The Strange Shelf-Lives of 10 Common Grocery Store Goods


Ever wondered why some foods tend to rot as soon as you get them home while others have miraculous shelf-lives? It could have something to do with how old some foods are before you even buy them. Below, we break down some commonly purchased goods that are as fresh as possible—and a few that might be a little older than you think.


Is your orange juice actually made from fresh oranges, like many OJ companies market? Likely, no, says researcher and author Alissa Hamilton. According to Hamilton’s investigation, “not from concentrate” orange juices are stored in million-gallon tanks for up to a year before being bottled and sent to grocery stores. Orange juice is first pasteurized, has its oxygen removed and then is stored in tanks. When it’s ready for packaging, orange juice manufacturers add in "flavor packs” to boost the orange taste.


If you’ve ever picked an apple from the tree and wondered why it tasted different than store-bought fruit, it could be age. Apples can be up to a year old by the time you buy them, though they’re still safe to eat. Year-round apple demand means that a short harvest season—usually from late summer to early fall—somehow has to provide a supply for the following year. To make apples last, harvesters store the fruit in low-oxygen, high-carbon dioxide coolers, sometimes applying fungicides to prevent rot, or 1-methylcyclopropene, a gas that stops apples from emitting the ethylene gas that causes them to ripen and age. Other apple producers use wax coatings to help the fruit retain moisture and appear fresh, which isn’t too unnatural since apples produce their own protective, waxy layer that is often lost during harvesting and washing.


There’s a lot of debate about what kind of eggs you should buy—cage-free, free-range, organic, or whatever’s cheapest. But most eggs have age in common, and they can be up to 45 days old before they’re no longer sellable. While most egg cartons come with an expiration or “best before” date, egg processors technically don’t have to stamp their cartons so long as their eggs are graded by the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA). If they do label eggs, there are basic rules: expiration dates can’t be any more than 30 days from when the eggs were packaged, and grocery stores can’t sell them after that date. If “best before” stamps are used, the date on the package can’t be any more than 45 days from when the eggs were carton-packed. U.S. egg regulations are different than other countries', mainly in that American eggs are washed and chemically sanitized before being refrigerated and shipped to stores. Throughout Europe, eggs aren’t washed, and producers instead use an egg’s natural protective coating to keep it safe before reaching shoppers.


Grocery store beef is often a bit older when it gets to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s no good. Many cuts of beef are aged before they’re sent off to packaging and shoppers, and that means it can be nearly six weeks old by the time you add it to your grocery cart. Aging uses microbes and enzymes to break down some of the tissue, with the goal of naturally tenderizing meat. How it’s done depends on the beef producer; some sides of meat are simply hung in large coolers, while other meats are wrapped in plastic bags before being hung. Each way has its own effect on how meat ages. So, how do you identify good beef in the meat department? The trick is to look for red, not brown, meat. Vacuum-sealed meat often looks purple, but beef that’s been exposed to oxygen turns bright red. It’ll turn brown about five days later because of natural chemical changes, and can feel tacky or smell “off” any time after that.


The age of root vegetables like potatoes may not come as a surprise because of how long they last in dark pantries at home. After being harvested, potatoes are stored in large, temperature- and humidity-controlled warehouses where airflow systems keep 20-foot-deep potato mounds from rotting. They can stay this way for up to 11 months before heading off to be cleaned and packaged. If you’ve ever wondered where those bumps and nicks in your potatoes come from, it’s the harvesting process. As potatoes are pulled out of fields, harvesting machinery can rough them up a bit. But properly stored potatoes can heal their bruises and cuts within two weeks.


Leafy greens like lettuce can be fresh, or a few weeks old, depending on where you live and what kind of lettuce you buy. Nearly 90 percent of lettuce sold during the winter in the U.S. comes from Yuma, Arizona, where it’s warm enough for the plants to grow. Shipping times vary based by destination, meaning lettuce could be just a few days old, or longer if refrigerated before and during transport. But, bagged lettuces and greens can be up to two weeks old from the time they’re harvested, cleaned and packaged, and shipped to stores.


There’s no clear answer to how long bread can sit on grocery store shelves before it’s tossed, since every grocery store has its own standards for food loss. But there are ways to tell when your bread was baked. Bread tags are often color-coordinated to note what day of the week a loaf was baked, such as blue for Monday or green for Tuesday. This color tagging makes it easier for bread distributors and store stockers to rotate out fresh loaves without having to stop and look at each package’s date. But, that doesn’t mean you should completely rule out the old-fashioned squeeze test, because not every bakery follows the same color-coordinated tag system. As for how long your loaf will last at home, it depends on how you store it. On the counter, bread should last five to seven days [PDF], but refrigerated bread can last longer. If you come across a good bread sale, there’s no harm in freezing extra loaves, which retain peak flavor for up to three months.


Milk normally leaves a dairy, is pasteurized and bottled, and arrives at grocery stores within 48 hours. While that’s pretty fast for a food that expires quickly, it doesn’t mean that shoppers aren’t still conscious of “best by” dates when picking up a gallon. So if milk is relatively fresh when it arrives, how long can it stay in the grocery cooler? That depends on each state’s rules and can vary between 12 and 21 days after milk has been pasteurized. At home, using the “best by” stamp to determine freshness isn’t a hard and fast rule because refrigerator temperature, level of pasteurization, and other factors (like backwash from drinking out of the carton) affect how long milk lasts. The sure-fire way to know if milk has spoiled is the age-old sniff test.


Cranberries have made a name for themselves during fall and winter celebrations. But, it’s not just the holidays that increase cranberry sales. The bog-dwelling berries are actually harvested during their popular season, and make their way to grocers soon after. When ripe, cranberry marshes are flooded and the berries are pulled from their vines by rotating machines called beaters. The berries then float to the top of the marsh and are collected. Cranberries bought in September, October, and November are usually fresh, but they will last in freezers for up to a year.


If you’re swinging by the grocery deli for a roasted chicken or quick meal, it’s probably nice to know that your food was likely made that day. Most grocery store delis toss leftover, prepared foods that were cooked that day. In many cases, they aren’t packaged for sale the next day or even sold to employees clocking out for the day. The grocery industry can lose millions by throwing out this food ($900 million in 2001, by one survey's estimate), but they'll pass that cost on to the consumer. That's why the sliced-while-you-wait deli meat costs more than the very similar package in the aisle. But, in terms of freshness, the deli counter is great bet.

All images courtesy of iStock 

The Science Behind Why We Crave Loud and Crunchy Foods

A number of years ago, food giant Unilever polled consumers asking how the company might improve their popular line of Magnum ice cream bars. The problem, respondents said, was that the chocolate coating of the bars tended to fall off too quickly, creating blotches of sticky goo on carpeting. Unilever reacted by changing the recipe to make the chocolate less prone to spills.

When they tested the new and improved product, they expected a warm reception. Instead, they got more complaints than before. While the updated bar didn’t make a mess, it also didn’t make the distinctive crackle that its fans had grown accustomed to. Deprived of hearing the coating collapse and crumble, the experience of eating the ice cream was fundamentally changed. And not for the better.

Smell and taste researcher Alan Hirsch, M.D. refers to it as the “music of mastication,” an auditory accompaniment to the sensory stimulus of eating. “For non-gustatory, non-olfactory stimulation, people prefer crunchiness,” he tells Mental Floss. Humans love crunchy, noisy snacks, that loud rattling that travels to our inner ear via air and bone conduction and helps us identify what it is we’re consuming. Depending on the snack, the noise can reach 63 decibels. (Normal conversations are around 60 dB; rustling leaves, 20 dB.)

When we hear it, we eat more. When we don’t—as in the case of Magnum bars, or a soggy, muted potato chip—we resort to other senses, looking at our food with doubt or sniffing it for signs of expiration. Psychologically, our lust for crispy sustenance is baked in. But why is it so satisfying to create a cacophony of crunch? And if we love it so much, why do some of us actually grow agitated and even aggressive when we hear someone loudly chomping away? It turns out there’s a lot more to eating with our ears than you might have heard.


The science of crunch has long intrigued Charles Spence, Ph.D., a gastrophysicist and professor of experimental psychology and head of the Crossmodal Research Laboratory at the University of Oxford. Food companies have enlisted him and consulted his research across the spectrum of ingestion, from packaging to shapes to the sound chips make rustling around in grocery carts.

“We’re not born liking noisy foods,” he tells Mental Floss. “Noise doesn’t give a benefit in terms of nutrition. But we don’t like soggy crisps even if they taste the same. Missing the sound is important.”

In 2003, Spence decided to investigate the sonic appeal of chips in a formal setting. To keep a semblance of control, he selected Pringles, which are baked uniformly—a single Pringle doesn't offer any significant difference in size, thickness, or crunch from another. He asked 20 research subjects to bite into 180 Pringles (about two cans) while seated in a soundproof booth in front of a microphone. The sound of their crunching was looped back into a pair of headphones.

After consuming the cans, they were asked if they perceived any difference in freshness or crispness from one Pringle to another. What they didn’t know was that Spence had been playing with the feedback in their headphones, raising or lowering the volume of their noisy crunching [PDF]. At loud volumes, the chips were reported to be fresher; chips ingested while listening at low volume were thought to have been sitting out longer and seemed softer. The duplicitous sounds resulted in a radical difference in chip perception. It may have been a small study, but in the virtually non-existent field of sonic chip research, it was groundbreaking.

A view inside a potato chip bag

For Spence, the results speak to what he considers the inherent appeal of crunchy foods. “Noisy foods correlate with freshness,” he says. “The fresher the produce, like apples, celery, or lettuce, the more vitamins and nutrients it’s retained. It’s telling us what’s in the food.”

Naturally, this signal becomes slightly misguided when it reinforces the quality of a potato chip, a processed slab of empty calories. But Spence has a theory on this, too: “The brain likes fat in food, but it’s not so good at detecting it through our mouths. Noisy foods are certainly fattier on average.”

Fatty or fresh, raising decibels while eating may also have roots in less appetizing behaviors. For our ancestors who ate insects, the crunch of a hard-bodied cricket symbolized nourishment. In a primal way, violently mincing food with our teeth could also be a way to vent and dilute aggression. “There are some psychoanalytic theories related to crunchiness and aggressive behavior,” Hirsch says. “When you bite into ice or potato chips, you’re sublimating that in a healthy way.”


All of these factors explain why crunch appeals to us. But is it actually affecting what we taste?

Yes—but maybe not the way you’d think. “Sound affects the experience of food,” Spence says. “The noise draws attention to the mouth in the way something silent does not. If you’re eating pâté, your attention can drift elsewhere, to a television or to a dining companion. But a crunch will draw your attention to what you’re eating, making you concentrate on it. Noisy foods make you think about them.”

That crunch can also influence how much food we consume. Because noisy foods tend to be fatty, Spence says, they’ll retain their flavor longer. And because the noise reinforces our idea of what we’re eating, it affords us a sense of security that allows us to keep consuming without having to look at our snack—not so important in a brightly-lit room, but crucial if we’re in a dark movie theater. “It becomes more important when you can’t see what you’re eating,” Spence says.

Thanks to this hard-wired feedback, the snack industry has made it a priority to emphasize the sounds of their foods in both development and marketing. In the 1980s, Frito-Lay funded extensive work at a Dallas plant that involved $40,000 chewing simulators. There, they discovered the ideal breaking point for a chip was four pounds per square inch (PSI), just a fraction of what we might need to tear into a steak (150 to 200 PSI). The quality and consistency of the potatoes themselves is also key, according to Herbert Stone, Ph.D., a food scientist who has worked with companies on product development. “Too thick, too hard, and people don’t like them,” Stone tells Mental Floss. “Too thin and they just crumble.”

The right potato sliced at the right thickness with the right oil at the right temperature results in a solid chip—one resilient enough to make for a satisfying break when it hits your molars, but vanishing so quickly that your brain and body haven’t even processed the calories you’ve just taken in. “If they pick it up and put it in the mouth and the crunch is not what they expect, they might put it down,” Stone says. “It’s about expectation.”

A shopper examines a bag of potato chips

Walk down the snack aisle in your local supermarket or glance at commercials and you’ll find no shortage of claims about products being the boldest, crunchiest chip available. For years, Frito-Lay marketed Cheetos as “the cheese that goes crunch!” Even cereals try to capitalize on the fervor, making mascots—Snap, Crackle, and Pop—out of the sound their Rice Krispies make when submerged in milk. One ad for a brand of crisps drew attention for “cracking” the viewer’s television screen.

For most consumers, the promise of sonic flavor will draw their attention. But for a small number of people diagnosed with a condition dubbed misophonia, the sound of a co-worker or partner crunching on chips isn’t at all pleasurable. It’s insufferable.


According to Connecticut audiologist Natan Bauman, M.D., the average noise level of someone masticating a potato chip is between 25 to 35 decibels. (Other sources peg it as closer to 63 dB when you're chewing on a chip with your mouth open, or 55 dB with your lips closed.) When you hear your own chewing, the sound is being conducted both via the air and your own bones, giving it a distinctively unique sound. (Like talking, hearing yourself chewing on a recording might be troubling.)

For someone suffering from misophonia, or the literal hatred of specific sounds, it's not their own chomping that's the problem. It's everyone else's.

When we chew, Bauman says, the auditory cortical and limbic system areas of our brain are lighting up, getting information about freshness and texture. But people with misophonia aren’t struggling with their own sounds. Instead, they're affected by others typing, clicking pens, or, more often, chewing. The sound of someone snacking is routed from the cochlea, or cavity in the inner ear, and becomes an electric signal that winds up in the brain’s amygdala, which processes fear and pleasure. That's true for everyone, but in misophonics, it lands with a thud. They’ve likely developed a trigger, or negative association, with the sounds stemming from an incident in childhood.

“If you are scolded by a parent and they happen to be eating, or smacking, it becomes negative reinforcement,” Bauman says. Chewing, lip smacking, and even breathing become intolerable for sufferers, who often feel agitated and nervous, with corresponding increases in heart rate. Some fly into a rage.

Misophonics don’t necessarily recoil at all of these sounds all of the time: It may depend on who’s doing the snacking. Often, it’s a co-worker, spouse, or family member munching away that prompts a response. Fearing they’ll damage that relationship, sufferers tend to vent online. The misophonia subreddit is home to threads with titles like “And the popcorn eater sits RIGHT next to me on the plane” and “Chips can go f-ck themselves.” (The entire content of the latter: “F-ck chips, man. That is all.”)

Bauman says misophonia can be treated using cognitive therapy. An earpiece can provide white noise to reduce trigger sounds while sufferers try to retrain their brain to tolerate the noises. But even the sight of a bag of chips can be enough to send them scrambling.

People with misophonia might also want to exercise caution when traveling. Although some Asian cultures minimize crunchy snacks because loud snacking is considered impolite, other parts of the world can produce noisier mealtimes. “In parts of Asia, you show appreciation for food by slurping,” Spence says. Slurping is even associated with a more intense flavor experience, particularly when it’s in the setting of a comparatively quiet dining establishment.

Western culture favors noisier restaurants, and there’s a good reason for that. Supposedly Hard Rock Café has mastered the art of playing loud and fast music, resulting in patrons who talked less, ate faster, and left more quickly, allowing operators to turn over tables more times in an evening.

Spence believes sound will continue to be important to gastronomy, to chefs, and to food companies looking to sell consumers on a complete experience. Snack shelves are now full of air-puffed offerings like 3-D Doritos and Pop Chips that create pillows of taste. With less volume, you’ll snack more and crunch for longer periods.

A woman snacks on a chip

But the sound of the chip is just one part of the equation. The way a bag feels when you pick it up at the store, the aroma that wafts out when you first open the bag, the concentration of flavor from the granules of seasoning on your fingers—it’s all very carefully conducted to appeal to our preferences.

“When we hear the rattle of crisps, it may encourage people to start salivating, like Pavlov’s dogs,” Spence says, referring to the Russian scientist who trained his canines to salivate when he made a certain sound. We’re conditioned to anticipate the flavor and enjoyment of chips as soon as we pick up a package. Even hearing or saying the words crispy and crunchy can prime us for the experience.

When we’re deprived of that auditory cue, we can get annoyed. After news reports emerged that Pepsi CEO Indra Nooyi had mentioned her company might consider a quieter version of Doritos for women—an idea PepsiCo later denied they would label in a gender-specific fashion—women Doritos enthusiasts rallied around the Texas state capitol, condemning the perceived gender discrimination. To protest the possible dilution of their favorite snack, they made a spectacle of crunching Doritos as loudly as they could.

London Grocery Chain Encourages Shoppers to Bring Their Own Tupperware

Why stop at bringing your own grocery bags to the store? One London grocery wants you to BYO-Tupperware. The London Evening Standard reports that a UK chain called Planet Organic has partnered with Unpackaged—a company dedicated to sustainable packaging—to install self-serve bulk-food dispensers where customers can fill their own reusable containers with dry goods, cutting down on plastic packaging waste.

To use the system, customers walk up and weigh their empty container at a self-serve station, printing and attaching a label with its tare weight. Then, they can fill it with flour, nuts, or other kinds of dry goods, weigh it again, and print the price tag before taking it up to the check out. (Regular customers only have to weigh their containers once, since they can save the peel-off label to use again next time.)

Planet Organic is offering cereals, legumes, grains, nuts, chocolate, dried fruit, and even some cleaning products in bulk as part of this program, significantly reducing the amount of waste shoppers would otherwise be taking home on each grocery trip.

Zero-waste grocery stores have been popping up in Europe for several years. These shops, like Berlin's Original Unverpackt, don't offer any bags or containers, asking customers bring their own instead. This strategy also encourages people to buy only what they need, which eliminates food waste—there's no need to buy a full 5-pound bag of flour if you only want to make one cake.

The concept is also gaining traction in North America. The no-packaging grocery store in.gredients opened in Austin, Texas in 2011. The Brooklyn store Package Free, opened in 2017, takes the idea even further, marketing itself as a one-stop shop for "everything that you'd need to transition to a low waste lifestyle." It sells everything from tote bags to laundry detergent to dental floss.

[h/t London Evening Standard]


More from mental floss studios