Brazil for Dinner

Brazil tonight in the South China Sea. Elena's menu around the world continues to make the mess feel like the most reliable source of geographical variety aboard. Outside, the ocean occupies itself with being the ocean. Inside, dinner arrives with a new set of smells and the reassuring implication that someone has thought much harder about my evening than I have.

There was feijoada, rice, greens and orange slices. The richness of the beans sat against the clean brightness of the fruit, with the rice performing the quiet supporting work for which it rarely receives enough credit. I ate with the comfortable concentration of someone whose most urgent decision concerns which part of a good plate to return to next.

Then came a caramel pudding that caused a serious pause in conversation. This was not the distracted silence of tired people. It was attention, properly earned. The sweetness lingered, and for a little while there seemed no sensible reason to waste the experience by talking over it. I admire food capable of improving a room's acoustics without asking anybody to lower their voice.

Elena has now fed us across five continents without leaving the galley. This is an impressive record by any measure, particularly one involving washing up. She says Antarctica is difficult and has pencilled in soup. I accepted this as a reasonable planning decision. There is no need to overcomplicate an itinerary that has already produced caramel pudding. If the final continent requires a spoon rather than a passport, I am prepared to make the necessary adjustment.