Aboard The World. Dinner At Arnaud's.

[title type="h5"]Monday, January 27, 2014.[/title] An invitation came last week from the staff and passengers aboard a unique ship. It's named The World, and although it's more luxurious than most of the twenty or so other ships I've boarded, it's more like a private yacht than a cruise vessel. Indeed, they don't even want to be called a cruise ship. Almost all of The World's passengers own a permanent apartment aboard. Like a condo. For most of them, the ship is their home. The two hundred or so co-owners decide where the ship will go next as it travels around the globe. Its residents are on permanent vacations. The ship has a reading club. They somehow got a copy of my Hungry Town, found it interesting, and invited me to come aboard and deliver a talk. As we worked out these plans, they thought that having me host a dinner onshore would be a lot of fun. The next thing I knew, a contingent from The World was not only coming with me to Arnaud's, but also ready to take over many of the tables for the Eat Club dinner at Apolline planned for tomorrow. Then it became clear that we were on the verge of a winter storm so heavy that driving--particularly on the roads leading across the lake--would close, and for quite a while. The first wave of warnings said that I would have a hard time getting home even tonight, let alone tomorrow. The World had invited me to spend tonight on their super-yacht after our dinner. But as day broke that didn't look feasible. I had to cancel the gig. Then the storm's forward motion slowed. The sleet wouldn't begin until tomorrow morning. I reconnected with The World, whose people said that we could move my talk to this afternoon, and then go ahead with the dinner I planned for them at Arnaud's. Even knowing what I did about this boat, I was astonished by the reality of it. It's about two-thirds the size of most of the cruise ships I've taken, with about a tenth the number of passengers. The right crowd, and no crowding--to put it mildly. I was eager to meet the non-crowd, about thirty of whom came to hear me speak in their auditorium. I was pleased to find that most were either American, Canadian, or Australian, with a scattering of other nationals. Everybody spoke good English. My main concern was whether they would get my witticisms, particularly the three anecdotes that began every speech I've given for thirty years. But they went over well, and we were off and running. These were people who were interested not in the best steak in town, but the cultural aspects of Louisiana cookery. I was among friends. That continued all the way through our dinner, after which all I took from my hosts was their wish that I could spend more time with them. While I waited for The Worldians to get ready for dinner at seven, the ship's staff took me on a tour. It showed nothing but exceptional design and an almost ridiculous range of first-class facilities. I guess you have to have a lot to do if you're on a ship for a year or longer. We began in a bright café that looked like a buffet, but was more of a deli. Lots of fresh fish, meats, vegetables, cheeses and bakeries. "All of our people have their own kitchens in their apartments," my guide told me. "We have five restaurants, but of course they also like having breakfast or a light supper in their own spaces. And many of them like to cook." There was a golf course. Computerized, of course, but I took a full swing at the ball and hit a better shot than I usually do. Here was a club for small children. There was another for teenagers, with appropriate music and games. A very pretty non-denominational chapel, where the captain marries a fair number of people. (I suppose this would be a great place to get hitched, particularly for the second time around.) A deck with fully-made beds for anyone who would like to sleep under the stars. A gourmet restaurant, a bistro, a sushi bar, and two other restaurants. I never saw a place where I'd more like to live--assuming I could talk Mary Ann into living there with me. I think she'd like this, actually. (She's still in Los Angeles, or she could have seen The World up close.) To Arnaud's with eighteen Worldians. A lot of restaurants had already closed for the weather, but things were popping at the Count's old place. Arnaud's Jazz Bistro was nearly full and bubbling with conversation, in addition to its usual three-piece jazz band. The World's citizens liked that, and with few exceptions the food, too. Of course, I steered them in the right directions: oysters five ways, shrimp remoulade, turtle soup, gumbo, pompano David, chicken Pontalba, bananas Foster, bread pudding, café brulot. Later, I would hear that this dinner was a highlight for the travelers, which is saying something. I had them drop me off at the radio station en route back to The World. It was very cold and windy, but no signs of rain, sleet or snow. All that would be here tomorrow morning. I probably could have taken the invitation to overnight on the ship, but I couldn't take the risk of being stranded on the South Shore with Mary Leigh alone on the North Shore. The World will head to the Yucatan after a few days in the worst possible New Orleans weather short of a hurricane. Then they transit the Panama Canal, then cross the Pacific Ocean (with a stop in the Easter Islands) en route to China and Japan. I hope The World returns someday, and remembers me. [title type="h5"]Arnaud's. French Quarter: 813 Bienville. 504-523-5433. [/title]