Uncommon Knowledge

If you guessed a whopping twelve miles per hour, you were right. In 1899, cab driver Jacob German was driving his car through the streets of New York City, just minding his own business. Though horse-powered cabs were still more prevalent but at the time, there were roughly 60 Electric Vehicles worked as cabs throughout the city. A bicycle cop saw Jacob’s cab speeding down Lexington Avenue at breakneck speed (12mph, if you recall), easily pulled him over with his bike, and delivered a stern reprimand for ignoring the posted 8mph speed limit on straightaways and 4mph around curves. For this, Jacob German was thrown in jail for an indeterminate amount of time. This was the first speeding punishment on record; the first written citation came five years later in Ohio. Harry Myers of Dayton received a ticket for his own blistering speed…also 12 miles per hour.

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If you got just one thing from your elementary school science class, it’s the fact that matter comes in three states—solid, liquid, and gas. And maybe you retained the fact that all matter will change states under the right conditions. Water, for example, takes three forms in your kitchen alone: liquid water, ice, and water vapor (steam). Nothing uncommon so far. Class dismissed.

But wait—what about glass? Solid, right? Windowpanes, drinking glasses, and tiny unicorns are all solid stuff that doesn’t go with the flow. But you may have heard that glass is actually a “super-cooled liquid.” A solid theory? Not quite. Glass is, in fact, an intermediate state of matter that your chemistry teacher probably glossed over—an amorphous solid. Informally, the term “super-cooled liquid” could describe the variable states of any kind of matter (like saying that ice is “super-cooled” water). But glass is special, stuck somewhere between liquid and solid. To us, it appears solid in every way, but on the molecular level, it’s not as clearly organized as crystals like table salt or diamond. Kind of like those people who appear to have it all together, but really, they’re in dire need of the Marie Kondo treatment.

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Nope, sorry. It has been widely agreed upon that Saltwater Taffy’s origins come from the mind of a business-savvy candy maker, though the specifics remain a little murky. However, there is a Jersey Shore legend that seems pretty convincing:

In 1883, a massive storm hit Atlantic City, clearing the boardwalk of many businesses. Most remaining storefronts were flooded, including a candy shop owned by David Bradley. When a girl came by the shop to buy some taffy after the storm, Bradley looked around the watery store and joked, “All I have is salt water taffy.” His mother overheard the exchange and suggested that it was a catchy name. It was eventually picked up by other vendors in Atlantic City, and then adopted by other vendors in coastal towns. Talk about a name that sticks! Ba-dum-chhh.

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Often named for a colorful proprietor or fictional drinking buddy, the “bar and grill” is a familiar fixture in big cities and small towns alike. The term is shorthand for a drinking establishment that serves food (beyond bowls of stale peanuts), and the combination may have been encouraged by blue laws that allowed bars to admit minors if they offered a solid food menu along with their liquid one. Hence, the “grill” in bar and grill. Case closed, right? Not so fast. Time for another round.

The “bar” part of the term most likely hails from the turn of the 17th century, describing the railing or bar that provided a clear barrier between thirsty tavern patrons and the potent potables of the house (and also served as a handy support for tired or tipsy patrons). Over time, the name of this beloved barrier became synonymous with the drinking establishments themselves. But there’s a little more to the “grill” part of this etymological equation. Costumed interpreters at Colonial Williamsburg’s Raleigh Tavern proudly point out that, in their joint at least, “bar and grill” may refer to the teller window-like gate that locks up their precious grog off hours—the 18th century forerunner of the horizontal bar familiar to happy hour patrons today. So the “grill” part of “bar and grill” may have its origins in liquor security rather than kitchen equipment. Now…last call!

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Plymouth Rock and Massachusetts’ Cape Cod has beer to thank for its deep roots in history. Back in 1620, the Pilgrims were heading for an area of land right around what is now Virginia to settle and plant crops. This area had been checked out and authorized to colonize. After months of stormy seafaring and a series of inconvenient events, however, the final straw came when the beer supplies were depleted. At the time, clean water was hard to come by, so beer was the go-to solution for hydration. The pilgrims found themselves quite a bit north of their target destination in the middle of November—not exactly New England’s most nurturing time of year—but the lack of clean drinking options made dropping anchor a must. Once landed, passengers were hastened ashore so they could find water, leaving the seamen to drink the remaining brewskis. While the Pilgrims did discover plenty of clean streams, they were wary of the New World’s liquids and not really clamoring for the spring water taste—one passenger wrote that they “dare not prefer it before good beer.” Sounds like someone needs a happy hour.

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Part of pop culture ever since a cartoon cricket sang about it in Pinocchio (1940), wishing upon a star is a familiar habit for those seeking a little celestial intervention. But like so many superstitions, its historical origins are hazy. Astronomers will be irked right off the bat: the tradition relates to wishing on “falling stars,” which of course are not starts at all, but meteors going out in a blaze of glory as they enter earth’s atmosphere. In the 2nd century AD, Greek astronomer Ptolemy presented the dubious theory that shooting stars flew through the gap between cosmic spheres when the gods pried them apart to peek down at the activities of mortals on earth. In later Christian tradition, they were thought to represent rising or falling souls or angels. In any case, wishing on them amounted to trying to tap into the mystical to improve your fortunes through a fleeting, fantastic phenomenon. The tradition has been strengthened in the modern era, when urban light pollution made shooting star sightings more difficult and wish opportunities more precious. But if you consider that the granddaddies of those cute shooting stars have—and still can—spell doomsday for planets in their path, you might consider wishing that they pass by harmlessly. The dinosaurs probably never saw it coming…

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It’s happened to everyone who enjoys ice cream now and then (in other words, everyone): you’re enjoying a dollop of that frozen goodness when—WHAM! You find yourself enjoying a blinding headache along with your soft serve. The common term for this Dairy Queen discomfort is “brain freeze,” though doctors have a technical term for it: sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia. Trying to pronounce that is enough to give you a headache, but “brain freeze” itself is caused by the cold stuff you’re eating causing rapid expansion and contraction of two major arteries near your palate—the internal carotid and the anterior cerebral. These blood vessels converge near your ice cream enjoyment centers (aka your mouth and your brain), and when they essentially start shivering with the arctic swirl you’ve introduced, you experience icy pain in various parts of your head or face. Think of it as a momentary neurological vacation to Siberia. Fortunately for us frozen treat lovers, there are a few simple remedies: 1) drink a quick warm water chaser, 2) stick your tongue on the roof of your mouth to warm up the area, 3) wait a few seconds and the pain will pass…kind of like the ice cream truck if you don’t hurry!

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