There were two things on Mars that seemed to be working hard to kill me: the lava tube and the omelette. I couldn’t decide which was worse.

I encountered the lava tube at the end of a 10-minute walk from my simulated Martian habitat, when I crested a ridge and turned my helmeted head down. Below was a basin about four stories deep and at least as wide across. At the center of it was a smaller, darker hole carved by molten lava that had long since flowed away. One wrong step in my clunky space boot and I could tumble straight down the geological drain.

Prudently, I backed away and returned to the station, and it was there that the omelette happened. I had volunteered to make a late lunch for myself and my two crewmates, and the ingredients on hand included bright yellow powdered eggs with dehydrated cheddar and Parmesan cheese. I mixed those things with enough water to make the dish vaguely egglike and cooked it