Category: Observations

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Coffee review General Observations Science history

Some perspective at Over Under, Earls Court

Over Under Coffee Earls Court
Follow the arrow! Over Under Coffee in Earls Court.

Whenever I’m heading somewhere that I haven’t been to for a while, I check the London’s Best Coffee app to see if any new cafés have popped up in the area since my last visit. So when I was in Earls Court recently, I was very happy to be alerted to a new café on the map with a review by Beanthereat.

Over Under Coffee is at 181A Earls Court Road but is tucked around the corner from the main road and so thank goodness for the helpful arrow (and the map which told me I should be on top of it). Once found, we ordered coffee and banana bread and took a table to sit down. The friendly staff behind the counter were quite confident of the ingredients in the banana bread as it is made locally by a lady in Fulham (whose name I have sadly forgotten). The coffee and banana bread formed a great combination for a mid-morning snack. Coffee is roasted by Assembly roasters over in Brixton and came with lovely interference patterns in the bubbles on the surface together with dancing white mists, which never fail to fascinate me.

On the table next to ours was a small Kilner jar for sugar and two succulent plants. The Kilner reminded me of the use of air valves in coffee packaging (which are non-recyclable plastic) and the interesting experiment by Roasting House coffee roasters to investigate whether they are actually needed for freshly roasted coffee (which you can read about here). However it was a picture above the table that prompted the thought-train for today’s Daily Grind. A charcoal sketch, the picture featured a tree in the foreground with a fence behind it. From a very early age we are taught how to represent 3D objects on a 2D sheet of paper, the idea of perspective seems ingrained on our minds. But how intuitive is it really?

perspective in coffee
A picture at Over Under. Note the smaller reflections of the (more distant) light fittings.

Although the ancient Greek artists could convey an idea of depth in their art, the development of a mathematical understanding of perspective only came with Filippo Brunelleschi (1377-1446), although a written account of the mathematics of perspective did not arrive until Leon Battista Alberti (1404-1472). Alberti’s method for drawing in perspective used not just a vanishing point, but an additional diagonal vanishing point in order to construct a sense of depth and an accurate depiction of perspective (a description of Alberti’s method is here). The development of the understanding of perspective during the Renaissance meant that for some paintings, the ‘viewing depth’ can actually be calculated, while other artworks managed to create optical illusions whereby objects would jump out at the viewer as if they are in 3D. Works such as Andrea Pozzo’s ceiling in the chiesa di Sant’Ignazio in which a flat ceiling appears magnificently domed. Or, closer to home,  Samuel van Hoogstraten’s work in the National Gallery in London in which the viewer looks through a peep hole to see the interior of a house complete with a dog that appears to be sitting up inside the painting. Such paintings required a knowledge of the mathematical rules behind the depiction of perspective. Isn’t it surprising that the understanding of these rules is so recent?

Over Under Earls Court
Coffee with bubbles showing interference patterns at Over Under Coffee

Another art work with an interesting use of perspective that will bring us, in some way, back to Over Under Coffee is Raphael’s fresco “School of Athens“. The two figures of Plato and Aristotle stand at the centre of a diverse group of philosophers including Socrates, Zoroaster, Euclid, Diogenes the Cynic and, possibly, an image of Hypatia of Alexandria. Although the use of perspective for the architecture draws your eye towards the centre of the picture, two spheres (held by Zoroaster and Ptolemy) on the right hand side of the picture are drawn as circles rather than ellipses. Spheres viewed from an angle should be represented as ellipses if drawn correctly according to the rules of perspective. Did Raphael make an error in perspective (that may work better for our eyes?) or is the degree to which these two spheres are distorted within the limits of the fresco brush and so not visible in the picture? An episode of Radio 4’s In Our Time discusses this picture at length including a deep conversation about the significance of Plato pointing upwards towards the heavens and Aristotle indicating towards the Earth. Plato’s wisdom and Aristotle’s knowledge, above and below, much like the weave logo that brings us back to Over Under Coffee.

Over Under Coffee can be found at 181A Earls Court Road, SW5 9RB.

 

 

Categories
Coffee cup science Home experiments Observations

Biscuit Crystals

biscuits gone wrong, crystals in the oven
Expanding biscuits are a 2D example of a close packed crystal lattice.

Blaise Pascal once wrote of the benefits of contemplating the vast, “infinite sphere”, of Nature before considering the opposite infinity, that of the minute¹. And although the subject of today’s Daily Grind involves neither infinitesimally small nor infinitely large, a consideration of biscuits and coffee can, I think lead to what Pascal described as “wonder” at the science of the very small and the fairly large.

The problem was that my biscuits went wrong. Fiddling about with the recipe had resulted in the biscuit dough expanding along the tray as the biscuits cooked. Each dough ball collapsed into a squashed mass of biscuit, each expanding until it was stopped by the tray-wall or the other biscuits in the tray. When the biscuits came out of the oven they were no longer biscuits in the plural but one big biscuit stretched across the tray. However looking at them more closely, it was clear that each biscuit had retained some of its identity and the super-biscuit was not really just one big biscuit but instead a 2D crystal of biscuits. The biscuits had formed a hexagonal lattice. For roughly circular elements (such as biscuits), this is the most efficient way to fill a space, as you may notice if you try to efficiently cut pie-circles out of pastry.

salt crystals
Salt crystals. Note the shape and the edges seem cuboid.

Of course, what we see in 2D has analogues in 3D (how do oranges stack in a box?) and what happens on the length scale of biscuits and oranges happens on smaller length scales too from coffee beans to atoms. Each atom stacking up like oranges in a box (or indeed coffee beans), to form regular, repeating structures known as crystal structures. To be described as a crystal, there has to be an atomic arrangement that repeats in a regular pattern. For oranges in a box, this could be what is known as “body centred cubic”, where the repeating unit is made up of 8 oranges that occupy the corners of a cube with one in the centre. Other repeating units could be hexagonal or tetragonal. It turns out that, in 3D, there are 14 possible such repeating units. Each of the crystals that you find in nature, from salt to sugar to chocolate and diamond can be described by one of these 14 basic crystal types. The type of crystal then determines the shape of the macroscopic object. Salt flakes that we sprinkle on our lunch for example are often cubic because of the underlying cubic structure on the atomic scale. Snowflakes have 6-fold symmetry because of the underlying hexagonal structure of ice.

It is possible to grow your own salt and sugar crystals. My initial experiments have not yet worked out well, but, if and when they do, expect a video (sped up of course!). In the meantime, perhaps we could take Pascal’s advice and wonder at the very (though not infinitesimally) small and biscuits. And if you’re wondering about where coffee comes into this? How better to contemplate your biscuit crystals than with a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee?

¹Blaise Pascal, Pensées, XV 199

Categories
Allergy friendly Coffee review General Observations Science history

Thinking space at Le Peche Mignon

Coffee in Le Peche Mignon, Highbury, Islington
Le Peche Mignon in Highbury, hidden down a side street.

It was a balmy February morning when I met an old friend at Le Péché Mignon on Ronalds Road near Highbury and Islington. I had first come across Le Péché Mignon a few months ago when I had had a lovely coffee (and a great cake, I remember the staff being very helpful to check the ingredients for my nut allergy) but too little time to properly think about the space. So, when the opportunity arose to meet a friend (who I have known since we were both 5 but haven’t seen for many years) near Islington, I jumped at the opportunity to meet there.

This small but delightful café seems to be very popular. Both the bench seat in the window (where I had sat last time) and the long, sharing-table in the middle of the café were practically full by the time we arrived in the mid-morning. Fortunately, there was plenty of space in the quiet garden at the back for us to catch up for a couple of hours (and a couple of coffees!). The coffee is roasted by Monmouth, the Americano was very well done and there were quite a selection of pastries and salads on offer. One wall of the café was lined with bottles of wine while Carambars were available to purchase next to the counter.

brick wall at Le Peche Mignon
A join between two brick walls at Le Peche Mignon. How exactly are bricks made and why are they made that way?

The garden behind the café had plenty of tables and, even though it was February, it was warm enough for us to sit comfortably outside. One of the walls of the garden was formed by two sets of brick walls that had a join between them. The appearance of a separation between the walls, together with the weather, reminded me of the crack and the imminent demise of the Larson C ice shelf. However as this was probably too close to recent posts about climate change, I started thinking about defect structures in crystals instead. While pondering this though, my thoughts turned to an entirely different subject matter, the unusual toilet at Le Péché Mignon.

Just as the toilets in our old primary school, the toilet at Le Péché Mignon is outside, in the garden. This got us reminiscing about our old primary school which, during winter, regularly closed when the outside toilets froze (hopefully not a problem for the toilets at Le Péché Mignon!). And while the school has undergone significant renovation since then, it does get you thinking about the history (and engineering/science) of toilets. While this may seem an unpleasant subject for, what is after all a café review, please do bear with me because thinking about toilets can lead to surprising connections. For example, a recent New Yorker article about confirmation bias featured quite a discussion on toilets. How? It seems that while people generally tend to think that they understand how a toilet flush works, when asked to explain it step by step, they suddenly become far less confident. Our knowledge is not so great as we tend to think it is.

cup of coffee in Le Peche Mignon
From coffee cups to aeroplanes, the hardness and porosity of materials depends on the temperature that the starting materials were ‘baked’ at.

Which brings me back to Le Péché Mignon. The issue of flushing toilets became a problem for London in the mid-nineteenth century when the introduction of the “water closet” increased the volume of water flowing into the rather inadequate sewage system (if you are interested in the history of the toilet you can click here). The great engineer Joseph Bazalgette (1819-91) was commissioned to design and build London’s sewer system in which a network of tunnels were built across the capital. Bazalgette’s northern branch lies about 5 minutes walk north of Le Péché Mignon and runs from Hampstead Heath to Old Ford in Stratford. A distance of just 9 miles (14.4 Km), this particular tunnel has a remarkably steep gradient dropping at least 4feet (1.2m) every mile (1.6 Km). Imagine water flowing down a plug hole. The turbulence and speed of the water (ahem) flowing down this ‘drain’ means that Bazalgette had to think very carefully about how he lined this particular tunnel. If he had used ordinary bricks, such as those that make up the wall around the café’s garden, they would have eroded quickly with the turbulent motion of the water. Consequently, Bazalgette specified Staffordshire Blue bricks¹ to line this tunnel. During the manufacturing process, Staffordshire Blue bricks are baked at very high temperature (and in a low oxygen atmosphere) making them particularly resistant to erosion and to water absorption. It should not surprise us that the hardness, brittleness and texture of materials should be affected by the temperature at which they are formed after all, great care is taken about the temperatures at which chocolate is melted and allowed to re-solidify. Indeed, a vast amount of research is done to understand how different materials (from ceramics to metals) respond under different heat treatments. This research is important for applications as diverse as the walls of sewer tunnels to the design of aeroplanes. And, of course, to the design of better coffee cups, a thought with which we can return to thinking about this great little café.

Le Péché Mignon can be found at 6 Roland’s Road, N5 1XH

¹”The Great Stink of London…” Stephen Halliday, Sutton, 1999

 

 

http://www.plumbing-geek.com/howdoesatoiletwork.html

http://www.baus.org.uk/museum/164/the_flush_toilet

Categories
Observations Science history Sustainability/environmental Tea

A language problem?

Bob Ward, Obama quote, climate change
The last generation: our urgent need to communicate effectively.

“The beverage was prepared by pushing water (at 94ºC and 1.0 MPa) through a pellet of coffee beans ground to an average of 10 – 100 μm diameter. The pellet had been compacted (“tamped”) using a variable pressure as described in ref [1]. Following a manual transfer of the cup to the table, the drink was consumed at a temperature of 55ºC. Fruity overtones were noted.”

Would you rush to try this coffee?

Last week I wrote about the effects of climate change on coffee and how climate scientists are trying to reach out and communicate more about the science behind global warming. But there was a crucial question left un-answered, just how do we communicate? Do we all speak the same language or is the dry impersonal prose of science a hindrance to discussion?

To start with the encouraging news. It turns out that scientists are a pretty trusted bunch. In a recent survey 79% of the British public trusted scientists to tell the truth (compared with 21% for politicians). Part of the problem for politicians may be the language that they tend to use, “if I am honest…”, “to be fair…” etc, are apparently statements that haemorrhage trust. These are not statements that you will hear made by scientists. The language of science is cold and dry, utterly devoid of the personal. So, coupled with the results of the survey, it is tempting to think that we should continue to use our cold and impersonal language when communicating things like climate change. It seems that this works.

Steam, scattering, colour
How would you describe your coffee? Do those who read your description read it in the sense that you wrote it?

Only we would be wrong, the language that we use is (apparently) not helping us to communicate and we need to change it (as the meeting was told in an impassioned talk by Bob Ward). An average scientific paper for example is designed to convey exactly what we did, how we did it and to eliminate any possible element of confusion. Ideally, we would write a scientific paper so that someone else could read it, understand precisely what we have done and repeat the experiment under very similar conditions. In this context, our dry language can work very well but does it work generally when communicating results more widely?

To see the problem, compare the (scientifically written) coffee review that started this article with an extract from a recent review of Silhouette Cheapside by Brian’s coffee spot:

“The coffee offering’s simple: there’s a single-origin espresso from Notes, a Brazilian Cachoeirinha during my visit. As an espresso this was gorgeous: fruity and complex, it rewarded me with every sip, holding its own right to the end. I also tried it as a flat white, which was very smooth and surprisingly different, the coffee and milk perfectly complimenting each other.”

A visit to Cheapside may be imminent.

So this is the problem, while the scientific language may convey accurately what was consumed, it can’t convey it fully. Language that communicates more generally includes details about how we feel: “gorgeous”, “rewarded me with every sip”, “surprisingly different”. The language used in Brian’s coffee spot in no way detracts from an accurate description of the espresso or the flat white. Arguably your idea of the drinks that Brian sampled at Silhouette is far better formed in your mind than the idea of the espresso described by the scientific-language description at the start of this post. Can we extend this reasoning to scientific descriptions of the science of climate change and its likely effects?

Earth from space, South America, coffee
Our common home.
The Blue Marble, Credit, NASA: Image created by Reto Stockli with the help of Alan Nelson, under the leadership of Fritz Hasler

Perhaps you could imagine yourself in the position of a climate scientist: your research is showing you that the planet that you live on is likely to suffer significant change as a result of something that we humans are doing but can also do something about. I would guess that you are likely to get quite worked up about it. Wouldn’t it come across better if scientists were to use some of that emotion in how they communicate? Wouldn’t it convey our meaning more effectively?

Immediately though we come up against this issue of trust. Does the cold and dry scientific language somehow better communicate that the argument is evidence based? In this line of reasoning, subjective descriptions would be ok for things like describing a good coffee but not ok for describing climate change. And yet I can’t help feel that even here there is a problem. The philosopher of science Michael Polanyi argued that “Fairness in discussion has been defined as an attempt at objectivity, i.e. preference for truth even at the expense in losing force of argument”. Our “preference for truth” must include the fact that we have an emotional investment in the argument. It is our planet that we are destroying. Indeed, attempts to hide this emotional investment may even lead others to suspect climate scientists of other, more nefarious, secondary motives (financial gain, global conspiracy). However there is an important caveat on Polanyi’s argument, he writes: “[f]airness and tolerance can hardly be maintained in a public contest unless its audience appreciates candour and moderation and can resist false oratory…”.

screenshot of tweet from Digitalnun
A thought provoking tweet from @Digitalnun – science communication goes both ways.

Which brings me to a last point. A recent tweet by Digitalnun posed a question on related lines: does careless reading or careless writing lead to more problems? What we write is not necessarily what people read and if we allow emotion to enter into the cold language of science then we may increase the likelihood of misinterpretation (whether deliberate or not). Will those who read our attempts to communicate science with full honesty be able to resist false oratory, twisting our words to imply a ‘war’ or financial interest? Which is more appropriate, to remain dispassionate and potentially unconvincing or to be more honest in our discussion at the possible expense of losing trust? It’s not a question which seems to have an easy answer. What do you think? Do scientists have a language problem? Would you trust a discussion on climate change more or less if you thought that the scientist actually cared about the planet too? Let me know, either in the comments below, on Facebook or on Twitter.

[1] is hyperlinked above but if you are in the habit of scrolling down to look at the references, you can find the article about tamping in “coffee research” published here.

The Polanyi quotes are from “Science, Faith and Society” by Michael Polanyi, University of Chicago Press, 1964 (2nd edition)

 

Categories
Coffee review Observations Science history slow Sustainability/environmental Tea

Seeing the light at Cable Co, Kensal Rise

coffee in Kensal Rise, Cable Co
Cable Co, coffee in Kensal Rise

It was fairly late on a February afternoon that we came upon Cable Co on Chamberlayne Road, (opposite Kensal Rise station). With a fairly ‘industrial’ type look, there are plenty of tables at the edge (and in the window) of the café at which to enjoy your coffee. There are also plenty of coffees on offer. Although I had an Americano, I noticed (too late) that pour-overs were available. Coffee is roasted by Climpson and Sons. As it was late in the day, the remaining cakes in the display case all looked to be nutty (or at least likely to be nutty) and so, sadly, I had to wait until I got home for my slice of cake. It was good coffee though, even without the cake, but in a bit of novelty the coffee came ‘deconstructed’, so I got to add the amount of water that I preferred, a nice touch.

Golden light from the setting sun streamed in through the windows (which is a navigation clue & tells you which side of the road this café is on). The effect of the Sun was to bathe the café in light and to silhouette our fellow coffee imbibers making the café take on a film-like atmosphere. The light had another effect though. The steam rising from both the jug of water and my espresso became far more visible than it would normally have been. I watched as the steam clouds formed vortices and turbulent patterns, one fluid (steam) moving through another (air). It was very difficult to catch this in a photograph, a fact that I took in support of my idea that it is impossible to catch the beautiful, beauty is necessarily transient (but my companion in these reviews took as evidence in favour of their idea that I really ought to use a “proper”, manual, camera and not my iPhone).

Steam, scattering, colour
Steam rising from hot water, seen at Cable Co, Kensal Rise

Still, those turbulent rising patterns of steam were visible and that implies that light was being scattered from the droplets of water in the steam. The size of the droplets influences the colour that we perceive when we view the steam clouds. If the clouds appear white, it is because the droplets that are scattering the sunlight have a diameter roughly equal to (or greater than) the wavelength of visible light. The wavelength of light varies between about 400 nm (violet) to 700 nm (red) which means that these water droplets have to be at least 700 nm across. To put this in perspective, the smallest particles of coffee in an espresso grind are about 10 μm diameter which is 14 x bigger than the droplets in the steam cloud.

Of course, how water droplets scatter light above a steaming coffee has implications for our understanding of why the clouds in the sky appear white (and why the sky is blue). Someone who did a lot of early work in understanding the way that light scattered off water droplets in air was John Tyndall (1820-1893). Tyndall was an experimentalist as well as a famous communicator of science. He regularly gave lectures at the Royal Institution that included demonstrations of the experiments that he himself was working on¹. One of these involved scattering light from water droplets (and therefore demonstrating why he thought the sky was blue).

Interior of Cable co
Light streaming into the cafe.

The idea is that sunlight scatters from water droplets differently depending on the diameter of the droplet. When the water droplets are approximately the diameter of the wavelength of red light, 700 nm, there is very little wavelength dependence to the light scattering. Practically this means that the droplets will appear white. If on the other hand, the droplets are much smaller than the wavelength of light, the light scattering starts to be wavelength dependent. So as the droplet gets smaller, blue light (short wavelength) gets scattered a lot by the droplets, while red light (long wavelength) is not scattered so much. This means that if you are looking at a cloud of steam formed by these small droplets at an angle between the sunlight and yourself (say, 90º), the cloud will appear to have a blue tinge. If on the other hand you look straight through the cloud at the sunlight coming in, it will have a red-hue because the blue light will have been scattered out of the cloud leaving only the red colours to come through.

The experiment can be easily demonstrated at home by using very dilute milk in water (see video here or further explanation here). If you put a few drops of milk in a glass of water and then look at the colour of the milky-water as a function of angle, you should see it change from red to blue as you move the glass relative to the light source. The connection with the blue sky seems clear, small particles (in-fact, they can be as small as molecules) scatter blue light preferentially and so, apart from at sunrise and sunset, the sky will appear blue. As Tyndall wrote:

“This experiment is representative, and it illustrates a general principle…. that particles of infinitesimal size, without any colour of their own, and irrespective of the optical properties exhibited by the substances in a massive state, are competent to produce the colour of the sky.”²

Cable Co is at 4 Bridge House, Chamberlayne Road, NW10 3NR

¹A Vision of Modern Science, John Tyndall and the role of the scientist in Victorian culture, U. DeYoung, Palgrage MacMillan, 2011

²Quoted in John Tyndall, Essays on a Natural Philosopher, Ed. WH. Brock, ND. McMillan, RC. Mollan, Royal Dublin Society, 1981

 

http://hyperphysics.phy-astr.gsu.edu/hbase/atmos/blusky.html

 

Categories
Coffee cup science General Home experiments Observations Science history Tea

Is sixty the old forty?

Lundenwic coffee
What is the ideal temperature at which to serve coffee?

What is the optimum temperature at which to enjoy a cup of coffee?

A brief check online for the “ideal” serving temperature for coffee suggested a temperature of around 49-60ºC (120-140ºF, 313-333K) for flavour or 70-80ºC (158-176ºF, 343.1-353.1K) for a hot drink. In my own experiments (purely to write this article you understand), I found that I most enjoyed a lovely coffee from The Roasting House (prepared by V60) at around 52ºC. My old chemistry teacher must have been one who enjoyed the flavour of his coffee too. His advice for A-level practicals was that if we wanted to know what 60ºC ‘felt’ like, we should consider that it feels the same on the back of our hand as the underside of our cup of coffee. So, for argument’s sake, let’s say that we serve our coffee at the upper end of the flavour appreciation scale: 60ºC.

But, have you ever stopped to consider what 60ºC means or even, how we arrived at this particular temperature scale? Why do we measure temperature in the way that we do? While there are interesting stories behind the Fahrenheit scale, today’s post concerns the Celsius, or Centigrade, scale. Indeed, we use “degree Celsius” and “degree Centigrade” almost interchangeably to mean that temperature scale that has 0ºC as the melting point, and 100ºC as the boiling point, of water. It is one of those things that has become so habitual that setting 0ºC at the freezing end and 100ºC at the boiling end seems obvious, intuitive, natural.

thermometer in a nun mug
Careful how you drink your coffee if you repeat this experiment!

And yet the temperature scale that Anders Celsius (1701-1744) invented back in 1741 did not, initially, work this way at all¹. Celsius’s scale did indeed count from 0ºC to 100ºC and was defined using the same fixed points we use now. But rather than counting up from the melting point, Celsius’s scale counted up from 0ºC at the boiling point to 100ºC at the freezing point. Rather than degrees of warmth, Celsius’s scale counted degrees of cold. So, in the original Celsius scale, the serving temperature of coffee should be 40ºC: Sixty is indeed the old forty*.

Which immediately begs a question. Why is it that we count temperature up (the numbers get higher as it gets hotter)? A first answer could be that we view that temperature is a form of measurement of ‘heat’ and that heat is an energy. Consequently, something cold has less energy than something hot, “cold” is the absence of “heat” and therefore what we should measure is “heat”. This means that our thermometers need to indicate higher numbers as the temperature gets hotter, and so we are now counting the correct way. While this is good as far as it goes and certainly is our current understanding of ‘heat’, ‘cold’ and temperature, how is it that we have come to think of heat as energy and cold as the absence of heat? It was certainly not clear to scientists in the Renaissance period. Francis Bacon (1561-1626) considered that cold was a form of “contractive motion” while Pierre Gassendi (1592-1655) thought that although ‘caloric’ atoms were needed to explain heat, ‘frigoric’ atoms were also needed to explain cold.

effect of motivation on experience of pleasure while drinking coffee
How heat, rather than visible light, is reflected provides clues as to why we measure temperature ‘up’.

One experiment that helped to show that heat was an energy (and so lent support to the idea of measuring temperature ‘up’) was that of the reflection of heat by mirrors. In the experiment, two concave mirrors are placed facing each other, some distance apart. Each mirror has a focal length of, say, 15 cm. A hot object is placed at the focal length of the first mirror. At the focal point of the second mirror, is placed a thermometer. As soon as both objects are in place, the temperature indicated by the thermometer increases. If the mirror were covered or the thermometer moved away from the focal point, the temperature indicated decreases again to that of the room. It is an experiment which can easily be demonstrated in a lecture hall and which fitted with a view point that cold is the absence of heat.

However, around the same time as this initial demonstration, Marc-Auguste Pictet did another experiment, the (apparent) reflection of cold². The experiment was as before but in Pictet’s second experiment, a flask containing ice replaced the hot object. On repeating the experiment the temperature indicated by the thermometer decreased. Covering the mirror or moving the thermometer from the focal point of the mirror resulted in the indicated temperature increasing again. Just as ‘heat’ was reflected in the mirrors, so too (seemingly) was ‘cold’.

So, the question is, how do you know what you believe you know about heat? Are there experiments that you can design that could help to disprove a theory of ‘frigoric’? And how do you explain the experiments of Pictet? Reader, it’s over to you.

 

*Within ten years of Celsius’s death (of tuberculosis in 1744), his colleagues Martin Strömer and Daniel Ekström had inverted Celsius’s original temperature scale to the form we know today. A similar scale designed by Jean Pierre Christin was also in use by 1743³.

¹”Evolution of the Thermometer 1592-1743″, Henry Carrington Bolton, The Chemical Publishing Company, 1900

²”Inventing Temperature”, Hasok Chang, Oxford University Press, 2008

³”The science of measurement, a historical survey”, Herbert Arthur Klein, Dover Publications Inc. 1988

 

Categories
Coffee cup science General Home experiments Observations Tea

Making a splash

You spilled your coffee, a terrible accident or an opportunity to start noticing?

Why do some droplets splash  while others stay, well, drop like? It turns out that there is some surprising physics at play here. When a drop of water, or coffee, falls from a height and onto a flat surface (such as glass), we are accustomed to seeing the droplet fracture into a type of crown of smaller droplets that form a mess over the surface. Visually spectacular, these splashing droplets have even been made into an art form (here).

Fast frame-rate photography reveals how each micro-droplet breaks away from the splashing drop:

Video taken from Vimeo – “Drop impact on a solid surface”, a review by Josserand and Thoroddsen.

 

So it perhaps surprising to discover that there are many things about this process that we do not yet understand. Firstly, if you reduce the gas pressure that surrounds the drop as it falls, it does not make a splash. In the extreme, this means that if you were to spill your coffee in a vacuum, you would not see the crown-like splashing behaviour that we have come to expect of falling liquids. Rather than splash, a droplet falling in low pressure spreads out on impact as a flattening droplet. This counterintuitive result was first described in a 2005 study (here) that compared the effect on splashing of droplets with different viscosities (methanol, ethanol, 2-propanol) falling through different gasses.

cortado, Brunswick House, everyday physics, coffee cup science
Don’t spill it!
But would a latte splash more or less than a long black?

The authors of the study ruled out the effect of air entrapment surrounding the droplet as it falls as high speed photography had not indicated any air bubbles in the droplet just before impact. Instead they considered that whether a drop splashes on impact – or not – depended on the balance between the surface tension of the falling liquid and the stress on the drop created by the restraining pressure of the surrounding gas. Calculating these stresses led to a second surprising result. Whether a drop splashes on impact or not depends on its viscosity (as well as the gas pressure and the speed of impact). But the surprising bit is that the more viscous the liquid, the greater the splash.

From a common-sense perspective (that may or may not have any bearing on the reality of the situation), an extremely viscous liquid like honey should not splash as much as a less viscous liquid like coffee. This suggests that there is an upper-limit in viscosity to the relation predicted in the 2005 study. After all, although the authors did change the viscosity of the liquids, the range of viscosity they studied was not as great as the difference between coffee and honey. This sounds like a perfect experiment for some kitchen-top science and so if any reader can share the results of their experiments on the relative splashes formed by coffee and honey, I would love to hear of them.

 

Categories
General Home experiments Observations Science history slow Tea

Reflections on physics and coffee

BeanThinking started as a way of slowing down and appreciating connections, often between a coffee and the physics of the wider world but also in terms of what can be noticed in any café. Perhaps, for this first post of 2017, it’s worth spending five minutes looking at your coffee while you drink it to see what you notice. Here are a few coffee connections that occurred to me recently:

reflections, surface tension
Reflections on a coffee.

Parallel lines and surface reflection: The parallel lines on the ceiling of a café were reflected in a long black. Surface tension effects on the coffee meant that the reflections were curved and not at all parallel. A piece of dust on the surface of the coffee was revealed in the reflection by the curved reflections of the ceiling. Astronomers can use similar effects (where images of a star appear in a different location to that expected) to infer the presence of dark objects between distant stars and their telescope. This gravitational lensing can be used to detect quasars or clusters of galaxies.

 

 

 

layering of coffee long black
Layers of coffee

Layering of crema as the coffee is consumed: The coffee stain effect and this layering of the crema suggests a connection between a coffee cup and geology. It used to be my habit to take a mug of tea with me when I taught small groups of undergraduates. In the course of one of these tutorials, a student (who had been observing similar layering in my tea mug) said, “You drink your tea faster when it is cooler than when it is hot”. Full marks for observation, but not sure what it said about his attention during my tutorials! Similar observations though can help geologists estimate the age of different fossils.

 

interference patterns on coffee
Bubbles in coffee

Bubble reflections: An old one but the interference patterns caused by bubbles on the surface of the coffee are full of fascinating physics. The fact that the bubbles are at the side of the cup and seem to be grouped into clusters of bubbles may also be connected with surface tension effects (although there is a piece of weather lore that connects the position of the bubbles to the weather. If anyone ever does any experiments to investigate this particular lore, I’d love to hear about them).

 

 

Coffee, Van Gogh
Art in a coffee cup

Van Gogh’s Starry Night: The effects of vortices and turbulence caused the crema of a black coffee to swirl into patterns reminiscent of this famous painting by Van Gogh. As a result of posting this image on Twitter, @imthursty sent me a link to this preprint of a paper submitted to the arxiv: the connections between Van Gogh’s work and turbulence. A great piece of coffee combining with art and science.

 

So many connections can be made between tea, coffee and science and the wider world, I’d love to see the connections that other people make. So, if you see some interesting physics, science or connections in your coffee cup, why not email me, or contact me via FB or Twitter.

 

Categories
Coffee cup science Coffee review Observations Science history

Water wheels and coffee engines at Artisan, East Sheen

Artisan, East Sheen LaneArtisan, on East Sheen Lane, is one café in a small chain of coffee shops in West London (four cafés at the time of writing). Although there was plenty of seating inside, most tables were already taken when I arrived shortly after lunch suggesting that this is a very popular local café. There are many details to notice in this friendly corner shop coffee house. Firstly, the counter, on the left as you enter, was decorated as if supported by a door fixed on its side, one of many quirky features. When it arrived, my black Americano came with a most fantastic crema on top which cracked to reveal the coffee beneath, appearing as if it were a meandering river. Adjacent to my table was a sliding door, presumably leading to the toilets, that had a counterweight hanging from its side, I’m sure that could have led to a series of thoughts on Greek science and Archimedes.

There was also plenty to notice on the counter itself, a sign for two tip jars suggested you either tipped in one or the other depending on whether you wanted to “see into the future” or to “change the past”. As with previous ‘honesty box’ type experiments, it would be fascinating to know which box gets more coins and whether this correlated with external events in the East Sheen area and around. Still, I digress. Also on the counter was a wheel, a bit like the wheel of the Wheel of Fortune TV show. In this café, the wheel offered different coffees or cakes rather than prizes. As the wheel is spun, it is slowed by friction acting against pins that stick out from the circumference of the wheel. When learning about angular momentum and wheels in physics we always assume the ideal of a frictionless wheel without losses. We assume that it spins forever. The wheel in Artisan was quite far from this ideal, the whole idea being that the friction eventually stops the wheel and the pin points to your ‘prize’. So how do we reconcile these two ideas of the wheel? How efficient can water wheels be? And how efficient can engines be?

counter held up by sideways door
The counter and wheel at Artisan, East Sheen

This was a question that occupied Sadi Carnot (1796-1832) (named after the Persian poet Sa’di of Shiraz). Carnot was interested in how to optimise steam engines. Although steam engines were being engineered to be increasingly efficient, Carnot realised that people still did not understand what the maximum efficiency of a steam engine could be. Carnot worked on the principle that heat was a fluid (caloric) and so steam engines could be understood analogously to water wheels. Even though we no longer have this understanding of heat, Carnot’s ideal engine is still relevant for today. He discovered that, for an ideal engine (that is an engine that works without frictional losses etc.), the maximum amount of work that you could extract from the engine depended only on the temperature difference between the maximum working temperature and ambient temperature of the engine (not on the details of the engine such as whether it used steam as its working fluid). In practise this means that a steam turbine (which operates between approximately 543 °C = 816 Kelvin and 23 ºC = 296 Kelvin) has a maximum efficiency of 64%. Were you able to design a frictionless engine made from a cup of coffee (typical drinking temperature 60 °C = 333 K), it would have a maximum efficiency of around 10%

Coffee at Artisan East Sheen
A meandering coffee river and Physics World (November 2016)

Of course, a real engine made from a cup of coffee would encounter frictional losses etc. which would reduce its efficiency. So while we may think that an efficiency of around 10% is not that bad (particularly if we’re making the coffee anyway), once we’ve allowed reality to enter into our calculations, the actual efficiency is much lower. This is probably best summarised as: The best use of coffee is in drinking it, and where better than Artisan coffee if you find yourself in East Sheen (or Putney, Stamford Brook or Ealing)?

Artisan Coffee is at 139 East Sheen Lane, SW14 8LR

 

Categories
General Home experiments Observations Tea

An easy way to get a halo

The other day I was talking to a primary school child about condensation, what it was, where to see it etc. So I asked,

“Do you drink coffee?”

“No.”

“Do you drink tea?”

“No”

(I started to worry about the future generations). Nonetheless, I pulled out my cup of steaming coffee and pointed to the water droplets around the edge of the mug (which are very common if you haven’t warmed your cup before pouring your hot coffee into it) and noticed a sudden expression of recognition cross the child’s face.

“Like when you breathe on a mirror?”

Kettle drum at Amoret
Condensation on around the top of the jug on this V60

Yes, exactly so (and probably a much better example for a kid anyway, the problem of being an adult with a one track mind!). As the child had realised, the science in your coffee cup is connected to phenomena that occur elsewhere in the world. In the case of condensation, it occurs when the temperature of the surface onto which condensation happens is below what is called the “dew point”. Determined by the relative humidity in the environment, the dew point is the temperature below which water vapour in the air will condense into liquid water.

Of course the dew point gets its name from the dew that can form after a chilly night. Which brings us to another property of those water droplets that form around the rim of your coffee mug. Although it is not easy to see on the mug, each droplet is acting as a lens, focussing the light that falls onto it. As the surface of the mug is fairly flat, rather than form spherical droplets, the drops that form on the side of the mug are squashed hemispheres. This is not the case when dew forms on grass. Tiny hairs on the surface of the grass protrude from the leaf meaning that the water droplets form into spheres (which is, incidentally very similar to the reason that a duck is so waterproof). When the sun comes up, each sphere of water focusses the sunlight onto the grass behind it which reflects it back, right in the direction it came from.

heiligenschein, self portrait
Self-portrait with weak heiligenschein. Share your photos with me on FB or Twitter.

This means that if you stand with your back to the sun and look at your shadow on dew covered grass, you will very probably see a region of bright light surrounding your head, your heiligenschein. German for “Holy light”, heiligenschein is the effect of all of those spherical dew lenses reflecting the sunlight back towards you. You can only see the effect around your ‘anti-solar’ point (a position defined as being 180º from the Sun from the viewpoint of the observer, see here for what this means visually). This means that while you will see heilgenschein around your head, or around the shadow of the camera that you use to photograph it, you will never see the halo around someone else’s head even while they themselves can clearly see it.

I’m sure there’s some sort of metaphor there, perhaps one to contemplate next time you’re drinking a hot, steaming coffee.