternatives to meat.

Enthusiasts also claim that cell-based products should be more sustainable than conventional animal products, because farmers will no longer need to feed, water and house entire animals just to harvest their muscles. It’s hard to know whether this benefit will pan out in reality, since the technology is still under development. Only a few studies have tried to estimate the environmental impact of cell-based meat, and all have made huge assumptions about what future technologies will look like.

One thing seems clear, however. Cell-based meat relies heavily on electricity for tasks like heating or cooling culture tanks and pumping cells from place to place. If that electricity comes from renewables, the overall carbon footprint of cell-based meat will be much less than if it comes from fossil fuels, says Swartz.

Assuming a relatively green electric grid, though, one careful study of cell-based meat’s potential, by the Dutch consulting company CE Delft, suggests that its environmental footprint is likely to be roughly the same as that of conventional pork or poultry — among the greener conventional meats, by most reckonings — and far less than that of beef.

So far, however, companies and academic researchers have only taken baby steps toward cellular agriculture. If the industry is ever to grow big enough to change the face of global agriculture, it would need to overcome several major hurdles, says David Block, a chemical engineer at the University of California, Davis, who works on the technology behind cultured meat.

One of the biggest challenges, most experts agree, is finding an inexpensive way to supply the nutrients and growth factors the growing cells need. Existing culture media are far too costly and often depend on calves’ blood for molecules such as fibroblast growth factor and insulin-like growth factor 1, which are essential for cell growth and maintenance. Researchers are hoping that relatively unprocessed sources like plant or yeast extract can eventually provide most of the nutrients and vitamins they need, and that they can find a cheaper way to produce the growth factors.

As a step in that direction, Dutch researchers have developed a growth medium using no serum — just off-the-shelf chemicals — to which they add more than a dozen growth factors and other nutrients. Their new medium allowed cow muscle cells to grow almost as well as on calf serum, they reported recently.

Scaling up from research-sized cultures to big commercial operations — an essential step to keeping costs down — may also present problems. The larger the bioreactor, the more difficult it is to ensure that waste products like ammonia are removed, says Ricardo San Martin, a chemical engineer who directs the Alternative Meats Lab at the University of California, Berkeley. Even merely stirring extremely large bioreactors can subject the cells to damaging shear forces, he notes.

The nutrient-supply problem gets even tougher for whole-muscle meats such as steaks or whole chicken breasts. In the animal, such thick slabs of muscle have networks of blood vessels snaking through them, so that every muscle cell is close to a blood supply. Many researchers in the field think replicating that 3D structure in culture poses serious challenges that have yet to be overcome. “I don’t think we are close to growing a steak, and I don’t see it in the next 10 or 15 years,” says San Martin.

Still, proponents remain optimistic that those problems will be settled soon. “Technologically, we’re not concerned,” says Schulze. “With enough time and scientific ingenuity, somebody, somewhere, will find a way to make this work. The cost is the main issue for everyone.”

But cost remains a big stumbling block. The first lab-grown burger patty, produced by a Dutch team in 2013, cost an estimated 250,000 euros (about $330,000). And while costs have fallen since then, they remain much higher than for conventional meat. In a study that has not yet been peer-reviewed, Block and his colleagues estimated that producing a ground-beef product in a 42,000-liter bioreactor — almost twice as big as the largest in use today for mammalian cells — would cost about $13.80 per pound. To bring the cost down under $6 per pound, only a little pricier than conventional ground beef, would require a much larger, 260,000-liter bioreactor.

But cultured meat may not have to match the price of ground beef or chicken to be commercially viable. Some consumers will probably pay higher prices to avoid the ethical and environmental costs of conventional meat, just as they do today for plant-based meat substitutes like Impossible and Beyond Meat. And some conventional products such as caviar, foie gras or bluefin tuna are so expensive that cultured versions could probably be cost-competitive pretty soon, says Swartz. That would give manufacturers a way to bring in some profits even as they work to bring costs down further.

Another intermediate step could be to use cultured meats to enhance the flavor of plant-based products, as Good Meat is doing now with the part-cultured-meat, part-plant-based meat patties they sell in Singapore. Manufacturers could also add cultured animal fat cells to give a meatier flavor to a plant-based product. “You only need maybe 5 percent animal fat to achieve that,” says Swartz. Such hybrid products, he thinks, are likely to be the dominant role for cellular meat in the next decade.

Similar first steps could help cultured-milk companies generate revenue before they can match cow’s milk in price. Breast milk offers enough advantages over infant formula, says Swartz, that many consumers are likely to pay high prices for cultured human milk from BioMilq and other companies. “There are a variety of proteins and fatty acids and sugars that are simply not there if you don’t have breast milk,” says Nurit Argov-Argaman, a lactation physiologist at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Argov-Argaman is also chief scientist at Wilk, an Israeli company that is culturing human breast cells to extract high-value components such as fatty acids and lactoferrin, a protein essential to iron uptake, to enrich infant formula.

A few of these cell-cultured meat and milk products should make it to supermarket shelves within the next few years, experts say. But as promising as these first steps are, no one really knows whether cellular meat and milk will eventually grab a significant share of the global market for animal-based foods.

“There are certainly immense challenges — no one’s denying that,” says Schulze. “But our plan is to work on that as an industry. It’s effectively a space race for food. The difference here is we will attempt to rationally solve these challenges one by one in a reasonable time frame — and do it safely, of course, since it’s food.”

Editor’s note: A caption for an image in this article was updated on March 21, 2023, to clarify that the $330,000 estimated cost in US dollars of a burger patty made from cultured meat was based on 2013 exchange rates between the euro and US dollar.

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This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

Why more and more Americans are painting their lawns

Americans – especially those living in areas affected by drought – are turning to paint to give their grass that perfect green sheen. Justin Sullivan/Getty Images
Ted Steinberg, Case Western Reserve University

To paint or not to paint?

That is the question that many homeowners are facing as their dreams for perfect turf are battered – whether it’s from inflation pushing pricier lawn care options out of reach, or droughts leading to water shortages.

Increasingly, many are turning in the spreader for the paint can, opting, according to a report in The Wall Street Journal, for shades of green with names like “Fairway” and “Perennial Rye.”

Where does this yen for turning the outside of the house into a trim green carpet come from?

Some years ago, I decided to investigate and the result was my book “American Green: The Obsessive Quest for the Perfect Lawn.”

What I found was that lawns extend far back in American history. Former presidents George Washington and Thomas Jefferson had lawns, but these were not perfect greenswards. It turns out that the ideal of perfect turf – a weed-free, supergreen monoculture – is a recent phenomenon.

The not-so-perfect lawns of Levittown

Its beginnings can largely be traced to the post–World War II era when suburban developments such as the iconic Levittown, New York, had its start.

Levittown was the brainchild of the Levitt family, which viewed landscaping – a word that only entered the English language in the 1930s – as a form of “neighborhood stabilization,” or a way of bolstering property values. The Levitts, who built 17,000 homes between 1947 and 1951, thus insisted that homeowners mow the yard once a week between April and November and included the stricture in covenants accompanying their deeds.

But the Levitts took the obsession with the lawn only so far. “I don’t believe in being a slave to the lawn,” wrote Abraham Levitt. Clover was, to him, “just as nice” as grass.

Black and white photo of woman standing outside her suburban home with a perfectly manicured lawn.
The developers of Levittown required homeowners to mow their yards once a week between April and November. ClassicStock/Getty Images

Engineering perfection

All of which is to say that the quest for the perfect lawn did not come naturally. It had to be engineered, and one of the greatest influencers in this regard was the Scotts Co. of Marysville, Ohio, which took agricultural chemicals and created concoctions that homeowners could spread over their yards.

Formulators like Scotts had one great advantage: Turfgrass is not native to North America, and growing it on the continent is, for the most part, an uphill ecological battle. Homeowners thus needed a lot of help in the quest for perfection.

But first Scotts had to help lodge the idea of perfect turf in the American imagination. Scotts was able to tap into postwar trends in brightly colored consumer products. From yellow slacks to blue Jell-O, colored products became status symbols and a sign that the consumer had rejected the drab black-and-white world of urban life for the modern suburb and its kaleidoscopic colors – which included, of course, the vibrant green lawn.

Architectural trends also helped the perfect turf aesthetic take root. A blurring of indoor and outdoor space occurred in the postwar era as patios and eventually sliding glass doors invited homeowners to treat the yard as an extension of their family room. What better way to achieve a comfy outdoor living space than to carpet the yard in a nice greensward.

In 1948, the perfect lawn took a giant step forward when the Scotts Co. began selling its “Weed and Feed” lawn care product, which allowed homeowners to eliminate weeds and fertilize simultaneously.

The development was probably one of the worst things ever to happen, ecologically speaking, to the American yard. Now homeowners were spreading the toxic herbicide 2,4-D – which has since been linked to cancer, reproductive harm and neurological impairment – on their lawns as a matter of course, whether they were having an issue with weeds or not.

Selective herbicides like 2,4-D killed broadleaf “weeds” like clover and left the grass intact. Clover and bluegrass, a desirable turf species, evolved together, with the former capturing nitrogen from the air and adding it to the soil as fertilizer. Killing it off sent homeowners back to the store for more artificial fertilizer to make up for the deficit.

That was bad news for homeowners, but a good business model for those companies selling lawn care products who, on the one hand, handicapped homeowners by killing off the clover and, on the other hand, sold them more chemical inputs to recreate what could have occurred naturally.

The “perfect” lawn had come of age.

The meaning of grass painting

By the early 1960s, homeowners were already looking for ways of achieving perfect turf on the cheap.

A 1964 article in Newsweek pointed out that green grass paint was being sold in 35 states. The magazine opined that because a homeowner “needs a Bachelor of Chemistry to comprehend the bewildering variety of weed and bug destroyers now fogging the market,” paint was becoming an attractive alternative.

So the interest in grass painting is not entirely new.

A bird's eye view of suburban houses with green lawns.
Suburban tract houses in Centerville, Md. Edwin Remsberg/The Image Bank via Getty Images

What is new, however, is that the recent interest in painting the lawn is taking place in a context in which a more pluralistic vision of the yard has taken root.

People fed up with corporate-dominated lawn care are turning back the clock and cultivating their yards with clover, a plant that is resistant to drought and provides nutrients to the lawn, to boot. And so the clover lawn has been making a comeback, with videos on TikTok tagged #cloverlawn boasting 78 million views.

Together, the return of grass painting with the resurgent interest in clover lawns suggests that the ideal of the resource-intensive perfect lawn is an ecological conceit that the country may no longer be able to afford.

Ted Steinberg, Professor of History, Case Western Reserve University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Tuesday, April 11, 2023

OPINION: After cryptoassets, a wave of central bank digital currencies is set to revolutionize our ideas about what money is and how to manage it

In October 2020, the Bahamas released a new kind of digital currency: “sand dollars.” These digital tokens are issued by the country’s central bank and are legal tender, with the same legal status as their old-fashioned money — paper notes and coins. The sand dollar is cash; it just doesn’t have a physical form. Residents of the Bahamas can now download an e-wallet onto their phones, load it with sand dollars, and spend away with a simple tap.

For now, only two countries have officially launched such central bank digital currencies (CBDCs): the Bahamas and Nigeria. But many more are actively running CBDC trials, including China and the countries of the Eastern Caribbean Currency Union. More than 100 countries are exploring the idea. In the US, the Federal Reserve this January issued a  discussion paper on CBDCs, considering all the risks and opportunities.

This is an exciting moment in the evolution of currency. Recent years have seen a boom in cryptoassets (often called “cryptocurrencies”) like bitcoin; now companies are innovating with less risky alternatives, including so-called stablecoin, and nations are exploring CBDCs. All of these are likely to come to exist side-by-side in a new continuum, with today’s two most common forms of money (cash and bank deposits) facing tough competition. This evolving landscape comes with the promise of making international payments easier, improving access to microloans and reducing transaction costs. But there are also great risks to avoid.

Money, let us not forget, has already come a long way, evolving from beads to gold coins to paper bills and credit cards. In the early 1900s, national currencies were typically backed by commodities; that is no longer true. The United States dollar, for example, was divorced from the gold standard in the early 1930s, becoming a “fiat” currency whose value is backed solely by the word of the government. Then, as computers rose in power and use, electronic payments became ubiquitous.

Recent years have seen a flurry of activity in the rise of cryptoassets (while often called cryptocurrencies, they aren’t really currencies, but rather assets with speculative value and appeal). These are privately issued and secured by cryptography — decentralized assets that allows peer-to-peer transactions without an intermediary like a bank. Since bitcoin’s launch in 2009, an estimated 14,000 different types of cryptoassets have been issued, from litecoin to ethereum, holding an estimated market value of US$2.3 trillion at the end of 2021. They are highly volatile, infrequently accepted and carry a high transaction cost.

The volatility of cryptoassets has created interest in stablecoins, which are typically issued by an entity such as a payment operator or bank, and attempt to offer price stability by linking their value to a fixed asset such as US dollars or gold. Tether gold and PAX gold are two of the most liquid gold-backed stablecoins. There are many stablecoins with various shades of stability, and their growth is exponential. Stablecoins, unlike cryptoassets, have the potential to become global payments instruments.

CBDCs can be thought of as a new type of fiat money that expands digital access to central bank reserves, making them available to the public at large instead of just commercial banks. A CBDC would combine the digital nature of banking with the peer-to-peer transactions of cash. But there are still many questions about how any given country’s CBDC might work: Would funds exist in an account at the bank, or would they come closer to cash, materializing as digital tokens? Would CBDCs pay interest rates like a bank deposit does, or not? In Bermuda, the sand dollar is run through the country’s central bank, has certain quantity restrictions and does not pay interest.

There are some important advantages to CBDCs: They have the potential to make payment systems more cost-effective, competitive and resilient. They would reduce, for example, a nation’s cost of managing physical cash, a sizable expense for some countries that have a large land mass or many dispersed islands.

CBDCs could help improve cross-border payments, which currently rely on multilayered banking relationships, creating long payment chains that are slow, costly and hard to track. CBDCs could also help make payment systems more resilient through the establishment of a decentralized platform, essentially fortifying the payments infrastructure against operational risks and cyberattacks.

Many countries have large numbers of people without bank accounts: The “unbanked” often have no access to loans, interest or other financial and payment services. CBDCs could transform their lives by bringing them into the financial system.

But there are risks, too. A prominent one is if everyone decided to hold a lot of CBDCs and suddenly withdrew their money from banks. Banks would then have to raise interest rates on deposits to retain customers, or charge higher interest rates on loans. Fewer people would get credit and the economy could slow. Also, if CBDCs decrease the costs of holding and transacting in foreign currency, countries with weak institutions, high inflation or volatile exchange rates might watch as consumers and firms abandon wholesale their domestic currencies.

There are ways to get around these problems. For instance, central banks could offer lower interest rates on CBDC holdings (these show up as liabilities on a central bank’s balance sheet) than on other forms of the central bank’s liabilities, or only distribute CBDCs through existing financial institutions.

Institutions are now racing to draw up new rules and regulations to cover all these contingencies and figure out how new forms of money should be treated: as deposits, securities or commodities. The intergovernmental watchdog Financial Action Task Force, for example, has amended its anti-money laundering policies and counter-financing of terrorism standard in light of virtual assets; the Basel Committee on Banking Supervision has issued a paper on how banks can prudently limit their exposure to cryptoassets. The International Monetary Fund (where I work) is on the case, providing independent analysis of these issues.

Everyone will have to think fast and on their feet. Central banks will have to become more like Apple or Microsoft to keep CBDCs on the frontier of technology and in the wallets of users. Future money may be transferred in entirely new ways, including automatically by chips embedded in everyday products. This will require frequent tech redesigns and a diversity of currency types. Whatever form your money currently takes, in your bank, your wallet and your phone, expect the near future to look quite different.

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This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.

Viruses and bacteria travel in fluids, such as the air we breathe. Studying exhalations, toilet flushes and rain drops, with math and modeling, can sharpen the big-picture view of how to prevent infections.

When we think of the air we breathe, we usually don’t think fluids. But air is a fluid. And bacteria and viruses are carried by fluids. So understanding the dynamics of fluids — how they flow under the influence of various forces, such as gravity and any initial momentum imparted to the fluid — is crucial to understanding how viruses or other pathogens spread from place to place, from person to person.

Lydia Bourouiba made the connection while studying fluid dynamics at McGill University in Montreal. In 2003, she was partway through her PhD when the SARS epidemic struck. She realized then that she wanted her work to have an impact on public health.

Bourouiba now leads the Fluid Dynamics of Disease Transmission Laboratory at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). For more than a decade, she has focused her attention on how fluids can help disease move from one host or reservoir to the next. Armed with high-speed cameras, some fancy mathematics and old-fashioned grit, Bourouiba studies everything from the motion of droplets that are ejected when we breathe, cough or sneeze to how splashes of water droplets from leaves can spread pathogens from plant to plant. She explored the current state of such knowledge in papers in the 2021 Annual Review of Fluid Mechanics and the Annual Review of Biomedical Engineering.

Knowable Magazine spoke to Bourouiba on how understanding the dynamics of fluids can inform public health measures and help limit the spread of infectious diseases such as Covid-19.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.

How did you get interested in fluid dynamics and infectious diseases?

When I took my first class on fluid dynamics, I fell in love with the topic, because of its beauty and universality. The beauty is tied to the mathematics of fluid dynamics, and that you may find fluid processes working at the scale of stars and galaxies, as well as at the cellular level.

Despite the age of the field, so many fundamental questions remain to be answered. I find such universality and depth beautiful. I have also always felt strongly about human rights, and in particular about equity in access to public health and education. It’s another side of who I am.

Coming back to fluids: Pathogens travel in fluids, whether they’re in the body or outside, and through air, which is a fluid as well. In combining fluid dynamics with applied questions about disease transmission and other topics, I saw a way to apply myself to fundamental open questions in fluid dynamics and mathematics. After much exploration, I embarked on a scientific journey that aligned with who I am and my values.

What was the state of knowledge when you began working on these problems?

When it comes to respiratory diseases, I found that the world of public health had dogmas about the spread of pathogens in droplets of mucus and saliva from person to person. There was also this notion of pathogens spreading via aerosols — the solid residues remaining in the air after the liquid in small droplets has evaporated. But there wasn’t much modern scientific evidence regarding the behavior of droplets or aerosols. The prevailing idea was that when we exhale, the droplets that come out follow isolated trajectories — that means a pathway influenced only by gravity’s pull and the drag of air, and not by the turbulent cloud of gas that’s emitted with them. These droplets can carry pathogens (the SARS-CoV-2 virus, for example, is about 100 nanometers across, orders of magnitude smaller than the droplets).

Our work showed that a central assumption in many infection control regimes — that droplets follow isolated trajectories unaffected by the gas cloud — was wrong.

If the droplets are considered in isolation, how far one droplet will go depends only on its initial momentum. When you do the aerodynamic calculation, you get a distance of 1 to 2 meters for the larger droplets. Using the same calculations, one can show that droplets and aerosols less than 50 micrometers in size would not travel more than a few centimeters, even if the droplets are ejected at very high speeds, because of the huge drag on them relative to their size. Our work showed that the prevailing notion — that droplets are emitted in isolation and follow individual trajectories — was wrong, and that this physical picture would have to be revised to accurately assess the risk posed by droplets laden with infectious pathogens.

How did you begin studying what happens when we exhale?

At MIT, I had access to a center for high-speed imaging, the Edgerton Center, where I could use advanced imaging approaches to reveal what we can’t see with the naked eye. There are many ways to reveal what people exhale. For example, to study the liquid droplets in isolation, there is shadowgraphy or scattering, which involves imaging the shadows cast by the droplets.

I also investigated and developed other approaches to reveal not just the liquid phase but also the gas phase, including camera sensors that use a very high frame-rate to capture these extremely fast processes. The gas emitted in a breath encapsulates, traps and transports the liquid droplets, and so is clearly critical. We’re talking about emissions — a high-momentum, turbulent movement of the droplets-laden puff of warm and moist air that we exhale when we breathe, talk, sing, cough or sneeze — that occur within 100 to 200 milliseconds.

Imaging techniques can capture the light scattered by the microdroplets of the exhaled cloud, others can capture changes in air density (due to change in temperature and moisture). Combining approaches and algorithms, we can separate the largest liquid droplets from the gas puff and its cargo of droplets, some invisible to the naked eye.

These techniques allowed me to start modeling the physical process: the emergence of the exhalation and its spread in the form of a multiphase, turbulent gas cloud rather than in isolated droplet trajectories. The cloud actually governs the distance that droplets of most sizes can reach. The exhalation’s movement is initially influenced by the momentum of the gas phase and then by the background indoor airflow in a more passive, turbulent dispersal pattern.

How did you get humans to produce the necessary exhalations for the studies?

Coughing, talking, breathing is, of course, straightforward. For sneezing, it varies. Some individuals are sensitive to light and respond to it by sneezing. Others need to tickle their nose. Those involved found their own trick. Because it’s a reflex, once the sneeze is triggered it proceeds with little difference from a “natural” one.

What did you find once you did all the imaging and modeling?

I found that these earlier studies had not accounted for the presence of a gas cloud. From the point of view of fluid dynamics, most of the momentum is not in the liquid phase (the droplets). It’s mostly in the gas phase, which traps droplets within it and carries them forward in a concentrated localized packet. (That’s in contrast to the previous understanding, which was that the droplets would be spread out fairly uniformly in an indoor space.) And therefore, the overall evolution of this ejecta — its motion in space and time — depends on the physics of the gas cloud, at least at this first phase of exhalation.

Some of these drops, of course, can escape from the gas cloud and settle on surfaces, but where they escape, how they escape and where they end up, is primarily driven, again, by the physics of the cloud. The distribution, distances and timescales associated with a gas cloud laden with droplets are dramatically different than those of isolated, individual drops. The old paradigm did not account for this.

The early stage of the cloud is dominated by the very high momentum of the exhalation cloud itself, not by the background indoor airflow, which may be just a few centimeters per second and much slower than the average speed of a breath. So, initially the dynamics of the cloud dominates the dispersal of pathogen-laden droplets. The cloud can span a room in seconds to minutes. As it moves forward, the cloud draws in ambient air and slows down.

Eventually there’s a point of transition, where the exhaled cloud speed becomes comparable to that of the background air. And only then does the background airflow take over in what is a more chaotic dispersal of the droplets or aerosols that were concentrated in the respiratory cloud up to that point. This is when the concentrated packets of particulates begin to break apart and start following the pattern of airflow.

Our first observations were surprising, as clearly the reality looked very different from the existing descriptions that essentially ignored the physics of the exhaled cloud.

What kind of distances did you measure?

In the earlier scenario, small, isolated droplets, even emitted at the highest exhalation speeds, can be shown to go only a few centimeters before air resistance brings them down. Isolated, larger droplets at similar speeds are less sensitive to drag and can go further, up to 1 to 2 meters (about 3.3 to 6.6 feet).

Violent exhalations ­– coughing, sneezing, shouting or singing — may send some disease-laden droplets hurtling as much as 25 feet from the source.

How far the droplets in the cloud travel, however, is governed by the cloud’s dynamics — except for huge blobs more than a millimeter in diameter. These large blobs immediately leave the cloud. But the range of most of the smaller drops is enhanced by the gas cloud. For the most violent exhalations caused by coughing, sneezing, shouting or even singing, drops smaller than 20 or 30 micrometers across can go 200 times farther than they would if they were emitted in isolation.

In fact, the cloud and its payload can reach distances of up to 6 to 8 meters (about 19 to 26 feet) for the most violent exhalations! Even with normal breathing, the gas cloud can easily spread 2 meters with its payload of small, suspended droplets.

What happens to the gas cloud over time?

As the cloud moves forward, it sweeps up ambient air, expands and slows down. So drops moving faster than the mean speed of the cloud can escape, leaving fewer and fewer drops trapped in the cloud. When the background air flow takes over — when it’s moving faster than the cloud — the opposing forces become the ambient air flow speed versus the settling speed of the suspended particles. Droplets invisible to the naked eye, less than 10 micrometers in size (but still more than 100 times larger than most viruses), can remain suspended in the air for hours to days, depending on the background airflow.

Is this what one means by pathogen-carrying droplets being airborne?

Once you’re talking about a respiratory disease, you’re always exhaling pathogen-carrying droplets into the air. But, to cause infection, they need to be inhaled and reach their target tissue in the respiratory system. The question is one of route and level of exposure. That depends on understanding the dynamics of the gas cloud and the fate of its payload of drops and their contents, as well as how the pathogen interacts with the environment. This is dynamic, not static, so we need to incorporate such dynamic thinking about these questions to develop more robust fundamentals that can lead to improved surveillance and mitigation.

For example, the fact that SARS-CoV-2–containing droplets can remain in the air for hours with the virus potentially still being viable and dispersed indoors means that healthcare workers caring for Covid-19 patients should use high-grade respirators, and they should be putting them on well before coming face-to-face with the infected individual, not just when they are within 6 feet of the patient.

Should the rest of us wear masks?

Even at this stage of the pandemic, and given the new variants, it is key to still wear masks as an effective means of disease control in addition to personal protection. But it is important to understand that fluids follow the path of least resistance — “fluids are lazy” as we say. If a mask is not sealed — it’s open on the sides — most of the fluid passes through the largest openings, not the mask’s filter material.

However, encountering an obstacle does lower the exhalation cloud’s momentum, which reduces its range and means the cloud can be overtaken by the room’s air flow earlier in its trajectory. If most of the flow passes through the mask’s filter, as happens in well-sealed masks, what comes out is a gas flow with lowered viral particle content.  

How about ventilation in indoor spaces? What effect does it have on the spread of the droplets?

Most buildings in the US have mechanical mixing ventilation. That means that the inlet and outlet are both near the ceiling. We already know that displacement ventilation might be better at ensuring that the contaminants stay in the upper room levels rather than in the breathing zone. In displacement ventilation, cooler clean air is slowly injected from the floor or lower levels and exits from the ceiling or upper room levels. At a steady state in an ideal setting, you can create a kind of stratification, such that the breathing zone is fresher, with fewer contaminants, than the upper layer of air even with people in the room.

Obviously, in an emergency response setting, one has to work with whatever ventilation system is in place. So it is important to ensure that there’s enough fresh air coming in from the outside per unit time per person. We know from studies of tuberculosis that at least 10 to 15 liters of fresh air per second per person is needed to reduce airborne transmission of respiratory diseases indoors. That’s achievable with modern ventilation systems and even with good portable air purifiers.

Is this a concern only for hospitals or also for other indoor spaces, like grocery stores, restaurants and schools?

It’s a concern everywhere, particularly in smaller, older buildings that are not up to basic ventilation standards and that are planning to return to full or even half occupancy. Generally, building ventilation standards are not optimized for reduction of respiratory diseases, but for comfort levels. For normal occupancy during a pandemic, you need to exceed those basic standards.

You have also studied how non-respiratory infections can spread in hospitals. Tell us about that.

We looked at mechanisms that could spread spores of Clostridium difficile, a bacterium that causes serious, sometimes life-threatening infections of the colon. Hospitals are often important contributors to the transmission of this gastrointestinal disease. In North America, many hospitals use high-pressure flushes in toilets, for energy efficiency. And, again surprisingly, little work had been done on the problem of emissions from these flushes from the fluid dynamics and design points of view.

We wanted to see if the design of the devices could in fact play a role in the airborne route of transmission of C. difficile, rather than just in surface contamination. We used light-scattering and high-speed imaging and other methods to study the fragmentation — the generation of airborne droplets — from a range of flush systems.

We found a very interesting pattern. We quantified when and how contaminating droplets are created by the fluid fragmentation that is enhanced by the current designs. Plumes of small droplets are created throughout the flush process and these droplets are carried around by the background airflow and can remain suspended in a room for a long time.

The issue we revealed is that typical cleaning protocols of hospitals may enhance such emissions. Cleaning agents, or surfactants, reduce the surface tension of the water and subsequent flushes can thus end up aerosolizing the fluid more extensively.  While certain detergents may kill viruses and bacteria, they typically do not neutralize bacterial spores. So, current toilet designs and cleaning protocols can enhance emission of such spores. 

Theoretically, those spores may end up infecting someone else. We need to be more systematic in studying these effects and developing fundamental science insights that can one day lead to improved patient-management and infection-control protocols at the frontline.

Tell us about your work with plants.

The question of contamination and disease transmission holds for animals and plants as well. I got particularly interested in the transmission of leaf diseases like rust in plants such as wheat. The connection between droplets and transmission became clear when we learned about the empirical evidence linking rainfall to the appearance a few weeks later of lesions on wheat or other primary crops.

In the lab, we started studying details of how drops of water behave as they fall on plants. The high-speed imaging revealed a rich set of processes of breakup and fragmentation of drops that had never been reported and were surprising. Most plant leaves have been thought to be super-hydrophobic, as in water-resistant, built to let water drops slide off like a raincoat. Lotus leaves are a good example of that. Yet, we found that most common crop leaves are somewhere between the extremes: not fully wetting (coated by a thin liquid film) and not fully hydrophobic. So, fluids interact with these leaves and fragment in more complex ways than would be anticipated if leaves were super-hydrophobic.

Also, leaves and stems are compliant: they move and oscillate when hit by a rain or irrigation drop. We discovered that the interaction between drops of water impacting the leaves and the wetting and mechanical properties of the leaves can cause water to fragment in a way that may be particularly effective for spreading pathogens. Disturbed by an impact, a contaminated, standing drop of water on a leaf may stretch out in a crescent shape that helps disperse any disease agents within it.

Depending on the balance of the wetting and mechanical properties, in particular the compliance or stiffness of their leaves, plants can favor short-range transmission of large drops that contain a lot of pathogens or long-range transmission of smaller droplets each containing comparatively fewer pathogens but dispersed over a greater area.

Without even knowing about the genetic susceptibility of plants to a particular or emerging leaf pathogen, one can leverage information about the dynamics of the leaves to select for crop combinations in fields. The goal is to set up contamination barriers while reducing losses in yields by designing a polyculture that integrates firewalls — crops strategically placed that are associated with a shorter range of contaminant dispersal via droplet fragmentation. 

These results involve some pretty diverse phenomena, whether it’s the transmission of respiratory diseases, or the spread of infections in hospitals, or transmission of diseases in plants. Is there a common theme?

All of these insights are linked by their fascinating fluid dynamics and interfacial physics — what happens when fluids and solids meet. It’s curiosity-driven and focused on fundamentals. When a crisis hits, it is not obvious early on what kinds of basic research will become important. So, it’s crucial to support research that may not appear ready for immediate use.

The type of research I do, and did for years prior to this pandemic, is focused on the intersection of fundamental fluid dynamics, biophysics and infectious disease. It was not particularly popular, mainstream nor funded by traditional sources. Nevertheless, we carried on, and the insights we gained turned out to be central to key safety measures and led to an explosion of research in this area that will enable us to better prepare and respond to future crises.

When we face new challenges, it is often the insights from basic, scientist-driven research that can enable or suggest solutions. That is why it is so vital to be wary of group-think and nurture intellectual freedom and diversity in the research enterprise.

Given that you are studying the transmission of respiratory diseases, how have the many months of the pandemic been for you?

Very busy and grueling. There’s still a sense of urgency, particularly given the resurgence of Covid-19 infections with the fourth wave and with the newer, highly transmissible variants. But there is also a sense of moral obligation and duty to educate, communicate and share in any way we can. This is a mission way beyond the usual ivory tower of academia. The pandemic and the knowledge needed to combat it are both still unfolding. Staying focused on giving back to society should be core to the mission of universities, particularly in this time of need.

Editor’s note: This article was revised on September 6, 2021, to correct two errors. The piece should have said that the previous understanding was that droplets, not the gas cloud, would be distributed fairly uniformly through a room. In addition, the description of a droplet's trajectory considered in isolation should have said that it would not have been influenced by the gas cloud emitted with it as opposed to being influenced by other droplets, as was stated originally.

This article is part of  Reset: The Science of Crisis & Recovery , an ongoing Knowable Magazine  series exploring how the world is navigating the coronavirus pandemic, its consequences and the way forward. Reset is supported by a grant from the Alfred P. Sloan Foundation.

This article originally appeared in Knowable Magazine, an independent journalistic endeavor from Annual Reviews.