The two species problem of New Atheism

The dove's Tarzan impression went down a treat at parties.

One claims to be friendly. There’s an asshole around somewhere. A number are accused of being militant. There is a multitude who are silent out of either fear or choice. A whole bunch like to distinguish themselves from the old variety. They can be polemical, loud, reasonable, bigoted, intellectual, philosophical, pragmatic…in fact, the only trait they all share is a lack of belief in a supernatural, personal creator of the universe.

And yet, if you were to stumble across a community of godless ones, you could be forgiven for naively thinking there were just two distinct species – Accommodationis warminfuzziness, and Newatheist confrontationist. The former are fratricidal backstabbers who are sleeping with the enemy, while the latter are brash bigots who risk making a mess of things by frightening off the customers.

Every week a blogger somewhere will point out how dangerous New Atheism is for Old Atheism. This will quickly be followed by another blogger using accommodationist as a pejorative, listing how their criticisms against fellow atheists is simply not cricket, and how they coddle those nasty Bible bashers. Each article will proceed to spawn a fetid tail of comments that gradually decay into barely coherent sentences that might be illogical if they weren’t initially illegible.

And so the conversation goes. On. And on. And on.

To what end does this occur? There’s a question worthy of a sociological PhD. What initially seems to be quite obvious quickly becomes something of a mystery.

On the surface, this maelstrom appears to ultimately be about science. Religion is antagonistic to science, you see, so to make science better, you need to do something about the religion problem. Atheism – the absence of a belief in supernatural personalities who govern nature – is the pill to cure the ill. Simple.

Science is about specific terms. About precision. A reasonable evaluation of the evidence and criticisms of beliefs and methodology. It’s a brutal ecosystem of predators where only the fittest ideas survive. Yet when one looks at the New Atheist discussion, science is the last thing that you’ll find.

So while it might well be under the guise of defending science literacy, there is the unmistakable smell of bigotry tainting much of the discussion. People aren’t just mistaken, they’re stupid or evil. Hyperbole is common place, where all religion is always bad. While individual opinions vary, a culture persists which has turned the discussion into a bloody, muddy battlefield of traded insults, fabricated facts and barely contained hostility.

Criticism is a dirty word. Evidence is dismissed for spurious reasoning, assumptions, wishful thinking and faithful claims. Definitions are vague and quickly dissolve into strawman and ‘no true Scottsman’ fallacies. In short, what we understand to be ‘New Atheism’ has all the heat and anger of science but little of the rigor or mutual respect. And it claims to be defending it.

There are frequent olive branches thrown down in request of a ceasefire. Perhaps the most common is the plea for diversity. This call seems democratic, inclusive and reasonable. After all, if there are many different problems and many different audiences, there must be a need for many different methods. Let’s all live and let live, right? If one approach doesn’t work, another will.

The mediators are somewhat like a ring species for Accommodationis warminfuzziness and Newatheist confrontationist.

Yet there is an element of intellectual laziness in this view. Of course, no one approach in communication will reach all demographics, or solve all problems. Diverse approaches are indeed necessary. Yet this is not the same as saying all approaches are necessary. Some will conflict. Some will be resource hungry and have no hope of success for one reason or another. Identifying solutions to the problem of how best to communicate science in the face of religion will take more than guessing, hoping and shouting into echo chambers. Like anything in science, it demands research, critical thinking and evaluation. No act of communication should be above criticism or beyond the need for evidence, clarity and precision.

Science communication suffers from a lot of confounding factors in the community, of which religious faith is but one. To atheists, it’s an important one. Making ground on these problems will take good information and calm, rational thinking. If atheists feel that there is a specific problem attacking science, what better tool to solve it than the tools of science itself?

Teaching in the black box

Tyndall's lecture

"No...it's 'wingardium levi-OH-sa'," a lone voice in the audience cried.

I remembered using biuret solution in my old biochemistry classes at university, many moons ago. It’s a pale smurf-blue liquid that darkens in the presence of protein. Along with benedict’s test and the primary school favourite of iodine-on-starch, classroom food chemistry commonly relies on such demonstrations to provide students with the practical means to analyse unidentified substances.

As a teacher, I found using solutions like biuret reagent introduced a tiny dilemma. While I was pleased that students were engaged in problem solving, this liquid was simply a magical device for enchanting an answer from a recipe. I found similar problems in teaching mathematics – whatever came out of the small black box on their desk was the solution. So what if the calculator said the ant was a metre long? Who cares if the solution turned purple in the presence of sugar? That’s the answer that the black box produced, reality be damned!

Recently I discovered I could make biuret solution from material bought at the hardware. Drain cleaner and garden variety ‘bluestone’ (copper sulphate crystals) to be exact. Add some protein powder and watch that baby turn purple. Best of all, the materials aren’t commonly associated with lab coats and Erlenmeyer flasks.

I’ve found over years of making and finding science demonstrations that science works best as a process of connections. No child is familiar with biuret reagent. Many have come across sodium hydroxide in the form of Draino, or copper sulphate pentahydrate as a soil additive. From familiarity connections can be built far more easily than mysterious tinctures. Suddenly science is embedded in the real world of hardware stores and garden centres, leaving Hogwarts far behind.

So-called ‘black box’ science is all too common in education. Input goes in one end of the box and output comes out the other side. In between is all polyjuice and Quidditch. I still cringe at any science show that attempts to excite children by demonstrating a chemical reaction by referring to the reagents as ‘potions’.

The demonstration has a long, proud history in science communication. Sir Humphry Davy and his successor, Michael Faraday, were well known for their spectacular lectures. Every baby boomer in Australia knows ‘why it is so’ when an egg is sucked into a bottle. ‘Don’t tell, show!’ is almost second nature in science education. And for good reason. When it comes to constructing knowledge, our brains have a bias for personal experience.

Yet in communication, this can be a double edged sword. The surrounding context for such experiences carries tremendous weight when successfully incorporating an idea into a mental model.

A classic example is the observation of a saucer of water water rising into a glass inverted over a lit candle. Many a child has gone away believing they just saw air disappear as it was burned by a flame, creating a vacuum. The reasons for this misinterpretation are numerous; maybe their prior knowledge led them to assume matter can disappear. Or their teacher provided them with a poor metaphor. Perhaps there were other demonstrations they’d recently engaged in that created confusion about the underlying physics. The teacher simply could have provided incorrect information.

In any case, that same potency behind the demonstration that was of such benefit can prove to be the source of misinformation if used without due thought given to the culture of the audience, or if its execution goes awry. As every magician knows, it’s not just the slight of hand that deceives an audience, but your story entangled with their expectations. Magicians who fumble their narrative or fail to understand their audience can be as nimble as they like – the rabbit will still be obvious in the hat.

It still shocks me when I come across science presenters or teachers who confess to not having tested a demonstration before going ‘live’, or use metaphors that are even more complicated than the phenomenon they’re explaining. Often a presenter or educator will attempt to go for flash and entertainment at the expense of audience connection, compromising on tight similes by investing in drama, noise and pyrotechnics.

Having now personally found, created or modified over 150 science demonstrations (one a week for the past three years, more or less) from simple materials, I’ve learned a couple of things. One is to always do a trial run. Two, never underestimate what your audience might find interesting. And three, know the limits of what is being observed. Lest your audience walk away with fantasies of one mile long ants and polyjuice potions instead of an appreciation of how useful science really is at explaining what we see.

Published in: on February 11, 2011 at 3:14 pm  Comments (1)  
Tags: , ,

ACARA’s bent spoon

Charles Darwin - the perfect anti-creationist picture

Let me be upfront and honest about something – I’m no great fan of anti-accolades at the best of times. You know the ones; an ‘award’ for the worst dressed/stupidest/most laughable actor/book/production/product and so on. I simply don’t see the point, outside of a smug satisfaction that the awarder feels in superiority to the awardee. But, given human nature, I rarely say much as it’s hardly worthy of comment.

I didn’t attend TAMOz this year for numerous reasons. But I did hear on the grapevine that the annual ‘Bent Spoon Award’ was presented in absentia to the Australian Curriculum Assessment and Reporting Authority (ACARA) for the imminent National Curriculum science framework.

And, frankly, I was pretty gobsmacked.

First, some background. The Bent Spoon Award is an annual raspberry blown by the Australian Skeptics at ‘the perpetrator of the most preposterous piece of paranormal or pseudo-scientific piffle.’ As such, it must have been decided that of all paranormal and pseudoscientific acts, products and claims made in 2010, the National Curriculum must be the worst offender. Given I’d spent a good part of the year reading through it, I naturally presumed there was a sizable chunk of witchcraft, alchemy, geocentrism, voodoo or spiritualism I must have missed.

Fortunately that’s not the case. What was it that was so offensive in this draft framework? According to the nomination, it was for ‘devaluing the teaching of evolution in schools, allowing creationism to be taught, and for teaching alternative theories such as traditional Chinese medicines and Aboriginal beliefs as part of the Science Curriculum.’

Not for removing evolution altogether, and going down the dark path of Texan education. Not for putting creationism or intelligent design or Raelianism into the year 7 classroom. Nothing quite so definitive. It was a vague ‘devaluing’ of education that Australian Skeptics wanted to advertise to the world as the most deserving of scorn over all other media items, pseudoscientific products or audacious claims. One would hope that they had some pretty strong evidence to support the connection between ACARA’s choice of content and a loss of educational ‘value’.

Education is, of course, valuable. Anything that reduces the effectiveness of the system in preparing children and adolescents for their future should be addressed. A quick flick through my blog is enough to gauge my views as far as the topic goes. Indeed, it’s so important, I take claims that it is ‘devalued’ quite seriously.

Before we look at the criticism and ask whether the curriculum really warrants its prize, it might pay to quickly establish some context.

Australian education is a responsibility of the state level of government. As such, all states have an education act that prescribes what and how people will be taught important knowledge and skills. An example can be found at Queensland’s Department of Education and Training site. All states have similar documentation, which in part dictates the creation of units or subjects in schools that reflect a curriculum created by a state body. How this is assessed varies between the states, but typically includes the collection of student work samples along with a syllabus that demonstrates significant effort has been made to follow the curriculum’s framework.

It has been a concern for a long time that while there is strong similarity between all state curricula, order and timing of the skills and content taught has the potential to create difficulty for population movement. A student whose family moves from Perth to Sydney might face disadvantages by having missed some topics while replicating others. This led to growing support for a national curriculum.

In April 2008 a national curriculum board was put together with the purpose of meeting this challenge. In early 2010, ACARA released Phase 1 of its kindergarten to year 10 National Curriculum for feedback, which covered mathematics, English and science subjects. Later it opened Phase 2, covering geography, language and the arts for public review.

It appears that science is the field that will be revised most rigorously in the future, as the dominating criticism through feedback was that a sense of perspective was lost by focusing on certain details. To go into detail on my personal views on the strengths and shortfalls of the document would fall outside of the scope of this post. Overall, in spite of certain small reservations, I felt as far as science went it was a robust framework that balanced the diverse needs of the community it was serving.

Having been responsible for working on unit plans and analysing curriculum frameworks, I can sympathise with their creators, especially when faced with a wall of teachers and community members who feel their particular pet field is more important than the others. We’re all familiar with the ‘overcrowded curriculum’, and knowing what is vital for the future citizen to know is no easy task. Keeping everybody happy while delivering a working structure is a nightmare.

Which brings us to the nomination for the Bent Spoon. It states that the teaching of evolution;

‘become virtually sidelined, appearing in one section of Year 10 only.’

Evolution does indeed appear explicitly as the first point in Science Understanding in Year 10. I question the author where else he feels it should be. In my experience as an educator, covering it explicitly as a topic in its own right is difficult prior to a student’s ability to grasp abstract concepts, which more or less rules out going into much depth before years 6 or 7. I’ve never covered it as a concept before year 10. Of course, content based on biological categorisation – which is important for grasping evolution later – can be covered, and is in year 4. Physiological adaptations are usually covered in year 8 or 9, although fossils (and discussing ancient animals) is covered early in about year 3. Genetics typically works alongside evolution in year 10 (as is the case here). So while the word only appears once, concepts that are fundamental to understanding evolution litter the curriculum.

“The evolution of man is not part of the syllabus, and all the examples of evolution given as ‘Elaborations’ in the syllabus deal with non-controversial or small scale applications of natural selection (e.g. ‘the impact of cane toads on the evolution of Australian Predators such as snakes.’)”

The evolution of man has never been part of the K-10 curriculum of any state to my knowledge (happy to be corrected) as it is covered in detail in senior subjects. One can argue for it being moved forward or made compulsory, and I can think of arguments for and against doing so. However, I can’t but help that this isn’t being argued with a pragmatic necessity in mind, but rather as a defensive posture against potential religious indoctrination.

But more on that later.

The elaborations in the document aren’t official necessities, but suggested guidelines on how it might be approached. They are typically suggested with relevance to prior knowledge in mind rather to make it easier for the teacher to determine a useful way to introduce the topic.

What of teaching that dreadful ‘Aboriginal’ science? What does the framework have to say about that?

Specific knowledge and understanding of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples is incorporated where it relates to science and relevant phenomena, particularly knowledge and  understanding of nature and of sustainable practices. For example, systematic observations by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures over many generations of the sequence of various natural events contribute to our scientific understanding of seasons in Australia.”

And,

“Students should learn that all sorts of people, including people like themselves, use and contribute to science. Historical studies of science, mathematics and technology in the early Egyptian, Greek, Chinese, Arabic and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures extending to modern times will help students understand the contributions of people from around the world.”

Given my upcoming book more or less goes into some depth on this topic, I’d like to think I’ve got something of an informed opinion. I feel the demarcation problem makes it difficult to describe precisely what science is and isn’t. Indigenous Australians have developed systems of describing nature, which might be viewed as scientific. They definitely created technology. Personally, I’m inclined to define science as values that described natural events in an impersonal fashion, so would see this as an interesting contrast, where I’d present to students the question ‘Is science the same as technology?’. Nonetheless, I think it’s a valuable contrast in the classroom, and one (when taught in accordance to the skills implicit in the curriculum) that would benefit student’s comprehension of how science isn’t simply defined.

“Thus the syllabus leaves open the option of teaching Creationism, while teaching just the basic theory of Natural Selection to Year 10 students only, omitting any reference to the evolution of man, and not mentioning Darwin once. This must be of great concern to sceptics as this document will form the basis of Science teaching for the next generation.”

Here’s the core of the matter. ACARA was found guilty of peddling pseudoscience because there it didn’t seal up the cracks, preventing the possibility of creationists slipping their venom into the ears of kiddies. That’s it – it didn’t account for the reds under the beds.

What troubles me most is that in spite of a greater focus on good scientific thinking, in spite of a move towards evaluative tools and promoting a critical epistemology more than any prior document, they got their wrist slapped because they didn’t put in enough Darwin. The assumption is that this is what impedes creationism in the classroom – evolution put in bold ink and underlined in a state-enforceable document.

There is a valid concern of pseudoscience slipping into the curriculum. I’ve encountered it all before – teachers who believe that the spin of a planet causes gravity; conspiracy theories; dolphins are a type of fish. But greater detail in the curriculum would not have made a lick of difference, given the existing documents failed to dissuade such errors or misinformation. Putting another evolution topic in primary school and adding Darwin to the list of great scientists will not safeguard schools against creationist teaching, and for that to be the focus of attack demonstrates a complete ignorance of pedagogy.

For skeptics, nothing should be more important than the arming of students with the fundamental skills that allow them to hear nonsense and identify it. This is not a question of content, but skills.

What does make a difference, then? A number of things. Better trained teachers. A school culture that reinforces cross-curricular skills. Improved career prospects for teaching and non-teaching staff. Good resources. Community involvement in the classroom. It’s not a simple solution, let alone one that can be addressed through a liberal dose of public mockery. Rather, differences are made by proactively contributing to the discussion with good information on pedagogy, cognitive psychology, best classroom practices etc.

The draft science curriculum is certainly not without its faults, and can definitely stand improvement. Nobody would argue otherwise. Informed and constructive feedback is vital and groups like the Australian Skeptics should well have pulled together a team of sceptical educators and produced well supported feedback grounded in research, which could have been promoted on its website to demonstrate its measured approach to education. Discussing how to go about this would be worthwhile.

Yet what is the likelihood of their being taken seriously by any curriculum council when its response is to instead ridicule ACARA, effectively calling them pseudoscientists because their conclusions don’t have enough evolution for their liking? Not great, I’m afraid.

Published in: on November 27, 2010 at 9:14 pm  Comments (18)  
Tags: , , ,

Microbial melodramas make for good soap

There might be no ‘I’ in team, but there is definitely one in ‘bacteria’. While microbes aren’t traditionally recognised for their altruism, James Collins and a team of researchers from the Howard Hughes Medical Institute have found individual bacteria can pay a price that ultimately benefits others in the colony.

The text-book microbe competes in a bug-eats-bug world, where a subtle physiological variation in a select few can make the difference between a population’s survival and its annihilation. As the mutants come to represent the majority, resistance to old threats increases. Whether it is antibiotics or plain old disinfectants, chemical warfare loses its punch when a few bacterial mutants come to represent the species.

However, these new findings (Nature, Vol467, pg82) demonstrate the bacterial struggle for mutant dominance might not be so selfish. In an effort to observe how genetically identical bacteria developed the initial variations, Collins and his team subjected a population of cloned Escherichia coli to a steady gradient of the antibiotic norfloxacin. Routine tests of sample bacteria were taken to record the minimum concentration of antibiotic that would halt their growth.

On comparing the samples with their home population it was revealed that the very act of removing bacteria decreased their resistance to norfloxacin. Stranger still, individuals gifted with the ability to deal with the chemical attack were in the extreme minority, making up less than a mere one percent of the colony. Their talent lay in their ability to produce tryptophanase, an enzyme that breaks the amino acid tryptophan down into the chemical indole. Fortunately for its less capable siblings, an increased concentration of indole in the environment helps switch on useful metabolic pathways that combat the antibiotic’s effect, allowing the rest of the population to benefit.

Of course, given there is no such thing as a free lunch, the production of this enzyme requires the devotion of precious energy. ‘Kin selection’ is one explanation for this behaviour. A process first suggested in the 1960s by the evolutionary biologist William Hamilton, it suggests individuals act altruistically to increase the chance of survival and reproduction for those with a close genetic relationship.

What, then, of their nefarious counterpart, the bacterial bum? Led by Steven Diggle at the University of Nottingham’s Centre for Biomolecular Sciences, microbiologists have found that individuals within a population of Staphylococcus aureus can opt to coast along for the ride when it comes to contributing to the costs of an infection.

After deliberately infecting waxworms with the bacteria, the researchers eavesdropped on the developing colony by observing a chemical coordination process called ‘quorum sensing’. They discovered those which lacked the means to engage in this microbial forum could also refrain from making toxins, saving them energy which could be devoted instead to reproduction. In effect, these bacteria were relying on their siblings to provide them with their nutrients. Seeding an infection with these freeloaders could present physicians with a novel form of treatment.

While this could be great news for the medical world, it does present a rather perplexing contrast to their more charitable cousins. Understanding how microbes interact with their host’s environment is vital if we are to find additional ways of controlling infection. Just last year, the World Health Organisation released a warning concerning the potential threat posed by the NDM-1 strain of E. coli – a potential superbug that is on the rise across the globe. It could very well join the likes of more familiar foes such as the vancomycin-resistant enterococcus and the rather formidable methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus.

Paying attention to the melodramas unfolding in these microbial ‘Days of our Lives’ is certainly better than any daytime soap. What’s more, it might be the key to turning the tide on the twilight of the antibiotic.

Published in: on November 2, 2010 at 9:46 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , ,

How to make a strawberry

If Mother Nature was incarnated in today’s world, her wrinkled, battle-scarred old body would be photoshopped within an inch of its life and adorn every food package, beauty product and health item available. It’s a common trick of marketing to appear to be nature’s ally, relying on the unstated belief that millions of years of gradual evolution is a far safer bet than several decades of tinkering in the lab with a shaved lab rat and glassware full of smoking liquid.

Subtle hints are typically dropped through the clever use of language. Familiar words are safer than numbers and nomenclature, for instance. Glycerin is ok, but additive 422 isn’t (yup, same thing).

Some years ago I came across a paper on synthesising the flavour and aroma of the humble strawberry. It contained a list of chemicals that had been gathered from relevant literature that were present in this succulent, delicious fruit. It’s not even complete – they are simply the compounds researchers have managed to wring out of the plant and detect.

Somewhere below there lies the secret of what makes a strawberry tastes like a strawberry and not a banana or a grape. Of course, as always in nature, not only is it a question of the right combination, it’s as much the dose that maketh the poison. Or in this case, the delectable taste.

Next time somebody raises their eyes at the ingredients on a food packet and claims it looks like a chemistry lab, implying that is a good indication that the food must be worse for them than some other item, print out this page and hand it to them. Of course, being aware of the impact certain compounds have on our health is useful, regardless of whether you can pronounce it or not. But ‘long lists of big names and numbers, hyphens and greek letters’, as the strawberry shows, is not shorthand for unhealthy or toxic. By the same token, short lists and familiar words are no guarantee of being better for you.

Acids

  • Formic acid
  • 3-Hydroxyoctanoic acid
  • Acetic acid
  • 16 Nonanoic acid
  • Propanoic acid
  • Non-3-enoic acid
  • 2-Methylpropanoic acid
  • Decanoic acid
  • Butanoic acid
  • Dec-2-enoic acid
  • 2-Methylbutanoic acid
  • Undecanoic acid
  • 3-Methylbutanoic acid
  • Dodecanoic acid
  • 2-Methylbut-2-enoic acid
  • Tridecanoic acid
  • Pentanoic acid
  • Tetradecanoic acid
  • 4-Methylpentanoic acid
  • Tetradec-2-enoic acid
  • 2-Methylpent-2-enoic acid
  • Pentadecanoic acid
  • 2-Methylpent-3-enoic acid
  • Hexadecanoic acid
  • Hexanoic acid
  • Hexadec-9-enoic acid
  • Hex-2-enoic acid
  • Heptadecanoic acid
  • 5-Methylhexanoic acid
  • Octadec-9-enoic acid
  • 3-Hydroxyhexanoic acid
  • Octadeca-9,12-dienoic acid
  • Heptanoic acid
  • Octadeca-9,12,15-trienoic acid
  • Octanoic acid
  • Nonadecanoic acid
  • Oct-2-enoic acid
  • Eicosanoic acid

Alcohols

  • Methanol
  • Hex-1-en-3-ol
  • Ethanol
  • Heptan-1-ol
  • Propan-1-ol
  • Heptan-2-ol
  • Propan-2-ol
  • Heptan-3-ol
  • 2-Methylpropan-1-ol
  • Octan-1-ol
  • Butan-1-ol
  • Octan-2-ol
  • Butan-2-ol
  • Octan-3-ol
  • 2-Methylbutan-1-ol
  • Oct-3-en-1-ol
  • 3-Methylbutan-1-ol
  • Oct-1-en-3-ol
  • 2-Methyl-butan-2-ol
  • Nonan-1-ol
  • Pentan-1-ol
  • Nonan-2-ol
  • Pentan-2-ol Non-1-en-3-ol
  • Pentan-3-ol
  • Decan-1-ol
  • Pent-1-en-3-ol
  • Decan-2-ol
  • Pent-3-en-2-ol
  • Undecan-2-ol
  • Hexan-1-ol
  • Dodecan-1-ol
  • Hexan-2-ol
  • Dodecan-2-ol
  • Hexan-3-ol
  • Tridecan-2-ol
  • trans-Hex-2-en-1-ol
  • Pentadecan-2-ol

Aldehydes

  • Acetaldehyde
  • cis-Hex-3-enal
  • Propanal
  • Hexa-2,4-dienal
  • Propenal
  • Heptanal
  • Butanal
  • Hept-2-enal
  • But-2-enal
  • Oct-2-enal
  • Pentanal
  • Nonanal
  • Pent-2-enal
  • Decanal
  • Hexanal
  • Deca-2,4-dienal
  • trans-Hex-2-enal

Ketones

  • Propanone
  • 4-Hydroxy-4-methyl-pentan-2-one
  • Butanone
  • Hexan-2-one
  • Methylbutanone
  • Heptan-2-one
  • Diacetyl (Butan-2,4-dione)
  • Octan-2-one
  • Pentan-2-one
  • Nonan-2-one
  • Pentan-3-one
  • Decan-2-one
  • Pent-3-en-2-one
  • Undecan-2-one

Esters

  • Methyl formate
  • Ethyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Ethyl formate
  • Isopropyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Butyl formate
  • Butyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • 3-Methylbutyl formate
  • 2-Methylpropyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Hexyl formate
  • 2-Methylbutyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Methyl acetate
  • 3-Methylbutyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Ethyl acetate
  • Hexyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Propyl acetate
  • Octyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Isopropyl acetate
  • Ethyl 3-methylbutanoate
  • Butyl acetate
  • Butyl 3-methylbutanoate
  • 2-Methylpropyl acetate
  • Methyl 3-hydroxybutanoate
  • 2-Methylbutyl acetate
  • Ethyl 3-oxobutanoate
  • 3-Methylbut-2-enyl acetate
  • Ethyl pentanoate
  • Pentyl acetate
  • Methyl 4-methylpentanoate
  • Isoamyl acetate
  • Methyl hexanoate
  • 1-Methylbutyl acetate
  • Ethyl hexanoate
  • 3-Methylbutyl acetate
  • Butyl hexanoate
  • Pentyl acetate
  • Pentyl hexanoate
  • Hexyl acetate
  • 3-Methylbutyl hexanoate
  • 1-Methylpentyl acetate
  • 1-Methylbutyl hexanoate
  • trans-Hex-2-enyl acetate
  • Hexyl hexanoate
  • cis-Hex-3-enyl acetate
  • Hex-2-enyl hexanoate
  • Hex-1-en-3-yl acetate
  • trans-Hex-3-enyl hexanoate
  • 1-Methylhexyl acetate
  • 1-Methylhexyl hexanoate
  • Hept-1-en-3-yl acetate
  • Octyl hexanoate
  • Octyl acetate
  • Decyl hexanoate
  • Decyl acetate
  • Ethyl trans-hex-2-enoate
  • Methyl propanoate
  • Methyl 3-hydroxyhexanoate
  • Ethyl propanoate
  • Ethyl 3-hydroxyhexanoate
  • cis-Hex-3-enyl propanoate
  • Methyl heptanoate
  • Methyl 1-methyl propanoate
  • Ethyl heptanoate
  • Ethylmethyl propanoate
  • Methyl octanoate
  • Methyl butanoate
  • Ethyl octanoate
  • Ethyl butanoate
  • Isopropyl octanoate
  • Propyl butanoate
  • Butyl octanoate
  • Isopropyl butanoate
  • 3-Methylbutyl octanoate
  • Butyl butanoate
  • Hexyl octanoate
  • 2-Methylpropyl butanoate
  • cis-Hex-3-enyl octanoate
  • Pentyl butanoate
  • Methyl nonanoate
  • 1-Methylbutyl butanoate
  • 2-Methylpropyl nonanoate
  • 3-Methylbutyl butanoate
  • 3-Methylbutyl nonanoate
  • Pent-3-enyl butanoate
  • Methyl decanoate
  • Hexyl butanoate
  • Ethyl decanoate
  • trans-Hex-2-enyl butanoate
  • Isopropyl decanoate
  • cis-Hex-3-enyl butanoate
  • Hexyl decanoate
  • 1-Methylhexyl butanoate
  • Methyl dodecanoate
  • Octyl butanoate
  • Ethyl dodecanoate
  • 1-Methyloctyl butanoate
  • Methyl hexadecanoate
  • Decyl butanoate
  • Methyl octadecanoate
  • Ethyl but-2-enoate
  • Methyl octadec-9-enoate
  • Methyl 2-methylbutanoate
  • Methyl octadeca-9,12,15-trienoate

Lactones

  • γ-Hexalactone
  • δ-Octalactone
  • δ-Hexalactone
  • γ-Decalactone
  • δ-Heptalactone
  • δ-Decalactone
  • γ-Octalactone
  • γ-Dodecalactone

Acetals

  • Dimethoxymethane
  • 1-Butoxy-1-ethoxyethane
  • Diethoxymethane
  • 1-Ethoxy-1-pentoxyethane
  • 1,1-Dimethoxyethane
  • 1-Ethoxy-1-hexoxyethane
  • 1-Ethoxy-1-methoxyethane
  • 1-Ethoxy-1-hex-3-enoxyethane
  • 1-Butoxy-1-methoxyethane
  • 1,1-Dihexoxyethane 17, 18
  • 1-Methoxy-1-pentoxyethane
  • 1,1-Diethoxypentane
  • 1,1-Diethoxyethane
  • 1,1-Diethoxyoctane
  • 1-Ethoxy-1-propoxyethane

Furans

  • 2-Furfural
  • 2,5-Dimethyl-4-hydroxy-2H-furan-3-one
  • 2-Furancarboxylic acid
  • 2,5-Dimethyl-4-methoxy-2H-furan-3-one

Aromatic compounds

  • Benzyl alcohol
  • Benzyl acetate
  • 2-Phenylethanol
  • 2-Phenethyl acetate
  • 2-(4-Hydroxyphenyl)ethanol
  • Methyl salicylate
  • trans-Cinnamyl alcohol
  • Ethyl salicylate
  • Benzaldehyde
  • Methyl cinnamate
  • Acetophenone
  • Ethyl cinnamate
  • Benzoic acid
  • 4-Vinylphenol
  • 4-Methylbenzoic acid
  • 2-Methoxy-4-vinylphenol
  • 2-Hydroxybenzoic acid
  • Eugenol
  • Phenylacetic acid
  • 1-Methylnaphthalene
  • 3-Phenylpropanoic acid
  • 2-Methylnaphthalene
  • trans-Cinnamic acid

Sulphur compounds

  • Methanethiol
  • Methylthiol acetate
  • Ethylthioethane
  • Methylthiol butanoate
  • Ethyldithioethane
  • Dimethyl disulphide

T erpenes

  • Limonene
  • Borneol
  • a-Pinene
  • Isofenchyl alcohol
  • b-Pinene
  • Linalool oxides
  • Linalool
  • a-Ionone
  • Nerolidol
  • b-Ionone
  • a-Terpineol

b-D-Glucopyranosides

  • Benzyl b-D-glucopyranoside
  • 2,5-Dimethyl-4-hydroxy-2H-furan-3-one
  • b-D-glucopyranoside
  • 2-(4-Hydroxyphenyl)-ethyl b-D-glucopyranoside
  • 2,5-Dimethyl-4-hydroxy-2H-furan-3-one
  • 6@O-malonyl-b-D-glucopyranoside

From Zabetakis I., Holden M.A.,, (1997), Strawberry Flavour: Analysis and Biosynthesis, J Sci Food Agric Vol.74, pp421-434

Published in: on October 18, 2010 at 8:46 pm  Comments (66)  
Tags:
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 31 other followers