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Losing the bottle

I’ve managed to suppress most of the memories of my college days—quite wisely, I think—but every once in a while some random factoid springs to mind. For example, I remember clearly the wonder I felt one evening in the mid-1980s when I walked into a New Jersey supermarket and saw a box of milk on the shelf. At first I didn’t comprehend what I was looking at. I had to study the package at some length before I grasped that this was not powdered milk or some milk-like nondairy product. Sitting there quite happily at room temperature was a container of milk that, so the label claimed, would remain fresh without refrigeration for months. I couldn’t figure out how they’d managed to pull this off, but I was excited. Just think of the convenience of not having to buy milk every few days, not to mention saving space in your refrigerator! I bought a box and tried it. OK, the flavor was a bit less than fantastic, but still…pour it on some cereal or in your coffee and you’d never know the difference. This revolutionary development seemed so obviously useful to me that I was certain all milk would be sold this way within a couple of years.

Time passed—months, years, and then decades. The boxes of milk, instead of multiplying on store shelves as I’d expected, disappeared almost entirely. I found this completely baffling. Why hadn’t this sort of milk caught on? I was even more surprised when I went to Europe and discovered that in many places, it’s much harder to find refrigerated milk than boxes or bottles of milk stored at room temperature. So clearly the technology to package milk this way was still in use…but did those Europeans know something that we didn’t? Or was it the other way around? I decided to investigate.

Out to Pasteur

In order for milk to stay fresh at room temperature, two things are required. First, it must be completely free of any bacteria or other microorganisms; bacteria, after all, are what cause milk to spoil. Second, the milk must be packaged in such a way that it can’t be contaminated after the fact. The packaging must also keep out light, which can cause the breakdown of nutrients such as Vitamins A and D. To rid the milk of bacteria, dairies employ a process known as Ultra High Temperature pasteurization, or UHT for short. The specially treated milk is then stored in aseptic packaging, which preserves the sterility of its contents for long periods of time. Together, UHT processing and aseptic packaging give you milk with a shelf life of six to nine months, as long as the package is unopened.

Pasteurization is simply a matter of heating something hot enough and long enough to kill pathogens—disease-causing germs. To pasteurize milk, you can heat it to about 140°F (60°C) for a half hour, or for faster results, increase the temperature to 163°F (73°C) and reduce the time to about 15 seconds. This makes milk safe for human consumption, and in the process, dramatically reduces the number of bacteria that cause spoilage—enabling the milk to remain drinkable for a week or so, as long as it’s refrigerated. Pasteurization has little or no effect on either the flavor of milk or its nutritional content. It does, however, leave some viable microorganisms, which multiply over time—especially after the milk is exposed to air.

UHT pasteurization, on the other hand, destroys virtually all bacteria and spores. To do this, it heats the milk to a much higher temperature—around 275°F (135°C)—for about two seconds, then rapidly cools it back to room temperature. Because the exposure to heat is so brief, the milk is not damaged and remains nutritionally intact. However, UHT processing can have a noticeable effect on the taste. (I was tempted to say something about the added flavor coming from the corpses of millions of microbes, but that would have been…in poor taste.)

Meanwhile, the packaging itself must also be sterilized, and it must be filled with milk and sealed in a sterile environment. The most common form of aseptic packaging is a box made from layers of polyethylene, aluminum foil, and cardboard. The plastic keeps the package airtight, the foil keeps out light, and the cardboard provides structural integrity. This type of package is sometimes called a “drink box,” and is commonly used for fruit juices. But the boxes can be made in nearly any size or shape. Specially designed opaque, aseptic plastic bottles have also come into use, though boxes use space more efficiently and are therefore easier to store and transport.

Got Box?

UHT pasteurization and aseptic packaging are becoming more and more common not only for fruit juices but for soups and broths, sport drinks, soy beverages, pasta sauces, coffee drinks, and other liquids. But if this technology is so wonderful, why do we so seldom see it used for cow’s milk in North America?

According to one theory, it’s all about the taste: if the milk in a box doesn’t taste exactly like milk in a bottle, consumers won’t buy it. True enough, the taste is slightly different. But in defense of UHT milk, its flavor has improved quite a bit over the last few decades. As long as it’s refrigerated before it’s served, many people will be unable to distinguish it from conventional milk. Moreover (according to some tasters, at least), lower-fat varieties of UHT milk taste better than whole UHT milk—and North Americans certainly buy more lowfat milk today than they did when UHT milk first appeared. Furthermore, let’s be realistic: in the United States, at least, consumers overwhelmingly choose convenience over flavor—just look at the popularity of American cheese, instant soup, and frozen vegetables, to say nothing of the entire fast-food industry. In short, I don’t think taste is the real problem.

Perhaps the issue is cost. UHT milk does cost more than refrigerated milk. This is due in part to the high cost of the equipment needed to package it, and in part to lower demand. Needless to say, if consumers adopted a preference for UHT milk, the price would eventually come down. After all, producers and supermarkets would save money in the long run on energy bills and transportation, as well as reducing waste due to spoilage.

But even though higher costs may be part of the problem, I think the real issue is one of habit. Because we’re so deeply conditioned to believe that fresh milk is something that can only be sold in cold bottles, we regard anything else as suspicious. “What could this mean? Does it contain scary hormones? Was it treated with radiation? Will I spontaneously change my political affiliation if I drink it?” These are the sorts of worries that can only be alleviated by proper education, by which of course I mean good advertising. Hey, wait a minute—did I just say we need more advertising? I never would have said that back in college. Maybe there is something in this milk.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on June 19, 2004.

Image credit: DebMonOf3 [CC BY-ND 2.0], via Flickr

It’s here at last: my very own day! Yes, it really is National Joe Day, so I guess I can spend the day…being myself? If your name is also Joe, I look forward to celebrating with you today. If not, you can observe National Joe Day by hugging a Joe, or drinking a nice hot cup of Joe, or—if you absolutely must—eating a Sloppy Joe. If you’re looking for a gift for your favorite Joe, I have it on good authority that Joes like to receive large boxes of money. Just a thought.

Image credit: Le grand Cricri [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Blinking your way to relaxation

I love gadgets, as a quick glance around my office would confirm. In particular, I seem to have the gene that favors small, battery-powered boxes that light up—my iPhone, iPad, Apple Watch, digital camera, digital name tag, and laser pointers, for example, all meet that general description. Even so, I buy only those gadgets that I think will actually perform a useful activity or make my life better in some way. I reject otherwise cool gadgets that would not in fact be valuable as part of my lifestyle. It was therefore with a mixture of gadget-crazed glee and circumspect puzzlement that I first looked at a device sometimes known as a “brain machine” or “mind machine” a couple of decades ago at a Sharper Image store.

Relaxation in a Box

That it was a small box containing batteries and blinking lights was enough to induce me to pick it up; it also had cables running to a set of headphones and what appeared to be sunglasses with a bunch of LEDs mounted on the inside. The marketing propaganda said that the device was supposed to promote relaxation and “synchronize” one’s brain waves, whatever that meant. Out of idle curiosity I put the apparatus on and pressed the button. The LEDs on the glasses started blinking and synthesized sounds poured out of the headphones. I only used the device for a minute or so, but I was almost immediately struck by the sensation that I was somehow moving into an altered state of consciousness. To be quite honest, it was a bit freaky—fascinating, sure, but not something I really cared to experience standing in the middle of a store. I thought it would be well worth about US$50 to take home and experiment with, but the cost was quite a few times that, and I really couldn’t bring myself to spend hundreds of dollars on a box that made sunglasses light up.

Years later, I stumbled upon a much lower-tech (and cheaper) version of the device in another store, and I decided the price was low enough for me to satisfy my latent curiosity. Once again, the literature stated that it aided relaxation, promoted mental clarity, relieved tension, improved creativity and learning ability and so on—all rather vague and unfalsifiable claims. I took it home and tried out several of the programs.

This Is Your Brain on a Machine

The first thing I noticed was that the blinking lights—which you see through closed eyelids—produce a subjective impression of complex patterns, colors, and motion, even though the only things that vary are the rate of blinking and alternations between the lights on left and right sides. Depending on which program I chose, the pattern of blinking differed significantly over a period ranging from 10 minutes to an hour. All the while, a wavelike drone of white noise came through the headphones—a distinct disappointment compared to the higher quality (and more interesting) synthesized tones of that first unit I tried. I could have just plugged in another audio source and listened to whatever I wanted, but I was hoping for an integrated audiovisual experience.

Using the brain machine was indeed relaxing, though some sessions were more successful than others. On a few occasions, I had the distinct impression of viewing a scene before me—such as a room full of furniture—even though my eyes were closed and the only visual stimulus was the blinking LEDs. And once or twice, I spontaneously felt a very strong emotional response, almost like the terror of falling, that I could not attribute to anything external. So clearly the device had some effect, though precisely what it was doing I can’t say. It’s also not clear whether my experience would have been the same with other models; it seemed the particular device I chose was designed rather sloppily, without any real attention to the underlying principles of how the brain works.

That Syncing Feeling

And what are those principles? The idea behind brain machines is relatively straightforward and scientifically sound (as far as it goes). For many years, medical researchers have known that there is a correlation between the frequency of people’s brainwaves and their mental states. Higher frequencies are associated with normal waking consciousness; progressively lower frequencies correspond to relaxation, sleep, and deep meditation. The brain also has a tendency to synchronize its frequency with external stimuli such as lights and sounds, in much the same way as a tuning fork vibrates when exposed to a sound of the right pitch. The brain’s synchronization process is called entrainment, and it is exactly what the brain machines aim to produce. In theory, at least, by blinking lights or playing sounds at certain frequencies, the machines can encourage the brain to fall into sync, inducing very relaxed, meditative states.

Every brain machine on the market—and there are many different varieties—claims to aid relaxation, and used properly, they usually will. Other claims are somewhat more dubious. For example, I’ve read in several places that by using a brain machine, one can achieve meditative states that would take a monk or yogi 20 years of training to reach. I have to wonder about that. For one thing, most brain machines don’t include EEG circuitry to produce a record of the actual state of your brain or provide biofeedback, making claims about meditative states hard to verify. But even if it is true that one’s brain is operating at the same frequency as a Zen master’s, that by itself doesn’t mean much; the same could also be true of someone on drugs. I’m not sure it’s fair to say that simply reaching a certain brainwave frequency is somehow equivalent to the experience of spending years of disciplined training in meditation. On the other hand, unlike drugs, brain machines are legal, safe, and nonaddictive—which must count for something.

Making Light of It

In addition to the standard “light and sound” brain machines, there are several audio-only programs that purport to have approximately the same effect. You can also buy machines that eschew light and sound altogether for a more direct approach: delivering tiny electrical pulses through electrodes attached to your head. Supposedly this accomplishes the same thing, but I find the idea of zapping my skull a bit off-putting.

Without question, not all brain machines are created equal, but there is no good way to evaluate competing models objectively; you have to try them out. Unfortunately, nearly all of them are far too expensive for what they do, so experimenting with a range of models is not a reasonable prospect for most people. Still, the experience of using a brain machine is one worth having, and depending on what type of machine you have and how you use it, you may find its value in promoting relaxation or reducing stress well worth the price. As for me, I’ll be looking on eBay for a high-end unit whose owner says they’re selling it because they’ve achieved enlightenment and want money to give to the poor.

Note: This is an updated version of an article that originally appeared on Interesting Thing of the Day on June 25, 2003, and again in a slightly revised form on June 9, 2004.

Image credit: Kemitsv [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons