How the Full Wolf Moon Ruined My Gumbo: A Night of Cosmic Craziness in New Orleans

Ladies and gentlemen, grab your beads, put on your party shoes, and maybe tie a string around your finger, because we need to remember this night!

It was January 13, 2025, and the full moon was glaring down on the Superdome like a proud mother at her child’s piano recital—eager, vaguely judgmental, and a little too bright for comfort. This wasn’t just any full moon; it was the Wolf Moon, also known as the Ice Moon. But honestly, they should just call it the “Why-is-my-gumbo-cold Moon” because as I attempted to capture the spirit of New Orleans on a plate, the moonrise decided to bring in a chill that would make even the warmest jambalaya quiver.

Now, being in New Orleans on a magical night with a full moon is akin to being at a voodoo parade while someone is trying to teach you the two-step. It’s exhilarating, a little confusing, and you might just end up doing the Macarena while people look at you like you’ve lost your marbles. As the moon rose over the iconic Superdome, glinting off the top like a big, shiny disco ball, I looked around and thought: “Where’s my gumbo?”

But let me backtrack a beat. You see, the Wolf Moon brings with it a sense of adventure, like ordering the “mystery meat” at a local diner—exciting and slightly terrifying. Adding to this electrifying atmosphere was the nearby Michoud Assembly Facility, home to NASA’s Space Launch System operations. It felt as if even the universe was gearing up for an outrageous party launch, with rockets and moonbeams ready to go tangoing through the night sky.

As the moonlight danced on the Mississippi River, I decided it was time to partake in New Orleans’ ultimate offering: gumbo. Like a culinary mermaid, it called to me. I found this little hole-in-the-wall joint, the kind where the staff seems mildly confused that you even stumbled upon it yet openly welcomes you with a grin that says, “Are you ready to make questionable decisions?” After ordering what I hoped would be a steamy bowl of heaven, I got more than I bargained for. The moon had cast its chilly spell, and what arrived was less of a warm hug and more like a slap from a cold hand. “Is that gumbo or just a frozen slush puppy?” I thought to myself, desperately trying to convince my taste buds that they were hallucinating.

Meanwhile, outside, the reverberations of brass bands mingled with howling wolf sounds—much like my inner spirit at this moment. And just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better, I overheard someone referencing the Wolf Moon. Legend has it that on this night, if you howl at the moon while trying to eat cold gumbo, you may summon a spirit who will bring you hot sauce as an offering. Clearly, my taste buds were in need of a miracle; I should have howled louder!

In conclusion, my evening of lunar revelry in New Orleans taught me a valuable lesson: if you’re going to enjoy the Wolf Moon at the Superdome, make sure to skip the Arctic gumbo and get yourself some extra hot sauce instead. This lunar party was not just a celestial event but a reminder that sometimes, the universe has a quirky sense of humor. All I can say is, next time I see that dazzling, judgmental moon bring on the space food, because I am ready for a launch experience that’s out of this world—not a frigid bowl of gumbo that left me howling for warmth!

Image via NASA https://ift.tt/vgzDN8E