That's funny—the moment when unexpected results hint at something worth investigating
From a lakeside moment of quiet observation, a Vietnamese scientist in Louisiana glimpsed a question hidden inside a glass of ice — and followed it toward a discovery that may one day change how humanity preserves life itself. Dao Minh Huy, an assistant professor at the University of Louisiana Monroe, has been awarded a $380,000 National Science Foundation grant to study how removing air bubbles and dissolved oxygen before freezing can better protect vaccines, cells, and biological materials through the trauma of freeze-thaw cycles. His work sits at the intersection of pandemic-era urgency and long-horizon possibility, addressing not only the fragility of cold-chain vaccines but gesturing toward futures where organ banks and room-temperature blood preservation are no longer the province of science fiction. It is a reminder that some of science's most consequential questions begin not in laboratories, but in the unhurried act of paying attention.
- Vaccines requiring storage at minus 80 degrees Celsius degrade rapidly once thawed, creating logistical crises that exposed a fundamental gap in biopreservation science during the pandemic.
- A chance observation — transparent ice versus cloudy ice — sent Huy into a month of experiments that repeatedly failed before a final attempt, stripping oxygen from solution before freezing, produced startling results.
- Competing for NSF funding where only 10 to 20 percent of proposals succeed, Huy submitted his first-ever application partly as a learning exercise, and was awarded $380,000 over three years in April 2026.
- The grant now funds graduate researchers and equipment, allowing Huy to systematically study how biological materials respond to freezing stress and to push toward practical applications in transplantation medicine.
- Beyond vaccines, the research trajectory points toward preserving red blood cells at room temperature and freezing organs for transplant — possibilities that could reshape global medicine if the science holds.
Dao Minh Huy was sitting by West Lake in Hanoi with a cold drink when he noticed that the ice in his glass was nearly transparent — unlike the cloudy cubes made at home. The difference came down to trapped air bubbles. If those bubbles could alter ice, he wondered, what might they do to biological materials being frozen and thawed repeatedly?
The question was not idle. Huy was an assistant professor at the School of Pharmacy at the University of Louisiana Monroe, working on a problem made urgent by the pandemic: vaccines requiring storage at minus 80 degrees Celsius became fragile once thawed, stable for only brief windows before degrading. The logistics were brutal, and the underlying science remained poorly understood.
He spent a month running experiments. Early results disappointed him. In what he calls a final attempt, he removed nearly all air bubbles and dissolved oxygen from a solution before freezing it. The outcome startled him — proteins and cells in the oxygen-depleted solution survived far better than those preserved by conventional methods. The finding suggested that removing gases before freezing could fundamentally improve biopreservation.
When the NSF opened applications, Huy submitted a proposal partly to learn from the process, not expecting approval. In April 2026, he was awarded $380,000 for three years of research — a grant so competitive that only 10 to 20 percent of proposals receive funding. For a pharmacy researcher, it was exceptionally rare. "I was happier than when I got into university," he said.
Huy's path had been shaped by a family steeped in science. His father led the physical chemistry department at the Hanoi University of Pharmacy, and Huy spent childhood hours in laboratories, observing sunlight through diluted milk and burning magnesium strips under supervision. After graduating and teaching in Hanoi, he received a Vietnam Education Foundation scholarship for a Ph.D. at the University of Mississippi, then moved to the University of Texas at Austin as a postdoctoral researcher, rebuilding much of his knowledge from scratch in freeze-drying and biopharmaceutical preservation.
He draws inspiration from Buddhist philosophy and from biochemist Isaac Asimov's observation that science's most exciting phrase is not "Eureka!" but "That's funny" — the moment unexpected results hint at something worth pursuing. His postdoctoral adviser Robert O. Williams calls the project groundbreaking for addressing both fundamental questions and practical challenges aligned with U.S. priorities in cryopreservation.
The grant will fund graduate students, equipment, and an expanding study of how biological products respond to freezing stress. The work gestures toward preserving red blood cells at room temperature and freezing organs for transplantation — possibilities that remain beyond current science. "I do not expect to solve these problems completely," Huy says. "But I hope this research can help move science forward, so that one day frozen-organ banks will no longer belong only in science fiction."
Dao Minh Huy was sitting by West Lake in Hanoi with a cold drink in his hand when he noticed something that would reshape his research. The ice in his glass was nearly transparent—not the cloudy white of ice cubes made at home. The difference, he realized, came down to air bubbles trapped inside. If those bubbles could damage ice, he wondered, what might they do to biological materials being frozen and thawed repeatedly?
It was 2024, and Huy was an assistant professor at the School of Pharmacy at the University of Louisiana Monroe, a Vietnamese scientist working in the American South on a problem that had become urgent during the pandemic. When vaccines arrived that required storage at minus 80 degrees Celsius, they became fragile once thawed—stable for only brief periods before degrading. The logistics were brutal. The scientific question underneath was deceptively simple: Could living cells and biological products survive the freeze-thaw cycle without losing their integrity?
Huy spent a month running experiments based on his lakeside observation. Early results disappointed him. Then, in what he describes as a final attempt, he removed nearly all air bubbles and dissolved oxygen from a solution before freezing it. The outcome startled him. Proteins and cells preserved in the oxygen-depleted solution survived better than those stored using conventional methods. The finding suggested that removing gases before freezing could fundamentally improve how we preserve biological products and living tissues.
When the National Science Foundation opened applications for research funding, Huy submitted a proposal partly to learn from the process itself. He did not expect approval. In April 2026, the NSF awarded him $380,000 for three years of research—a grant so competitive that only 10 to 20 percent of proposals typically receive funding. For a pharmacy researcher, this was exceptionally rare. "I was happier than when I got into university," he said, "because my first-ever proposal to NSF was funded."
Huy's path to this moment had been shaped by his family's scientific tradition. His father, Dao Minh Duc, had headed the physical chemistry department at the Hanoi University of Pharmacy. As a child, Huy spent hours in laboratories, playing with equipment and conducting small experiments—observing sunlight through diluted milk, studying geckos in confined spaces, burning magnesium strips under his father's supervision. Those early experiences taught him that ordinary phenomena around us could be fascinating if you looked closely enough.
After graduating from the Hanoi University of Pharmacy and spending five years teaching and researching there, he received a scholarship from the Vietnam Education Foundation to pursue a Ph.D. at the University of Mississippi. His doctoral adviser introduced him to materials science and surface science, an interdisciplinary approach that would shape everything that followed. In 2021, he moved to the University of Texas at Austin as a postdoctoral researcher, shifting from medicinal chemistry to freeze-drying technologies and biopharmaceutical preservation. The transition required him to rebuild much of his knowledge from scratch. He spent long hours studying unfamiliar techniques, once spending two weeks seeking help from researchers across several departments to fix a few lines of Python code. "Whenever I look back on those frustrating periods, I realize I have gained many new skills," he reflected.
Huy draws inspiration from Buddhist philosophy and from the words of biochemist Isaac Asimov, who wrote that the most exciting phrase in science is not "Eureka!" but "That's funny."—the moment when unexpected results hint at something worth investigating. He has learned not to be discouraged when experiments fail. When results do not turn out as expected, he remains at ease because they often reveal something interesting. Robert O. Williams, his postdoctoral adviser at the University of Texas at Austin, describes the project as groundbreaking because it addresses both fundamental scientific questions and practical challenges. "Huy's research will have an impact on biopreservation and advanced manufacturing," Williams said. "More broadly, it aligns with U.S. priorities in cryopreservation."
The grant will allow Huy to pay graduate students and laboratory assistants and purchase research materials and equipment. It will also allow him to expand his study of how biological products respond to the stress of freezing and storage. The work could eventually support research into preserving red blood cells at room temperature and freezing tissues and organs for transplantation. Scientists have yet to develop practical organ banks capable of storing transplant organs indefinitely. "I do not expect to solve these problems completely," Huy says. "But I hope this research can help move science forward, so that one day frozen-organ banks will no longer belong only in science fiction." For him, the grant is more than a professional milestone. It is evidence that scientific knowledge can help people overcome barriers of geography, background, and economic circumstance—a continuation of his family's academic tradition and a validation of the belief that when researchers master the language of science, they can find opportunities anywhere in the world.
Notable Quotes
I was happier than when I got into university because my first-ever proposal to NSF was funded.— Dao Minh Huy
Huy's research will have an impact on biopreservation and advanced manufacturing. More broadly, it aligns with U.S. priorities in cryopreservation.— Robert O. Williams, postdoctoral adviser at University of Texas at Austin
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
How does a moment by a lake become a $380,000 research program?
You have to be paying attention. Huy noticed something most people would miss—the difference between clear ice and cloudy ice. Then he asked why. That question led him to think about air bubbles and what they might do to cells being frozen.
But that's a big leap from ice in a drink to vaccine preservation.
It is, but it's also the kind of leap that happens when you understand the underlying physics. Once he realized air bubbles might be the problem, he could test whether removing them would help. The experiments confirmed it.
Why does this matter beyond vaccines?
Because freezing is how we preserve almost everything biological—blood, tissues, organs. If we can preserve them better, we get closer to organ banks, to room-temperature blood storage, to transplantation on demand instead of scarcity.
The NSF only funds 10 to 20 percent of proposals. What made his stand out?
It solved a real problem that became urgent during the pandemic. But it also asked a fundamental question about how gases affect biological materials. That combination—practical and scientific—is what the NSF looks for.
He spent two weeks fixing a few lines of code. That sounds like suffering.
He calls it frustrating, but he also says he gained new skills from it. That's the difference between someone who gives up and someone who keeps going. He treats failure as information.
What comes next?
Three years of research, funded and supported. But the real question is whether the method works at scale, whether it can be used in real hospitals and blood banks. That's where the science becomes medicine.