Immerse yourself in a cruise dinner and savor the ultimate culinary experience.

Cruise ship restaurants at dusk are like shining pearls. Amber light flows down from the glass dome, condensing into stars on the silverware. I always like to arrive half an hour early to watch the waiters fold white napkins into swans and the bartenders rotate champagne in ice buckets. The seven-course dinner is a flowing art exhibition. The appetizers always start with a surprise, and the shrimp soaked in soup looks particularly tempting. When the sommelier pours red wine into a Riedel glass, the clear aroma of the wine and the salty freshness of the seafood waltz in the air. The chef's special, herb-roasted saddle of lamb, is always served with a story. "The spices come from Rhodes, Greece," the French chef introduces with a heavy accent, while the waiter uses a silver spoon to drizzle mint pesto into a spiral. The moment the knife and fork touch it, pink gravy gushes out from under the crispy skin, and the aroma of rosemary wraps the Mediterranean sun and blooms on the taste buds. When the dessert cart is pushed over, the entire sea becomes sweet. Next to the chocolate fountain, a chef wearing white gloves is weaving a honeycomb with sugar threads, and the Italian cream rolls are like freshly picked clouds. I chose crème brûlée because I like the light milky flavor. On nights like this, even time becomes lazy. The light clinking of knives and forks and the whispers of the waves weave a net, capturing all anxiety and haste. When the waiter brings a handwritten menu as a souvenir, I suddenly understand that the so-called exquisite life is just about allowing every sense to stretch its wings freely like a seagull at a certain moment.