The first bread baked in the Habitat, thanks to a bread maker donated by crew member Andrea Fori. The cinnamon raisin loaf was baked by crewman David Real. Photo Credit: Jan Osburg, University of Stuttgart

Woe to anyone who would impede or block any sector of the universe from its quest to satisfy an insatiable appetite.

Even the science experiments are not immune. It can be a very short leap from lab dish to appetizer plate.

Crew member Andrea Fori noted in a science log that the radishes had grown 4 centimeters (1 ½ inches, in regular talk) during an experiment testing the possibility of growing food in a greenhouse.

Her next entry read: "Yummie, yummie, yummie. I have radishes in my tummy."

Life is tough in outer space for veggies.

There is also bad news ahead for future space explorers: there are no maids on Mars. It's a do-it-yourself deal, commander, or face hunger pangs.

So, as one of its first missions, the crew devised a plan to make sure that hefty portions of properly prepared food were on the table for each scheduled meal.

They created the position of Director of Galley Operations, which quickly suffered the fate of all science: it became an acronym. Namely, DGO.

How do these things get started?

Andrea Fori assesses the culinary viability of experimentally grown radishes. Photo Credit: Dr. Vladimir Pletser / European Space Agency

"DGO - we just made it up for fun, to ridicule the acronymitis. But it stuck, and it's cool, and this is how it gets started."

Rearranging a few letters in DGO results in actual words, such as GOD and DOG. Both are appropriate to the job title.

The crew rotates the title and the duties daily, so the rest can concentrate, with as few interruptions as possible, on the real work of science experiments and regular station life.

But when a crew member's turn comes around every six days, be prepared to work like a dog. In addition to cooking meals, one should be prepared to bus tables, wash dishes, boil tea and set out snacks.

No job is too menial - emptying the garbage is also a daily requirement. One trashcan is strategically placed under the first-floor bathroom sink, probably because there are no drain pipes connected to the sink. Who said there weren't plumbing problems in space?

Could things get worse? You bet your phaser pistol they can.

The worst job is emptying the trashcan next to the biological toilet - designed for four, but servicing six, although none too well.

To account for a severe problem with, let us say, capacity, the crew has agreed that most toilet paper, within reason, will be placed in the trashcan, rather than the toilet.

Enter the DGO and the job's most odorous - if not onerous - duty.

On the other hand, the power of the DGO approaches that of a minor deity when it comes to mealtime.

Most of the contents of a Fred Meyer grocery store in Salt Lake City were carted away by the team before starting their two-week stay at the Mars Desert Research Station.

Three shopping carts were piled high to overflowing with family-sized portions of pork chops, peanut butter, Dijon mustard, sliced ham, fruits and vegetables, coffee, and countless other items, including Tang, nectar of the astronauts.

Clerks were sent flying through the store to return with hard-to-find items as an endless conveyor belt rolled the goods to the cashier, who was very friendly to us.

Once the food reaches the Habitat, however, the DGO of the day exercises authority with autonomy.

There is but one commandment: Antagonize not the DGO, lest you face a dinner of cold tuna on crackers.

If the DGO is pleased, the fare can be marvelous. A cup of hot tea can be steaming at your side with a simple nod of the head; a splendid, four-course dinner is normal fare every other day or so.

Of course, no self-respecting DGO could serve such Earth-bound concoctions as fajitas or spaghetti. They become Martian Lander tuna sandwiches, Valles Marinaras linguini and meatballs, and Solis Salmon Salad.

The miracle is that any meals get cooked at all.

The dorm-sized kitchen refrigerator is so small that most of the food shares space with biological experiments in the lab icebox.

The microwave is said to work occasionally.

There is no oven or stove, only two hot plates that tend to blow the circuit breaker for the entire complex if another major appliance is on at the same time: say, a coffee maker.

Once the power is restored - it takes a 5-minute trip to reset the remote electric generator behind the Hab - the hot plates enter their warm-up phase. After 10 minutes or so, they give off the heat of a small light bulb.

For those in a hurry, pancakes sometimes just turn out to be lukewarm, pasty flour.

During breakfast recently, the DGO asked for dinner suggestions.

"There are a lot of potatoes," answered the Hab's commander, NASA's William J. Clancey. "You might as well get them going now."

Humor in the Hab - that's really how things get done.