If You Can Afford to Eat in Space, You’re Too Rich

In 1970, Gil Scott-Heron released “Whitey On The Moon,” a spoken-word poem juxtaposing America’s space race with the realities of Black poverty. “A rat done bit my sister Nell / With whitey on the moon,” he begins, escalating through descriptions of medical bills and rising rents and taxes, which seem to be paying to send a precious few to plant a flag where no one else can see it. Eventually, he reaches a crescendo: “The price of food is going up / And as if all that shit wasn’t enough.”

The price of food, and where you eat it, is going up. For 3.5 million Danish Krone each, currently just over $500,000, six lucky passengers will enjoy the luxury of eating in space. Per a press release, chef Rasmus Munk of Alchemist in Copenhagen, famous for making diners lick flowers off a realistic tongue, is working with “private astronaut training” company SpaceVIP and vessel builders Space Perspective to host “the world’s first holistic dining experience in space aboard the world’s first CO2-neutral space capsule,” the Spaceship Neptune. “Explorers will ascend 100,000 feet above sea level where they will dine as they watch the sunrise over the Earth’s curvature,” writes Alchemist, and diners will be given custom space outfits made by Maison Ogier, a French sportswear brand. The flight would take off from Florida in 2025.

The supposed mission of the meal is twofold — to push the bounds of space tourism, and to give “all proceeds” to the Space Prize Foundation, which promotes education and develops mentorship opportunities for young girls interested in space. Munk also speaks of the influence space has had on his work, noting that he became interested in space after visiting the Planetarium in Copenhagen on a school trip. “The opportunity to create a stratospheric gastronomic experience together with the world’s leading experts in science and design feels completely wild and yet logical, strangely enough,” he says.

There’s no menu yet, and the details are vague as to whether the meal will be cooked in space or just served there. But according to a press release, the goal is to “create a gastronomic interpretation of the past 60 years of space research and its impact on society — both scientifically and philosophically.” So maybe one of these edible heads off the Alchemist’s menu, but made to look like Elon Musk watching yet another spaceship explode.

It is perhaps too easy to point out how unnecessary this endeavor feels, so let’s take it on its own terms. According to these actors, this meal will not only inch space tourism toward wider accessibility, but the Space Neptune will “contribute to climate science with ongoing atmospheric data and partnerships with various NGOs.”

Wanting more women to have careers in space science is certainly a noble goal, but it is hard to connect the dots. They do not explain how spending half a million dollars to eat in space makes it easier for anyone else to access that experience, nor why space tourism should be even a top 10 priority for the planet. And there is a tenuous connection between the money going toward mentorship and education and actually furthering social equality. Will money keep Alabama Republicans from trying to kick a trans counselor out of Space Camp just because they’re trans?

Similar questions already exist in the food world. How does one justify paying thousands of dollars for a meal when there is mass starvation, especially starvation being caused intentionally? How much is too much to pay for a meal that is sustainably grown and comes from workers making a living wage? Does everyone in the world have to have their base needs met before we are allowed to think about art, about wonder, or are those as necessary as food? There aren’t many black and white answers. But I can think of few things more egregious than devoting the technology, the money, the food, the resources all toward six people who can afford to eat 18 miles above the Earth, for no other reason than they can. And hey, that does sound fun. If that were available to me, I might do it. But this team is trying to convince me this is the path to getting there, and I’m not sure I believe them.

“After missions, astronauts often say that the sight of our planet against the infinitely dark universe background highlights the unity among all living beings and creates an understanding that we have only one common home,” says the press release, suggesting this is a humanitarian mission for exactly six people. Participants, after finishing their avant-garde desserts and sipping a last space cocktail, will descend and see themselves as part of a bigger whole, no better or worse or more deserving of joy than anyone else on this Earth. And then they’ll give away the billions that allowed them to have that experience in the first place. A girl can dream.