{"id":818,"date":"2024-02-13T20:30:42","date_gmt":"2024-02-13T20:30:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/itp.nyu.edu\/adjacent_dev\/?p=818"},"modified":"2024-02-27T19:39:05","modified_gmt":"2024-02-27T19:39:05","slug":"microbial-archives","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/itp.nyu.edu\/adjacent\/issue-10\/microbial-archives\/","title":{"rendered":"Microbial Archives"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Illustration by Adnan Aga<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Yogurt, rice, and orange peels\u2014a classic combination, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No? Well, it is for me. The deepest recesses of my memories recall the taste of my grandma\u2019s yogurt rice: the very specific tang of her yogurt, the exact mushiness of her Jasmine, not Basmati, rice. And, the magical ingredient, a dollop of orange peel oorugai, a Tamil savory pickle condiment that, to this day, I\u2019ve only seen in my grandma\u2019s kitchen (though a cursory Google search shows it\u2019s not a totally obscure item).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My visits to my grandparents\u2019 home revolved around food. As soon as I\u2019d walk in the door, I\u2019d grab my stainless steel plate from the same cabinet as always and plop down at the kitchen table. A variety of cooking vessels covered by an assortment of mismatched plates-as-lids sat waiting for me. I\u2019d lift a plate to take a peek at what sat beneath, aromas wafting into the air. I\u2019d start by laying down a hefty helping of rice, then place vegetable dishes around the rim of my plate. Finally, I crown the rice with two ladles of rasam. I\u2019d scarf down one plate, then another, and then the grand finale: theyir chadam (yogurt rice) with orange peel oorugai.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My grandma passed away last year. I won\u2019t have another helping of her theyir chadam and orange peel oorugai again. I have her recipes. I can get close, but it\u2019s not quite the same. I wonder if, floating in the air and crawling on the surfaces around us, the invisible world of microbes might provide us the information we need to recreate the smells and tastes of our past.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fermentation is as close to alchemy as we\u2019ll get. Throw some milk in a pot, heat it up, let it cool a bit, add a spoon of yogurt, and overnight, you\u2019ll have a new batch of yogurt. Magic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The true magicians in this trick are lactobacillus \u2013 a kind of bacteria that eats the sugar in milk and excretes lactic acid. They like warmth \u2013 ~110 degrees is perfect \u2013 and multiply in droves when they\u2019re both well fed and comfortable. As they multiply, more and more of them excrete lactic acid, we not only start to taste the tartness of the acid, but the proteins in milk also start to denature and reform into a matrix that takes on the texture that we associate with yogurt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lactobacillus that turns milk into yogurt remains active in yogurt, so we\u2019re able to use yogurt as a starter culture when making new batches. And lactobacillus can be found in many other places: on our skin, in our bodies, on the surface of many fruits and vegetables, to name a few. We can make yogurt by replacing our yogurt starter with, say, a piece of ginger with the skin unwashed and unpeeled. It might be less reliable than a yogurt starter, but if there\u2019s enough lactobacillus crawling around, it should work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But \u2013 it\u2019ll taste a bit different. In fact, your homemade yogurt and mine will probably taste different from each other. Yes, some of that variance has to do with the milks we used and the exact temperatures at which we took our milk to and incubated the yogurt. But some of that variance will likely also be due to the exact combination of microorganisms present in our yogurts. Our yogurts, and all other fermented foods, have some microbial terroir.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Taste and smell are often linked with memories: one whiff of a glass of Frank Cornelissen Nerello Mascalese wine can take you directly to the summertime slopes of Mount Etna. A glass of wine encodes information about climate, time, geography and soil health in what the wine world calls \u201cterroir.\u201d Chocolate and mezcal, among many other fermented foods, also have a notion of \u201cterroir\u201d among well-adjusted palettes. How and why humans have been able to taste that encoded information has been a bit of a mystery. To some, it\u2019s voodoo, yet trained palettes have been able to ID wines blind, all the way down to the producer, time of year, and plot of land. How?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Emerging genomics research1<\/sup> shows a couple of promising signals: 1) that microbial activity could be a strong factor in the production of tastes and smells that create what we perceive as flavor; and 2) that specific microbiomes may function as the unique identifiers for particular terroirs. Put simply, the microorganisms that ferment our wines (and cheeses, chocolates, mezcals, and yogurts) may be the link to understanding \u201cterroir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This research points towards a future where we can demonstrably identify terroirs of wines and other food products transformed by microbes. However, there are miles to go in research to understand the interactions between different microorganisms and their metabolic inputs and outputs \u2013 the precursors to what we might eventually taste and associate as the terroir of a food or drink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

How might this emerging research about microbial terroir help me rediscover my grandma\u2019s special touch in her yogurt and oorugai? And how might we contribute to pushing this research forward without PhDs and wet labs?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Imagine if it were simple to take a swab of my grandma\u2019s kitchen and get back a reading of the microorganisms present in that sample. That may have given me some more insight into the particular strains of lactobacillus that could have made their way into my grandma\u2019s yogurt. The makeup of her kitchen\u2019s microenvironment could have changed fairly often; after cleaning, after visitors after, at different times of day. So, we\u2019d want to build up a collection of samples over time and understand how the microbiome of her kitchen evolved over time, and how that might have impacted (or not impacted!) her yogurt\u2019s terroir.
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Imagine if it were simple to take a swab of my grandma\u2019s kitchen and get back a reading of the microorganisms present in that sample. That may have given me some more insight into the particular strains of lactobacillus that could have made their way into my grandma\u2019s yogurt.<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
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As more and more of these microbial archives of different kitchens, and different environments more broadly, are recorded we might be able to start understanding more of the links between the microbial world and our human-scale world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Data-collection focused on understanding microbiomes does happen today \u2013 it just predominantly happens in university and commercial laboratories. However, both the cost of sequencing microbial genomes and the accessibility of DIY hardware and services have improved greatly over the last decade. Not so long ago, it cost billions of dollars to do genome sequencing; now it costs hundreds. Handheld sequencing devices like the MinIon are within-reach for at-home tinkerers and would-be microbial archivists. Community labs like Genspace NYC make these tools and knowledge even more accessible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Other artists, researchers, tinkerers, and businesses have brought parts of this vision together already. Here are some examples:<\/p>\n\n\n\n