Monday, October 26, 2009. Pirate Breakfast. Talent. Joie De Vivre At Le Bistro. Morning brought the sight of mountains on the south bank of the St. Lawrence River, dense clouds overhead, and the biggest waves we've seen so far on the cruise--but really not all that big. The ship was rolling gently, and that explains how it was that I was emerging from nine hours of uninterrupted, deep sleep. I sleep better on moving ships and trains than I do at home.
There was a time change overnight, and the clock said ten o'clock. I passed on the grand breakfast in Cagney's and grabbed some fruit, juice and coffee from the boofay. Apparently almost everybody rose as late as I did. The dining room was packed. With a paucity of seats, I shared a table with an older fellow who couldn't muster so much as a "Good morning," in reply to mine. A very large, bearded, heavily illustrated young pirate landed opposite me. He gave me only a grunt in reply to my greeting. He fumbled with this load, and decided that two boxes of Rice Krispies, three boiled eggs, two bagels, and a large pile of bacon and ham wasn't quite enough. "Don't let take food," he ordered me, and walked away. When he returned, I told him that one of the waiters had looked at his hoard and reached for it. But that I'd punched the guy in the mouth. The pirate nodded and dove into his feast.
It's a day at sea. I spent what was left of the morning and early afternoon in my stateroom, writing. The boofay is about fifty feet forward and one flight of stairs up--only a little farther, I calculated, that the distance from my desk to the coffeemaker at home. With acceptable caffe latte from that source, I was able to rev up to my usual level of production and batted out about five thousand words, most of which will need to be rejiggered later. Lunch was minimal: a cup of cold asparagus soup, a Caesar salad, and a slice of cheese pizza, all from the boofay. I almost brought it all back to the stateroom, but that's a little too reclusive even for my loner soul.
The event on the day's calendar that exerted the greatest gravity on my life was the signup for the guest talent show. I only rarely have failed to work my way onto this bill. But on the last two sailings aboard NCL, not enough people signed up to make the show work. No such problem today. It looked as if there were too many people, and I feared I might not have made it in time. But the others were struggling through the books of music the ship's music director brought along. I cut to the chase and offered my usual selection: "Where Or When." The director nodded. "I know that one," he said, and began playing it. I jumped in at the right spot, we traveled through a few measures, and he stopped abruptly. "I think you can do this in a higher key," he said, and began again at the new level. I thought something had been wrong, myself. Now he was playing it as written, the way I'm used to singing it. "Pleasant voice," he said, after the song ended on an A, high enough to be impressive while making me work a little bit to get there. "See you Friday at three for rehearsal." Yes!
To quell my excitement, I took a walk around the ship's outer deck, making two laps before the cold, windblown mist drove me inside. We are on our way home, I thought. The cruise is half over. Thoughts like that can be countered by trying to remember the first day of the trip. I recalled New York City last Sunday, with weather a lot like this and a great lunch at Patsy's. It seemed as if it happened a month ago. I must be enjoying myself.
The Eat Club gathered for cocktails at the usual hour, but not with the usual music. First, we had to wait until a bingo session cleared out. Then, in lieu of the Big Band-style group that has been entertain ing us, was yet another assemblage of Filipinos playing 1950s and 1960s American pop oldies too loudly. Some of the troops are agitating for a move to a different bar. I don't know why the ship feels the need to change to style of music in a given place at a given time every day.
Dinner was much more agreeable. It was in Le Bistro, the NCL Jewel's French restaurant. As it has been on my last two NCL cruises, this proved to be the best place to eat on the ship. But not the most expensive: the upcharge was only $15.
I had reserved a table for eight, which needed to expand to eleven by the time all the people who said they'd told me they were coming arrived. The ensemble meshed, adding even more pleasure to what the food would make a very good dinner. By this point in the cruise, all the people who bought the ten-bottle wine package upon boarding the vessel now knew that this was far too much wine, and they were cashing in their ducats for bottles at every opportunity. A lot of us were saving the good stuff--a Chateauneuf du Pape, in my case--for this particular dinner. So a lot of good juice was on the table.
Almost everybody began with escargots, the word having gone out that these were excellent. They were. So was the onion soup, which I enjoyed even though I had one the day before at Le Hobbit. (Different style.) I was the last to order, which was just as well: others had latched onto steaks and racks of lamb, leaving the chicken stuffed with foie gras unordered. I like chicken dishes in French restaurants, and I liked this one. It was a breast quarter (the "airline" breast), with the foie gras tasteable but not visible, surrounded by a sauce reminiscent of Perigourdine. It was exactly what I felt like eating. I finished with caramel custard, which was--strangely--not quite as good as the silky one I had last night in the faux Mexican restaurant.
But none of this mattered. Our jolly crowd closed the restaurant, and we left laughing. The clock said it was almost eleven, but that was Atlantic time--two hours ahead of New Orleans. The night was young. Down to Bar City we went. Single-malt Scotch for me. One of our gang bought it and promptly forgot which one it was. I was having too much fun to get up and ask, if in fact the bartender even knew. (NCL needs to work on its single-malt program.)
