Adrift in an Ocean of Choices

Adrift in an Ocean of Choices

In the sterile glow of a moonlit dock, she rests—a titaness of the seas—a labyrinth of steel and dreams. She calls to me, her siren song a hum in the briny air, a promise of escapism adorned with luxury. And as I step aboard, I'm swallowed by her grandeur, the heart of which beats strongest at the dining table.

There's a peculiar freedom within these metal walls—a liberation of choice dressed as a dining concept. Freestyle Dining, they call it; and like some existential mantra, it whispers of a life unbound by schedules, a life where choice is the only compass you heed. Norwegian Cruises birthed this revelation, and soon after, others like Prince Cruise line with their Choice Dining followed—adventurers on the sea, offering a haven for the nonconformist belly.

Disney, with its flair for enchantment, named theirs “Rotational Dining.” A merry-go-round of culinary wonders, where each evening ushers you and your transient companions to a new theater of taste. It's a choreographed dance, a movement between worlds, a symphony of flavors.

Here, before the sun stretches over the horizon and nudges the sleepy stars away, the main dining room becomes a bastion of choice. You think, where else can one be brazen enough to reject a dish on a whim, or greedy enough to sample every temptation? John, my husband, indulges with reckless abandon—his eyes glinting as he orders both Filet Mignon and Lobster Tail, a king in his ephemeral kingdom.

The whimsical waltz of evening dinner has no frame, no rigid structure to strangle spontaneity. No first seating to ensnare you with an early hour, nor a second seating to dictate your night. You may grace the restaurants with your presence as you wish. The vessel heeds your desires, penning your dining preference into her log the moment your journey is booked.

For those ill-fitted in garments of convention, the ships tender to your inner rebel with 24-hour restaurants, a silent revolution against the formal night's gilded chains. A small rebellion, yes, but invincible in spirit.

Options? As plentiful as the stars that chart our course. Every meal, a treasure chest awaiting your bidding—delivered to your sanctum, splayed across buffet tables, or served meticulously in the dining room. But the simplest delight can be found al fresco, amidst the gentle sea breeze where the scent of hot dogs, hamburgers, and pizza dances with the salt of the ocean.

A splurge, my dear traveler, is sometimes not a folly but a rite. The ship bows to your opulence with alternative dining rooms, where your pocket’s depth is the only barrier to exquisite fare that rivals the constellations in their splendor.

Ah, but I've seen the patterns—families with laughter like tinkling chimes and the early-to-bed favored first seating, where the fading sunlight is still in sight. Yet if the nomad soul within you craves to break bread with strangers, or you pine for a quiet table for two, the alternative dining awaits, although these coveted spots are few and fiercely desired.

We find solace in remembrance—special requests cradled and remembered. Ask once for blue cheese, as John does, and witness it reappear each evening like the return of an old friend. Our waiter, a guardian of our gastronomic history, takes silent oaths to ensure contentment.

The Lido café, a casual reprieve, mocks the formality of the designated dining room. Here, you can eat hands clad in simplicity, served diligently by waiters whose smiles are genuine. A single diner finds camaraderie here, where the sea's vast loneliness is held at bay by the company of others.

Taste the voyage, they say. Hawaiian cruises seduce with tropical flavors; Alaskan waters gift you salmon and king crab's royal feast. It's a dance with the indigenous, a taste of the distant shores.

Those in pursuit of wellness, fear not; the ship harbors spa menus within her holds, coaxing you towards health with selections that cater to every need. Speak your desires into the ether before you set sail, and the chefs will craft your sustenance accordingly.

As night wraps her inky fingers around the ship, I scour the depths of reviews, letting whispers of past voyagers guide my choices. It's a communion with souls adrift in memories, sentiments etched into each star I count from my balcony.

Happy Cruising, they say, their voices buoyant with delight. And amidst this vastness, this oceanic expanse, I newly understand the weight of joy. Here, aboard this drifting serenade to choice, I devour life—one uncharted meal at a time.