Zero-G Pasta at ASI Dome

Buongiorno dalla Luna! Your favorite cosmic cactus has arrived at the Italian Space Agency's dome, and mamma mia, they have brought the full force of Italian culinary tradition to this grey, dusty rock. The ASI Dome, officially named the "Galileo Station," is a testament to Italian engineering AND gastronomy. Within thirty seconds of entering, someone had pressed an espresso into my... well, I don't have hands exactly, but they figured it out. The coffee was perfect. I should have expected nothing less.

Chef Marco Benedetti runs "Trattoria Luna," the dome's restaurant that has somehow become the most sought-after dinner reservation in the solar system. He trained in Bologna, Rome, and Naples before deciding that the only remaining frontier for Italian cuisine was actual space. His philosophy is simple: tradition adapted, never abandoned. Every pasta shape served at Trattoria Luna is made fresh using semolina flour milled from wheat grown in the dome's agricultural wing, and the recipes are ones his nonna taught him, modified only slightly for lunar conditions.

The signature dish is the "Cacio e Pepe Lunare"—the classic Roman pasta elevated by two factors: the pecorino cheese is aged in the dome's temperature-controlled cheese cave (a converted lava tube, just like NASA's), and the black pepper is grown in lunar soil mixed with volcanic regolith. The result is a pepper with an almost fruity spiciness and a cheese that's nuttier and more complex than its earthly ancestor. The pasta itself holds onto the sauce differently in lower gravity—Chef Marco has developed a slightly ridged texture that creates perfect sauce adhesion. Science serving tradition. His nonna would be proud.

For my secondi, I was served "Ossobuco Cosmico"—veal shank slow-braised for 36 hours in a white wine reduction that included wines grown in the dome's experimental vineyard. Yes, there is a vineyard on the moon. The Italians prioritized this. I respect it completely. The gremolata was made with lunar-grown lemons (sweeter than Earth lemons, with a floral undertone) and parsley from the herb garden that takes up an entire section of the agricultural dome. The meat fell away from the bone with a gentleness that suggested it had been waiting its whole existence for this moment.

But the true magic happened with the tiramisu. Chef Marco has created a version that incorporates the JAXA dome's coffee (inter-dome trade agreements are apparently a serious business up here) and mascarpone made from the milk of goats that were, believe it or not, brought to the moon as part of a nutrition experiment. Moon goats. They have names. I met them. They seemed happy. Their cheese is extraordinary—something about the lower gravity changes the protein structure in ways that result in a creamier, more delicate mascarpone. The ladyfingers are baked in a convection oven designed specifically for lunar atmospheric pressure, creating a texture that's simultaneously airy and structurally sound enough to hold the cream layers.

I ate my tiramisu while watching Earth through the dome's observation window, listening to Italian opera playing softly through the speakers, surrounded by the aroma of espresso and the gentle clink of wine glasses. Chef Marco sat with me briefly, explaining that his ultimate goal is to prove that great food can exist anywhere—that humanity's culinary traditions are portable, adaptable, and eternal. I told him the tiramisu proved it. He shrugged in that very Italian way and said, "It's okay. Tomorrow's batch will be better." Final stop: the French CNES Dome and their legendary lunar croissants! 🌵🍝🌙