Cosmic BBQ at NASA Dome

Howdy, space cowboys and cowgirls! Carl here, reporting live from NASA's Artemis Dome, where the American spirit has done what it does best: brought Texas BBQ to the final frontier. When I bounced through the connecting tunnel from JAXA Dome (bouncing is really the only way to travel in lunar gravity), the smell of mesquite smoke mixed with recycled space station air greeted me like an old friend. Well, an old friend who happens to be wearing a spacesuit and carrying tongs.

The Cosmic BBQ Pit, as they call it here, is the brainchild of Pitmaster Jim "Moondog" Martinez, a third-generation Texas BBQ legend who convinced NASA that astronaut morale required proper smoked meats. He wasn't wrong. The dome houses a specially designed smoker that uses concentrated solar energy during the lunar day and stored thermal energy during the two-week lunar night. The result is a brisket with a smoke ring that literally sparkles—they use a proprietary wood chip blend that includes mesquite grown in the dome's arboretum and something Jim calls "moon oak" (it's actually just regular oak, but marketing matters).

The "Low and Slow in Low-G" brisket took 18 hours to smoke and featured a bark so beautiful it should be in a museum. Jim explained that the lower gravity actually helps the fat render more evenly throughout the meat, creating what he calls "zero-G marbling." Every bite was simultaneously crispy, tender, and so flavorful I temporarily forgot I was a desert plant who probably shouldn't be eating beef. The lunar coleslaw was made from hydroponic cabbage that tasted sweeter than any Earth variety—apparently, plants grown in lunar gravity produce more natural sugars. Science!

But the real showstopper was the "Earthrise Ribs"—baby backs glazed with a bourbon sauce made from corn whiskey distilled right here in the dome. Yes, NASA is distilling bourbon on the moon. I have questions about federal jurisdiction that I'm choosing not to ask. The ribs fell off the bone with the gentleness of a lunar module landing, and the sauce had this slight caramelization that only happens, Jim told me, when you cook under the unfiltered radiation of space. He's either a genius or slightly unhinged. Possibly both. Definitely both.

The sides deserve their own paragraph: lunar-grown jalapeño cornbread (the jalapeños are SPICIER in space, something about cosmic rays), crater beans slow-cooked for 48 hours, and mac and cheese made with a cheese they're aging in a lava tube under the dome. The cheese cave tours are apparently very popular with visiting dignitaries. I signed up for the next one.

I finished my meal as the sun was setting over the Sea of Tranquility, casting long shadows across the regolith while I nursed a root beer float made with ice cream from the JAXA dome (inter-dome cooperation at its finest). Pitmaster Jim sat down with me and we talked about the future of space cuisine. His dream? A whole BBQ competition series on the moon, with pitmasters from around the world bringing their regional styles to the stars. I told him I'd be back to judge. He said cacti can't be judges. I said watch me. Next up: ISRO Dome and their legendary Lunar Curry! 🌵🍖🌙