Vanilla traces a wild path through history. Indigenous peoples in Mexico began harvesting vanilla pods centuries before Europeans stumbled onto its aroma. The Totonacs of Veracruz guarded techniques for pollination and curing as family secrets, handing them down by experience, not by book. Spanish traders unlocked vanilla’s door and carried the beans across the ocean, letting aristocratic kitchens fill with its warmth. Later, vanilla’s story wove through global trade, with French colonists planting vines in far-off Indian Ocean islands. Islanders in Madagascar cracked the pollination code by hand, and that changed the rhythm of a once-local crop. My own kitchen shelf, with bottles marked “pure extract,” stands as a quiet example of how a flavor born in pre-Columbian forests landed in millions of modern homes. Each year, unpredictable harvests and disease outbreaks remind the world of the humble beginnings that still drive vanilla’s supply.
If you ever cracked open a cured vanilla pod, you already know the sheer range packed into this flavor. The market gives you pods, extracts, powders, oleoresins, and imitation compounds. Real vanilla starts with the beans—dark, supple, and smelling sweeter than sugar. Extracts win plenty of shelf space, done by soaking beans in ethanol and water. Commercial kitchens sometimes pick powders for ease, tossing them over dough or desserts. “Vanillin” makes up the backbone of vanilla’s aroma, but the real deal pulls out over a hundred other molecules—each contributing something soft or sharp or soaring. Price swings with supply, with genuine beans commanding top dollar, but even at a premium, vanilla’s role in food and fragrance never weaker.
Vanilla beans measure about 12-20 centimeters long, brown-black, and radiating a heady, layered smell. After curing, moisture levels drop, leaving pods plump yet flexible. The seed specks stored inside—the “caviar” chefs lust for—intensify the flavor when added whole. Vanillin (C8H8O3) matters most in chemistry books, making up over 2% of cured bean weight, but molecules like p-hydroxybenzaldehyde or vanillic acid quietly round out the tone. These compounds dissolve best in both alcohol and a touch of water. Real vanilla gets spotted under chromatography, revealing a fingerprint impossible for mere synthetic versions to match.
Food safety authorities demand clear labeling with vanilla. The U.S. Code of Federal Regulations sets minimum vanilla bean concentrations for extracts: one gallon of extract calls for thirteen and a third ounces of bean. "Pure vanilla extract" cannot include anything artificial, and alcohol content generally sits around 35%. Some labels stick with “natural flavor” for cost reasons, and others name “vanillin” straight out—often a giveaway that the ingredients run synthetic. The food industry’s complex paperwork can frustrate anyone who just wants good flavor, but tight rules protect people from fakes slipping into their cakes or ice cream.
Good beans don’t simply appear on store racks. Vanilla orchids start as hand-pollinated blooms, then green pods form, needing nine months or more to plump up. Harvesters pluck the beans still green—ripe but not overdone. Curing begins with a blanch in hot water, a sweat under blankets or in the sun, drying for weeks in open air, and finally slow conditioning in closed boxes. Selecting the right temperature and humidity at each step means the difference between a rich, complex bean and something flat or moldy. My experience growing backyard vanilla showed how finicky the preparation gets—patience and regular checking keep spoilage away, and even one slip ruins months of work.
Converting green vanilla into aromatic beans works as both art and science. Heat and moisture break apart enzymes—beta-glucosidase releases vanillin from precursors inside the pod. Fermentation sees bacteria and fungi nudging the flavor profile, alongside the Maillard reaction adding deeper notes. Synthetics come from wood pulp or guaiacol, following chemical pathways that slice and build molecules to resemble natural vanillin. These short cuts flood the market, yet still lag behind the true complexity of field-grown beans. Changing extraction methods—like switching from alcohol to supercritical CO2—pulls out new compounds and narrows down flavors, but the original bean always sets the baseline.
Walk through a kitchen catalog and you’ll find vanilla under a spread of names: Bourbon vanilla, Mexican vanilla, Tahitian vanilla. Each source means a different climate and taste—Bourbon beans from Madagascar give a sweet, creamy profile, while Tahitian beans lean floral. Synthetic “vanillin” gets labels like “artificial vanilla flavor” or “ethyl vanillin,” hinting at a sharper aroma. Check amounts on ingredient lists: “vanilla flavor,” as defined in regulations, falls short of “pure extract” in terms of composition and legal standards.
Any company making or selling vanilla scrambles to meet food safety benchmarks. Beans grow in moist tropics, ideal for molds and pesticides if farmers take shortcuts. Growers and importers screen for aflatoxins, pesticides, and pathogens, recording harvest lots to track any problems. Extraction facilities need strict hygiene during processing, storing beans at the right humidity to keep spoilage low. Workers wear gloves and hair nets, while labs test for residual solvents left behind in extracts. Global certifications like HACCP or ISO 22000 add layers of regulation. The effort to keep vanilla safe shows up in every price tag: behind a bottle lies labor at every step, none of it easy.
Every kitchen and industrial bakery has vanilla stashed somewhere. Pastry cooks swirl it into custard, ice cream, cakes, cookies, and candy. Cola and other soft drinks rely on vanilla’s subtlety to round out harsher flavors. The fragrance industry uses it in perfumes and candles, tapping into its warmth and familiarity. Nutritional supplements and pharmaceuticals line up for “natural flavors,” with vanilla being among the safest and most reliable. Even non-food fields dabble—rubber and plastics find uses for vanillin as a softener. Growing up in a family bakery, vanilla acted as the silent backbone of almost everything sweet we baked—take it away and recipes fell flat, no matter what you added.
Scientific interest in vanilla digs deep, chasing stable new extraction techniques, disease-resistant cultivars, and the elusive “complete” synthetic vanilla profile. Labs work on fermentation-based production—converting biomass into vanillin through fungi or bacteria—cutting down dependence on forests or intensive monocrops. Plant breeding takes center stage in island nations, with the hope of fighting off fusarium wilt and stem rot. Rapid screening and DNA fingerprinting promise to secure authentic beans and expose knock-offs flooding export markets. New analytical tools keep pushing boundaries, revealing minor aroma compounds once invisible to older equipment. Each year brings fresh conference papers and patent filings, both from public institutions and trade giants.
Vanilla rates among the safest flavorings in global food systems. Natural beans show incredibly low toxicity in normal doses, with no major allergenic proteins identified. Some cases arise with synthetic vanillin—rare skin or digestive irritation crops up in sensitive individuals, usually at occupational exposures. Quality controls screen extracts for methanol or heavy metal contamination, keeping adulterated products off shelves. The debate around “Mexican vanilla” rooted in coumarin-laced adulterants has faded with tighter import enforcement, but vigilance continues. Current research digs into metabolic pathways, checking for any metabolites with long-term effects, but so far the evidence sits solid: vanilla isn’t just delicious, it’s safe for consumer use.
Vanilla faces a crossroads. Climate shifts shake weather patterns and introduce new fungal threats to delicate vines. Researchers search for tougher plants, engineered for yield and resistance without sacrificing the intricate flavor that sets fine vanilla apart. Demand keeps growing—ice cream makers, perfumers, and food manufacturers won’t stop lining up. Spiking prices and crop shortages force a look toward lab-made vanillin or “fermentation vanilla” from yeast, opening arguments about purity and tradition. The world’s appetite for real, complex vanilla remains unsatisfied, no matter how much synthetic vanillin is produced. Technology and tradition will keep butting heads, but every bottle of true vanilla extract still carries the legacy of centuries-old cultivation, tireless hands, and a constant quest for flavor.
Vanilla doesn’t walk into the spotlight very often. Still, I think about it every time I crack open a bottle of extract for baking or add a scoop of ice cream to a summer pie. This ingredient comes from beans produced by a specific orchid, mostly grown in places like Madagascar, Mexico, and Tahiti. Farmers hand-pollinate these plants, then let the beans go through a long curing process that brings out the aroma and taste bakers and chefs love across the world.
Getting the flavor out of a vanilla bean takes more than a quick grind. The beans hold hundreds of different compounds in their pods—vanillin plays the headline act, but it’s not alone. During curing, these release their signature scent. Producers scrape the sticky seeds and chop the pods to toss into alcohol or glycerin, which draws out the flavors over months. Many kitchen staples, from cookies to breakfast cereals, rely on that extract for taste and fragrance.
Some companies realized that making vanillin in a lab from sources like wood pulp or clove oil costs less than farming and processing the real thing. About 99% of the “vanilla” in packaged foods and scents comes from synthetic vanillin. While it tricks the nose, it doesn’t have the depth of true vanilla. If you crack open a real pod, the aroma carries a wider, richer story. Lab-made vanillin has its place for feeding the world cheaply, but you can tell the difference in a side-by-side taste test.
For farmers, vanilla offers a living, not just a product. It anchors families in Madagascar and Indonesia, but also keeps kids in school because parents earn enough to pay for uniforms and books. Real vanilla fetches high prices because every piece involves hours of work. Counterfeit beans and theft sometimes dog farmers, threatening their income. This isn’t a problem solved by technology alone—it depends on fair trade, honest labeling, and governments willing to back their people in the face of criminal markets.
These days, climate change brings more challenges. Droughts, storms, and crop diseases can wipe out a year’s work. Companies promising farm-to-table or single-origin vanilla help shine a light on where money goes. Some chefs and bakers choose natural beans for the flavor and to support these growing communities. Governments and buyers paying fair prices let families save, plant more vines, and plan for the future. Certification helps track and protect purity along the supply chain, though true protection rests on hands-on involvement from every business touching those beans.
I can tell you saving up for real vanilla beans changes the results of a holiday treat. The rich aroma fills the kitchen differently than the bottled version. Choosing authentic vanilla—if the budget allows—supports craftspeople and the regions where this orchid grows. Better practices, transparency, and respect for the hard work behind each pod let more of us enjoy what seems like a simple pleasure on the surface.
Cooking and baking always felt daunting to me at the start. Recipes often called for ingredients I'd never used before, and vanilla seemed so simple in comparison to everything else. Still, I learned that even the basics deserve some respect. Vanilla, whether in extract, paste, or whole bean form, is one of the most forgiving flavors out there. Nobody needs fancy training or precision to use it well. That’s probably why so many home cooks and new bakers reach for it instinctively.
Vanilla isn’t just for sweets. My first experience adding a vanilla bean to roasted vegetables opened my mind to its versatility. In cookies and cakes, vanilla rounds out flavors the way salt does for soup. It turns plain sugar into something deeper and memorable. Pure extract only requires a quick splash, and store-bought versions hold up well even in simple recipes. You don’t need specialty equipment — just a teaspoon and a willing attitude.
Many recipes call for vanilla extract, and there’s good reason behind that. Chemically, good-quality vanilla brings out background notes in chocolate, caramel, and fruit. In ice cream and custard, vanilla provides a base layer that helps other flavors shine. In beginner-friendly recipes like banana bread or simple sugar cookies, it keeps mistakes low and rewards effort with rich results.
Vanilla taught me about ingredient quality early on. My family sometimes used imitation vanilla when groceries got expensive. Later, comparing a batch of brownies made with real extract to the imitation version made the differences clear. The real stuff had a warmer, more rounded scent, and the flavor stuck around longer. Anyone starting out can learn by using what’s available, but even beginners benefit from trying real vanilla side by side with artificial on occasion.
Vanilla gives new cooks instant confidence. Even mistakes seem less severe. Underbaked muffins or oversweet cake can taste pretty good if they carry a whiff of vanilla. The ingredient is available in every supermarket, bringing accessibility to anyone eager to try their hands at baking or making desserts at home. Using vanilla helps people understand balance and harmony in cooking, and it’s safe — there’s no learning curve involving tricky food science or kitchen disasters.
Budget is a concern now. Natural vanilla costs more due to vanilla bean shortages. For those watching their spending, imitation extracts fill the gap and lower the barrier for new bakers. I learned to boost flavor by letting batter rest for five minutes after stirring in vanilla. This trick, passed down from my grandmother, lets vanilla mingle with other ingredients and gives simple recipes a little extra depth. Seeking ethical and sustainably sourced vanilla brings up cost, but store brands usually list sourcing information, helping buyers make informed choices even at entry levels.
Vanilla remains a beginner’s friend. From my first pancakes as a kid to the holiday cookies I make today, it never felt out of reach. The lessons I picked up from it — patience, curiosity, and adaptability — stay with me every day I spend in the kitchen.
Every time I pick up a bottle of vanilla extract in the store, I get a jolt from the price tag. Vanilla costs more per ounce than silver some years, and it’s not just about fancy desserts or hipster lattes. The reason runs much deeper than supply and demand graphs.
Vanilla comes from an orchid flower—specifically, the Vanilla planifolia variety. Each flower only blooms for one day. Growers must pollinate by hand, racing the ticking clock. Even then, months pass before pods ripen. Farmers watch over these precious pods like hawks, guarding against theft. Theft happens because vanilla’s price climbs so high in producing regions, especially Madagascar, which supplies more than two-thirds of the world’s vanilla.
Droughts, cyclones, and crime shake up vanilla supply almost every season. I remember reading about a cyclone that hit Madagascar in 2017. Vanilla crops took a beating, and prices shot up to over $600 per kilogram for Grade A beans. Grocery stores and bakeries in my town swapped the real stuff for cheaper synthetic vanillin, made from wood pulp or clove oil. For cooks, it’s a letdown. Synthetic can’t match the flavor from true vanilla beans.
In my experience baking for local events, real vanilla gives desserts that warmth you can’t fake. But recipe costs triple, which just doesn’t work for a lot of home kitchens or restaurants. The price can turn away food makers who want quality. Even businesses get pinched. Ice cream shops sometimes shrink their menus or use imitation flavors until prices settle down.
More troubling, though, are the stories from vanilla farmers. Manual labor, crop risks, threats from thieves, and pressure from global buyers stack up against them. For many of these small farmers, vanilla is both a blessing and a burden. When the price drops, their yearly income drops right along with it. Some years bring windfalls, while others barely feed families.
Fairtrade efforts and cooperatives offer a path forward for growers. These programs try to set stable prices, support training, and share profits more evenly. In my reading, I’ve seen how guaranteed minimum prices shield farmers from drastic crashes. That means families can plan for school fees and food, not just pray for a good harvest.
On the industry side, some pastry chefs and small businesses pay premiums for single-origin vanilla, just like with specialty coffee or chocolate. I’ve gotten my hands on a few of those beans, and there’s no comparison. The price is steep, but so is the reward. The trick is education—helping consumers understand why real vanilla costs what it does, and where that money goes. For the rare times I use real vanilla, I savor it and share the story with anyone tasting the result.
So next time vanilla’s price spikes, I try to remember the chain of hands and risks behind each drop. Every bottle carries work, uncertainty, and a deep vein of flavor history that goes well beyond the price on the shelf.
A few weeks ago, I picked up a prepaid Vanilla card at my local grocery store. Shopping online meant I wanted something safe, something low-risk. The packaging promised “worldwide acceptance” and “security.” That sounded good to me. On top of that, the instructions mentioned customer support — not in the boldest font, not front and center, but mentioned all the same.
At some point, most people run into a snag using anything financial. Maybe the card doesn’t activate, or maybe a transaction gets rejected. Didn’t take long before I found myself looking for help. Vanilla’s website listed a toll-free number and a support email. The company seemed to know folks would have questions about their balances, lost cards, or refunds.
I called the number, expecting a five-minute process. Phones are supposed to be quick, after all. Instead, I spent over 30 minutes working through an automated loop. The robot didn't answer half my questions, repeating “check your balance online.” When the option finally popped up for a real person, I pressed the number faster than I could blink.
Vanilla’s support site looks clean, but much of it runs on automatic responses. Lost your card? There’s a page for that with a form to fill out. Trouble activating? Same routine — automated troubleshooting, and only while digging do you find the contact info to escalate. Many first-time users feel frustrated. In community forums and on Reddit, customers talk openly about issues. Waiting for days to settle disputes isn’t rare.
Not all stories end in frustration though. On certain days, I reached a human who did listen and moved things along. Those moments highlight the gap: folks want a personal touch, especially with their money. Cards get lost; errors sneak in; people travel and realize they can’t use their card as planned. These aren’t rare events.
Good customer service means more than just an FAQ page. Money is personal. Card companies handle folks' savings, travel funds, and online payments. Trust grows when problems get solved and questions are met with patience. My own experience lined up with stories I’ve read — lots of customers feel stranded when the automated options run out.
Regulators watch prepaid card firms closely because the stakes are real. Complaints about access to funds or help can affect brand trust. Reports from the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) show that people care deeply about transparency and support. Reviews on Trustpilot, community posts, and government filings all tell the same story.
Vanilla could improve by putting real people on the phone, not just at long, customer-bleeding menu options. Instant chat with a real person – not a bot – would move far more problems to solutions. Clearer information on the card and website about how and when to reach support, in simple language, would save time and headaches. Training support staff to handle a wider set of issues instead of only reading a script helps people feel like more than a statistic.
Vanilla markets itself on ease and safety, but the experience only matches the promise if help comes fast when things go wrong. Good support can turn a negative review into a loyal customer and restore trust after a snag. Real service, not just a voice on a loop, stays at the core of what shoppers remember.
Working in software teams, I've seen developers get excited about a fresh framework but run into trouble once real-world needs hit. Most products don’t exist in a vacuum. Vanilla — usually known for its lightweight nature and minimal setup — often becomes one part of a larger toolkit.
Many companies rely on existing systems they’ve poured years into building. No one throws out their favorite database, CRM, or analytics dashboard just to keep things simple. Instead, teams look for ways to plug Vanilla into workflows they already trust. For example, Vanilla’s API hooks allow straightforward connections with authentication providers, analytics, or notification tools. I’ve watched teams pull user data from an existing customer management system straight into a Vanilla-based forum for personalized support experiences.
Modern business demands flexibility. I once worked at a midsize retail firm where customer service teams wouldn’t even consider a new technology unless it talked smoothly with Slack and Salesforce. Vanilla delivers here, especially with its RESTful API and plugin system. These features can help automate posts to Slack, sync user activities, send event data to Google Analytics, or even create custom workflows for badge rewards using Zapier.
There’s a bigger picture: The ability to plug into popular tools drives adoption. Tech leads notice that employees won’t engage with software unless it fits the flow of daily work. Vanilla’s integration options not only reduce friction but also keep the learning curve gentle. That gets buy-in from busy teams, and in turn, more people actually use the tool. It’s not about stacking tools for the sake of it. Done right, integration strips out double entry, minimizes human error, and saves time.
Even tech-averse executives see the bottom line: integrations reduce manual effort, helping teams focus on value. Vanilla makes it possible to connect with legacy databases, authentication schemes, and even new AI-powered features springing up weekly. Security teams love that Vanilla works with single sign-on providers like Okta, reducing risk and making compliance less painful.
Support teams use Vanilla forums alongside Zendesk, capturing product feedback without switching screens. For content-heavy sites, Vanilla’s WordPress plugins keep blog comments and community conversations side by side. As someone who’s worked closely with marketing departments, I’ve seen integrations turn insights from forums directly into better content or marketing strategies. Plainly put, these tools help companies move fast in a crowded landscape.
No integration feels perfect straight out of the box. Teams sometimes underestimate the work to map data fields or build robust error handling between tools. Companies need to invest a bit in planning: clearly define what information travels between systems and who manages the connections. This isn’t an add-on — it’s core to making sure the stack works under pressure. Documentation and a strong developer community make Vanilla easier to adapt, but skilled staff remain the linchpin.
Some folks still get caught up chasing shiny technologies, but my experience says the best setups play well with what’s already trusted and proven. Well-built integrations let teams hang onto hometown favorites, whether it’s for ticketing, reporting, or messaging, while still enjoying Vanilla’s strengths. Companies who put this thought into practice don’t just keep up; they shape their own path in the industry.
| Names | |
| Preferred IUPAC name | 4-hydroxy-3-methoxybenzaldehyde |
| Other names |
Vanilla planifolia Vanilla bean Bourbon vanilla Mexican vanilla Tahitian vanilla |
| Pronunciation | /vəˈnɪl.ə/ |
| Preferred IUPAC name | 4-hydroxy-3-methoxybenzaldehyde |
| Other names |
Vanilla Bean Vanilla Pod Vanilla Extract |
| Pronunciation | /vəˈnɪl.ə/ |
| Identifiers | |
| CAS Number | 8024-06-4 |
| Beilstein Reference | 12063 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:18385 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL253360 |
| ChemSpider | 5465210 |
| DrugBank | DB18305 |
| ECHA InfoCard | 03e4d8b4-d6c1-45af-b4a0-9088b2d5a9e2 |
| EC Number | 4.1.1.36 |
| Gmelin Reference | Gmelin Reference: 123629 |
| KEGG | C06887 |
| MeSH | D014638 |
| PubChem CID | 9461 |
| RTECS number | YD3325000 |
| UNII | JEC64D1I8X |
| UN number | UN3332 |
| CompTox Dashboard (EPA) | Vanilla (CompTox Dashboard/EPA): "DTXSID2020183 |
| CAS Number | 8024-06-4 |
| Beilstein Reference | 136-90-9 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:28855 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL283035 |
| ChemSpider | 8757 |
| DrugBank | DB01746 |
| ECHA InfoCard | ECHA InfoCard: 100.005.258 |
| EC Number | 4.3.1.17 |
| Gmelin Reference | 7575 |
| KEGG | C00504 |
| MeSH | D014630 |
| PubChem CID | 637563 |
| RTECS number | WN6500000 |
| UNII | 3ON5FYJ8QH |
| UN number | UN3332 |
| CompTox Dashboard (EPA) | DTXSID7020639 |
| Properties | |
| Chemical formula | C8H8O3 |
| Molar mass | 152.15 g/mol |
| Appearance | Vanilla is a long, slender pod that is dark brown to black in color, slightly wrinkled, and has a glossy, oily surface. |
| Odor | Sweet, creamy, warm |
| Density | 0.9 g/cm³ |
| Solubility in water | Insoluble |
| log P | 2.67 |
| Vapor pressure | 0.0133 mmHg (20°C) |
| Acidity (pKa) | 7.4 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 10.55 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | -9.72×10⁻⁶ |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.317 – 1.336 |
| Viscosity | Medium |
| Dipole moment | 2.25 D |
| Chemical formula | C8H8O3 |
| Molar mass | 152.15 g/mol |
| Appearance | Vanilla is a long, slender, dark brown to black pod with a slightly wrinkled surface and a glossy sheen. |
| Odor | sweet, creamy, vanilla |
| Density | 0.96 g/ml |
| Solubility in water | Insoluble |
| log P | 2.8 |
| Vapor pressure | 0.1 mmHg (25°C) |
| Acidity (pKa) | 7.4 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 8.37 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | -9.5 × 10⁻⁶ |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.334 – 1.356 |
| Viscosity | Medium |
| Dipole moment | 2.79 D |
| Thermochemistry | |
| Std molar entropy (S⦵298) | 418.0 J·mol⁻¹·K⁻¹ |
| Std enthalpy of formation (ΔfH⦵298) | -726.8 kJ/mol |
| Std enthalpy of combustion (ΔcH⦵298) | -3225.4 kJ/mol |
| Std molar entropy (S⦵298) | 282.0 J·mol⁻¹·K⁻¹ |
| Std enthalpy of formation (ΔfH⦵298) | −715.5 kJ/mol |
| Std enthalpy of combustion (ΔcH⦵298) | –3559 kJ/mol |
| Pharmacology | |
| ATC code | A16AA06 |
| ATC code | A07AA12 |
| Hazards | |
| GHS labelling | GHS02, GHS07 |
| Pictograms | PLANT, BEAN, SPICE, SWEET, POD |
| Signal word | Warning |
| Hazard statements | No hazard statements |
| Precautionary statements | Keep out of reach of children. If medical advice is needed, have product container or label at hand. |
| Autoignition temperature | > 400°C |
| Explosive limits | Lower Explosive Limit (LEL): 2.1%, Upper Explosive Limit (UEL): 10.6% |
| Lethal dose or concentration | LD50 (rat, oral): >5,000 mg/kg |
| LD50 (median dose) | 1590 mg/kg |
| NIOSH | NIOH: 8007 |
| PEL (Permissible) | 50 ppm |
| REL (Recommended) | 181 mg |
| Main hazards | May cause an allergic skin reaction. |
| GHS labelling | GHS labelling: Not classified as hazardous according to GHS |
| Pictograms | 🌱🍦 |
| Signal word | Warning |
| Hazard statements | No hazard statements. |
| Precautionary statements | P102: Keep out of reach of children. P233: Keep container tightly closed. P305+P351+P338: IF IN EYES: Rinse cautiously with water for several minutes. Remove contact lenses, if present and easy to do. Continue rinsing. |
| Autoignition temperature | > 363 °C |
| Explosive limits | Explosive limits: 1.3–7.6% |
| LD50 (median dose) | 1500 mg/kg |
| NIOSH | RP731 |
| PEL (Permissible) | 200 mg/kg |
| REL (Recommended) | 0.50 |
| Related compounds | |
| Related compounds |
Ethylvanillin Vanillyl alcohol Vanillin Vanillic acid |
| Related compounds |
Vanillin Ethyl vanillin Coumarin 4-Hydroxybenzaldehyde Vanillic acid |