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Talk to anyone who has ever messed with a campfire or watched logs slowly char on an open flame, and you realize: people have been dealing with wood vinegar, known to scientists as pyroligneous acid, since the dawn of controlled fire. In early days, our ancestors did not give much thought to the steamy, smelly liquid dripping from charcoal pits. Once folk started to figure out that this sticky acid could tan leather, preserve wood, and keep bugs away, pyroligneous acid got some respect. Factories sprung up by the late 18th century across Europe and Asia, extracting this stuff for chemicals like acetic acid or wood alcohol. Still, for generations, the process boiled down to clever use of heat, patience, and a nose for distilling out valuable fractions. Technical progress earned the world safer, more efficient wood distillation systems, but the essence of the process has barely changed - strong heat, no oxygen, a stack of seasoned wood, and knowledgeable hands.
Ask a chemist about pyroligneous acid and you’ll get a rundown of over 200 chemical compounds packed into one smoky, brownish liquid. At its heart, this acid is born whenever wood faces temperatures upwards of 400°C without flame gobbling up the lot. Makers catch the steam, cool it, and collect the dense liquid left behind, which sees uses in agriculture, pest control, and certain niche foods. Farmers sprinkle this on compost; some even swear it jumpstarts root systems and wards off soil-borne pests. Foodies in Japan and Korea point to smoky seasonings crafted from carefully refined pyroligneous acid. Despite its somewhat unpleasant smell in concentrated form, people find use for every part of it: from cleaning livestock pens to fortifying wood fences.
In a world full of bland, clear solutions, pyroligneous acid stands out right away. Its deep color, typically brown or almost black, testifies to a mix rich with tar, organic acids, phenols, methanol, and water. Open a drum, and the sharp, acrid aroma creeps out fast. Acidity runs high, often measured near pH 2 to 3. The liquid’s viscosity varies, depending on how much tar and oil it holds. Perhaps what really matters: its chemical complexity. Dozens of organic acids, aldehydes, and alcohols mingle with smoky phenols, making the stuff reactive and useful, but also keeping regulators on their toes. Even a small change in preparation technique or feedstock yields a batch with slightly different properties – whether it’s sharper for cleaning or milder for plant use.
Anyone working with pyroligneous acid needs clear specs. Honest labeling involves listing concentration of acetic acid (the main component), water content, presence of tars, and trace amounts of potentially harmful elements like methanol or heavy metals. Reputable suppliers test batches to guarantee the absence or limits of certain impurities. Tech sheets also flag whether the product’s refined, raw, or further distilled, since a pure fraction will act differently in agricultural or food uses than a crude one. Because the substance remains slightly dangerous, labels carry warnings and safety instructions, especially about skin or eye contact, or the risk associated with inhaling concentrated vapors. It only takes one mishap to appreciate the need for clear, honest communication right on the drum.
You can't make pyroligneous acid without skillful handling of heat and natural materials. Traditional producers pile hardwoods into sealed kilns, then heat them above 400°C, carefully choked off from air. This slow cook-out, called destructive distillation, triggers wood to break apart chemically—the solids turn into charcoal, while hot volatiles rise as dense smoke. By running this smoke through cooling chambers and condensers, workers trap water, acids, and organic vapors together into crude pyroligneous acid. Most processes separate out heavy tars first, then use settling tanks or centrifuges to reduce oils and fine solids. Some scale up with stainless steel reactors and precise temperature controls, but core principles remain constant: raw wood, strong heat, a way to stop oxygen, and plenty of patience. In my own backyard experiments with small-scale retorts, the sweet spot stays elusive; too much heat burns off value, too little yields weak acid.
Anything as complex as pyroligneous acid invites chemical tinkering. Refiners might distill finer cuts to separate acetic acid, methanol, or phenols for downstream markets. Folks in chemical labs sometimes neutralize it, filter it, or blend it with surfactants for better spraying on fields. Some industries use catalysts to convert phenols into more targeted chemicals. In academic circles, researchers dig into the mechanisms—pyroligneous acid doesn’t just act as a source of simple acids; it brings antimicrobial power, perhaps thanks to a cocktail of organic molecules working together. Careful hydrolysis or oxidation reactions split up certain fractions, giving even more farm or industrial uses. What you get at the end often reflects a string of reactors, separators, and chemical reactors doing their work, but not much beats the untouched product for certain plant uses.
Call it wood vinegar or pyroligneous acid, the name shifts depending where you stand. In East Asia, "wood vinegar" dominates the labels, especially in stores selling garden supplies or traditional remedies. English speakers use pyroligneous acid in technical papers, while older texts mention "liquid smoke" (a different product since commercial food-smoke preparations filter and process the acid even further). Sometimes paperwork shorthands it to "PA" or a simple "wood acid solution." Over a hundred years of marketing and legal wrangling means the label often reflects both origin and intended use—raw, food-grade, agricultural, or distilled for chemical extraction.
People can get hurt without the right safety routines, and pyroligneous acid deserves care in both workplace and backyard. Skin contact gives quick irritation or chemical burns if left unwashed. Breathing in fumes, especially during distillation or high-concentration handling, brings on headaches, dizziness, and sometimes worse: methanol, a minor but dangerous fraction, has a reputation for harming nerves. Any serious operation should ventilate workspaces and keep gloves, goggles, and washing stations handy. Fire agencies sometimes classify bulk pyroligneous acid as a combustible liquid, given its flammable vapors at higher concentrations. Farms using it in dilute spray form avoid most dangers, yet storing large batches means keeping drums sealed and away from direct heat. Regulations vary, but most agricultural standards put caps on impurities and residue levels in soils or food crops, keeping both workers and consumers safer. Over the years, as my own hands bore witness to the stinging residue and the eyes stung from a poorly vented barn, the lesson is simple: never trust a “natural” product without treating it with respect and the right precautions.
Nothing typifies a chemical with as wide a reach as pyroligneous acid. Plant lovers pour it as a soil amendment, where it appears to foster microbial diversity, encourage root growth, and boost yields in everything from tomatoes to rice. In pest management, its bitter taste and strong odor repel insects and rodents on organic farms. Some rural communities rely on it to disinfect animal sheds or drive mold away from granaries, replacing harsher synthetics. The food business, with strict standards for purity and composition, sometimes turns to highly refined pyroligneous acid as a seasoning, especially in smoked meats or sauces. Woodworkers soak lumber in weak solutions to prevent rot without modern pesticides. Gardeners, myself included, see it as a secret weapon for composting: a few drops in a pile sparks faster breakdown and less ammonia odor. Not every use is backed by ironclad science, but real-world results, handed down over generations, give the acid a solid reputation on sustainable farms and in old workshops alike.
Academic and commercial labs keep digging into pyroligneous acid, frustrated by the complex mix but hopeful about new possibilities. Recent studies focus on its role as a biostimulant, probing how diluted doses influence soil bacteria or suppress harmful fungi. Others chase after better purification steps to scale up food applications, since off-flavors or minor toxins still pose hurdles for boutique and large producers alike. Environmentally, researchers weigh its potential to replace harsh synthetic chemicals in both pesticides and wood preservatives. Universities coordinate with field stations, documenting long-term effects on crop yields, soil health, and even greenhouse gas reduction. As climate change ramps up the demand for greener farm solutions, anyone invested in rural chemistry finds themselves peering at beakers of this old liquid, wondering what tweaks could unlock further benefits. From my vantage point in small-scale experiments, it’s clear every tweak to preparation shifts the end-use landscape.
No honest conversation about pyroligneous acid skips the subject of toxicity. The raw product can carry low levels of known baddies, like methanol or polyaromatic hydrocarbons, which are tied to nerve damage or even higher cancer risk at unsafe concentrations. Lab tests consistently flag the importance of thorough filtration before approving pyroligneous acid for food or garden use. Field data does show that weak solutions, when used in correct doses, rarely present dangers to crops, livestock, or farm workers. Chronic exposure, especially breathing in vapors or having bare-skin contact day after day, deserves serious caution. Scientists and public agencies keep updating guidelines on how much is too much, and responsible makers keep striving for a cleaner, more transparent product. I’ve run a few informal toxicity trials on household seedlings at home—too much, and the leaves scorch up; dialed back, and compost thrives—proving how closely safety tracks with dose and purity.
The world isn’t going to lose interest in pyroligneous acid soon. Green chemistry latches onto it as a renewable solution to problems in pest control and soil health. More people want fewer synthetic residues in food, and char-based processes for making pyroligneous acid pull double duty by locking up carbon in biochar. If global agriculture scales up, demand may push more investment into safer refining, better field studies, and regulations to keep risks contained. Farm cooperatives across Asia and South America are already swapping stories and research on best practices. There’s also a sharp push to decode more of its hidden chemistry, opening doors for innovative uses in medicine or environmental cleanup. My gut tells me that with the right focus on transparency, safety, and field-proven results, pyroligneous acid stands a decent shot not only as a relic of old-world production but as a key player in modern, resilient land management.
Wood, when heated in a low-oxygen environment, gives off something more than just charcoal. Pyroligneous acid, also called wood vinegar, gets collected as a brown, smoky liquid during the old-school process of charcoal making. While most folks pay attention to the lump charcoal for grilling, this sour, aromatic liquid offers a pile of uses that stretch far past the grill. My first encounter with pyroligneous acid came at a small family farm, where farmers swore by it for managing soil and pests without the chemical aftertaste left behind by sprays pulled off the store shelf.
The process starts simple – you heat wood without much oxygen. In that smoky dance between hot wood and near-suffocation, the wood breaks down. Out pours a smoky vapor, rich with water, acetic acid, methanol, and smaller organic bits. As this vapor cools, it condenses into a dark liquid: pyroligneous acid. Charcoal makers drain off this thick stuff from cooling pipes or collection tanks. The crude product usually stinks and carries a heavy load of tar and oils; filtering and settling come next, which clear out most of the sticky residues.
Pyroligneous acid finds use far outside the lab. Farmers drip it into the soil to help boost plant strength or shoo away pests. In the food business, it steps in as a natural preservative, its acidic nature hampering bacteria growth. Asian countries, like Japan, turn to wood vinegar as a staple tool for both crops and livestock. Some studies put it ahead of chemical pest control, pointing at its role in restoring balance to fields worn down by relentless pesticide use. Of course, those results tend to shift, depending on soil, crop, and dose. Still, folks chasing healthy, organic practices look to this old-world acid for hope.
Any liquid packed with acids, alcohols, and tars brings real concerns. Scientists, including the Japan Wood Preservers Association, highlight that raw pyroligneous acid harbors potential toxins like formaldehyde and polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons. Cleaning the liquid enough for safe use takes care, skill, and honesty in labeling. Overlooking these steps means real risk — for both the field and the table. The good news? Proper processing knocks out most toxins, leaving a safer solution behind.
Adopting pyroligneous acid in more places means building clearer rules around its production, testing, and sale. Responsible producers already filter their acid several times and keep good records of its makeup. Simple, home-made wood vinegar lacks this rigor, so researchers and government watchdogs have a part to play. Creating standards that check for harmful byproducts and set safe levels helps both farmers and shoppers avoid trouble. Sharing solid information about real benefits keeps hype in check, letting this byproduct earn its spot in sustainable agriculture without false promises or hidden risks.
Most folks haven’t heard much about pyroligneous acid, but this liquid byproduct of wood carbonization does more than collect dust in chemical stores. It’s got a distinct smoky smell—a sort of telltale sign that it’s packed with organic compounds. People who’ve worked with it in agriculture, food, or cleaning know it’s more than a leftover from charcoal production.
Walk through the aisles of most grocery stores, and there’s a good chance you’ll spot something touched by pyroligneous acid. It's a central player in liquid smoke flavoring; barbecue sauces, smoked cheese, and even some meat substitutes rely on it for that beloved “off-the-grill” kick. Processors turn to it not just for flavor, but for preservation. Research out of Japan and Brazil shows its antimicrobial action helps slow spoilage in smoked fish and meats, cutting down food waste. This isn’t some empty marketing trick—its use in food goes back centuries, and each time it’s applied, it’s about stretching out the shelf life without leaning on synthetic chemicals.
Farmers and gardeners often pour a lot of hope—and dollars—into new inputs, chasing healthier crops and better yields. Pyroligneous acid shows up here with solid science behind it. Add it to compost, and you’ll see richer, darker humus by the end of the process. Spread it as a diluted foliar spray on veggies and fruit crops, and you may notice stronger plants and even less trouble from fungal diseases like powdery mildew. Trials in Malaysia and parts of Europe highlight better water retention in sandy soils and stronger seedling growth after treatment. Folks living in rural areas where access to branded fertilizers is tight sometimes count on this acid as a natural booster, keeping input costs lower and reducing reliance on industrial chemicals.
Those who’ve spent time handling compost piles or working in livestock facilities know the challenge of odor control. Pyroligneous acid helps here, too. Its powerful, woodsy smell masks the stink from manure heaps and also brings down the population of odor-causing bacteria. Pig farmers in Korea and chicken breeders in Thailand use it directly on bedding or as a cleaning agent for pens and coops. It’s not just about improving the air. The reduction in ammonia means healthier lungs for both workers and animals, and that goes a long way for productivity and animal welfare.
Plenty of people talk about circular economies, but pyroligneous acid fits right in without fanfare. Since it comes from wood waste, sawdust, or ag byproducts, every gallon produced means fewer leftovers end up burned or dumped. It’s one of those under-the-radar solutions for soil regeneration and low-impact food processing. A study from the University of Queensland showed how integrating byproducts like pyroligneous acid keeps wood processing cleaner, with fewer emissions and more value churned out of each tree harvested.
I’ve watched small organic farmers play with homemade batches of pyroligneous acid, sometimes with raw setups, other times with refined commercial stuff. Feedback comes quick—healthier cucumbers, or maybe a smellier tool shed if the dose is off. Like any natural input, it can go wrong if folks ignore concentration or proper handling. Education and clear labeling would help. Encouraging open trials between farmer groups and sharing results remains the real key, turning this once-overlooked liquid into something that can make a dent in waste, food preservation, and even household cleaning.
Pyroligneous acid, sometimes called wood vinegar, comes as a byproduct when people make charcoal from wood. It’s been known for generations in countries like Japan, where farmers use it to boost soil health and deter pests. The real question pops up as more folks start to look for natural ways to protect crops: can this smoky-smelling liquid actually be counted on for safe use around food people eat?
True pyroligneous acid should carry hundreds of compounds, most from broken-down wood, like acetic acid, methanol, and a bunch of plant-derived phenols. Most of the buzz in agriculture circles comes from its reputation for knocking back fungus and bugs. Some recent studies point to its ability to keep tomato plants healthy and even help rice fields fight off bacterial wilt. Unlike straight-up synthetic chemicals, it breaks down right in the field and doesn’t stick around to clog up water or soil. That catches the eye of sustainability-minded growers who want to quit depending on heavy chemical sprays.
The safety story with pyroligneous acid isn’t black and white. A lot hinges on how farmers put it to work. Right off the bat, full-strength pyroligneous acid can be downright harsh on skin and cause breathing issues. Growers always water it down before spraying on crops or soil. Researchers in China and Europe have measured how it acts on edible plants and say, at the typical 200-to-1 dilution, crops don’t soak up worryingly high levels of risky compounds, especially when you compare it to standard pesticides. Still, there’s always a risk if folks use dirty or contaminated wood feedstock, since that could bring in toxins that nobody wants in their salad.
I once talked with a citrus grower in Florida who started swapping out chemical fungicides for wood vinegar after weather patterns got wild and her usual sprays stopped working. The first season, she noticed less bitter orange drop and way fewer aphids stirring up trouble. Her crew had to pay more attention—suiting up with gloves and making sure the tanks stayed clean—but everybody was on board since they spent less time coughing or covered in rashy spots. With all that said, she only bought pyroligneous acid labeled for agricultural use from reliable suppliers. She steered clear of anything homemade or questionably sourced.
One of the stumbling blocks is the lack of good regulations and clear testing standards. Most countries still chew over whether to even register pyroligneous acid for ag use, so it’s up to each grower to figure out what they trust. Food safety scientists push for clear audits—tracking each batch, logging wood origin, and running quality checks. Open lab reports should become the norm, not the exception. Governments can give guidance here, tossing in funding to compare long-term effects and keep an eye on runoff. University extension programs help by teaching farm crews the best mixing practices and making sure growers steer clear of disaster. The more folks learn and demand traceable, tested product, the better the chance for safe, productive use.
The real key lies in transparency, constant education, and always weighing risks and rewards. Pyroligneous acid shows promise for farmers itching to try more biotech-free methods, but it deserves honest oversight and a watchful eye, just like any other input meant for fields and food plates. In my own patch, I’d use it only after double-checking sources and making sure I understood every splash that hit the soil. Building trust between scientists, producers, and farmers will shape how safe options like this grow into the future.
Walk through any small organic farm and you’ll hear the same story: chemical pesticides cut down on bugs, but leave behind a mess of consequences. Costs add up, diseases sneak in, soil loses its life, and the run-off doesn’t help neighbors downstream. Farmers, especially those who grew up close to the land, keep searching for an answer that works without leaving scars. Pyroligneous acid, often called wood vinegar, comes up in these conversations. It’s made from the smoke of burning wood, collected as a liquid. My grandfather swore by smoke and ash in the soil for fighting tiny pests—now research is catching up to his old garden tricks.
Pyroligneous acid brims with natural chemicals—acetic acid, methanol, wood tars, and more. Researchers in Japan and Southeast Asia found that this mix repels aphids, mites, and even some fungi. In rice paddies and vegetable patches, they recorded drops in common pests and less need for synthetic sprays. Still, one big question keeps cropping up: will the acid fix the pest problem without side effects?
I tried a diluted solution on my tomato plants last summer. Aphids crowded the undersides of leaves. Within a few days of spraying, numbers dwindled. The plants bounced back, and I noticed no wilting or scorched leaves—the usual risks with harsher treatments. Plenty of small-scale growers share similar stories online.
Mother Nature likes balance. Just because pyroligneous acid shows promise doesn’t mean it comes free of downsides. Not every batch comes out the same. Different wood, different temperatures, and different collection processes change the recipe. Acidity can swing from gentle to harsh, and some batches may contain chemicals that bother pollinators or beneficial insects. Research from Thailand points out that at heavy doses, it can slow crop growth or stress out young plants.
Big farms face another issue: applying homemade mixtures at scale proves tricky. Consistency wins in modern agriculture, and most big buyers want safety data, not just backyard success stories. Small farmers have more wiggle room to experiment, but large-scale producers hold out for more research and tighter controls on production quality.
The soil and our crops need pest solutions that nurture more than they harm. Scientists at universities across Asia test wood vinegar against old-school pesticides and keep finding reasons for optimism. In my experience, it’s more than hype—at reasonable strengths, I saw results, and so did fellow growers. Still, most universities stress the importance of moderation and careful dosing. Blind use of any pest solution, even a natural one, can harm more than it helps.
For pyroligneous acid to gain real traction, more independent studies should look at long-term effects on soil life, crop health, and beneficial insects. Groups of farmers testing together and sharing results create stronger data than one person’s garden diary. If guidelines tighten up, and safety checks keep pace, this smoky old remedy may earn a place in toolkits far beyond backyard plots. With the right steps forward, pyroligneous acid could bring modern agriculture closer to a healthier balance.
Pyroligneous acid, often called wood vinegar, comes out of the process when wood or plant materials break down under low oxygen. Most folks know it by the smoky scent and its use in agriculture, pest control, or even as a flavor enhancer. Underneath that earthy name sits a powerful mix of water, acids, alcohols, and tars. Each part in the mix brings its own risks.
Physical contact with pyroligneous acid can sting—on the skin or in the eyes. Fumes grab your nose and throat with an acrid punch, especially in closed spaces. Breathing the vapors at high concentrations leads to coughing, or worse, lung irritation. The acidity alone eats at exposed metal over time, and plastic containers sometimes buckle and crack. I’ve seen shops lose stock just by trusting the wrong drum or ignoring a slow leak in a warehouse corner. It might start as a sticky puddle. Later, that same puddle eats at the floor and sets off health complaints from workers. Things aren’t just about paperwork—the problems show up fast and sometimes linger for weeks.
Storing pyroligneous acid takes more than stacking barrels away from sight. Metal containers, especially the uncoated ones, won’t hold up for long. Stainless steel or certain chemical-resistant plastics carry the weight better. Polyethylene or polypropylene containers have proven sturdy in both farm and small industrial settings. But not any plastic will do—the acid’s components eat through thinner, flimsier grades, which means careful inspection matters.
Store the stuff in cool, shaded places. Heat ramps up the pressure inside sealed drums, sometimes cracking lids or bulging sides. Direct sun seems harmless at first, but every warehouse worker knows how a black barrel turns into a chemical bomb on a July afternoon. I once dragged a leaking drum out of a sun-warmed loading bay, and the stench chased half the shift outside. Temperature swings also speed up evaporation and make those sharp vapors even harder to pin down.
Labels and warning signs don’t just keep the fire marshal happy—they stop accidents. Permanent, readable labels mean no one mistakes that barrel for something harmless. I’ve seen cases where unlabeled drums led to careless pours, burns, or cross-contamination. Keep good records. Mark dates and track how long batches sit in storage. No one likes guessing games, especially with harsh chemicals.
Personal protective equipment isn’t just for the chemical plant. Splash goggles, thick gloves, and a vapor mask help, even for the small operations. No one wants a trip to urgent care for a careless splash or a lungful of fumes. Open storage rooms often and use exhaust fans or natural draft to keep air moving. If a spill happens, neutralize with lime or baking soda on hard surfaces and soak up with absorbents, then toss everything securely. Train everyone who handles the stuff, and run spill drills—preparation cuts panic in tight moments.
Law doesn’t just speak in fines. Disposing of pyroligneous acid down a drain poisons water and soil, and I’ve seen small streams bounce back slowly after thoughtless dumps. Local guidelines tell you exactly how to collect and dispose of waste. Bigger batches go to certified toxic waste facilities; never burn or wash away leftovers, since vapors and chemicals stick around for longer than most folks expect. Keeping clean-up kits handy and planning for disposal not only protects the business but keeps neighbors and the local water supply out of trouble.
Handling pyroligneous acid right saves money, health, and maybe even a few friendships around the workplace or farm. Experience shows that the old ways—proper storage, honest labeling, good gear, and basic preparation—never go out of style when dealing with something so sharp and unpredictable.
| Names | |
| Preferred IUPAC name | acetic acid |
| Other names |
Wood vinegar Wood acid Liquid smoke Pyroligneous liquor Pyrolysis vinegar Acetum lignorum |
| Pronunciation | /ˌpaɪ.roʊˈlɪdʒ.ni.əs ˈæs.ɪd/ |
| Identifiers | |
| CAS Number | 8030-97-5 |
| Beilstein Reference | 635051 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:28661 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL1209773 |
| ChemSpider | 21300309 |
| DrugBank | DB14867 |
| ECHA InfoCard | 03e9c55b-c886-432c-8984-2a6c1619e300 |
| EC Number | 232-374-8 |
| Gmelin Reference | 146176 |
| KEGG | C16518 |
| MeSH | D011730 |
| PubChem CID | 104798 |
| RTECS number | UJ8750000 |
| UNII | 6L4K094O4R |
| UN number | UN 2922 |
| Properties | |
| Chemical formula | C2H4O2 |
| Molar mass | Variable molar mass |
| Appearance | Reddish-brown transparent liquid with smoky odor |
| Odor | smoky, irritating |
| Density | 1.010–1.050 g/cm³ |
| Solubility in water | Miscible |
| log P | -2.11 |
| Vapor pressure | 17.5 mmHg (20°C) |
| Acidity (pKa) | 2.5 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 2.38 |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.378 |
| Viscosity | 1.004 - 1.050 cP |
| Dipole moment | 1.77 D |
| Thermochemistry | |
| Std molar entropy (S⦵298) | 226.0 J·mol⁻¹·K⁻¹ |
| Std enthalpy of formation (ΔfH⦵298) | -353.6 kJ/mol |
| Pharmacology | |
| ATC code | V03AX Environmental disinfectants |
| Hazards | |
| GHS labelling | **GHS02, GHS05, GHS07** |
| Pictograms | GHS05,GHS07 |
| Signal word | Danger |
| Precautionary statements | P264, P280, P302+P352, P305+P351+P338, P337+P313, P362+P364 |
| NFPA 704 (fire diamond) | 3-0-0 |
| Autoignition temperature | > 615°C |
| Lethal dose or concentration | LD50 (oral, rat): 1,200 mg/kg |
| LD50 (median dose) | > 2.75 g/kg |
| NIOSH | Not established |
| PEL (Permissible) | PEL not established |
| REL (Recommended) | 3000 mg/kg |
| IDLH (Immediate danger) | 1100 ppm |
| Related compounds | |
| Related compounds |
Acetic acid Acetone Methanol Formic acid Wood tar Wood vinegar Methyl acetate Furfural |
