Boats are interesting, with the constant motion of the ocean. In my body the motion of the ocean is countered by the stillness ... of ... well, of the lower intestinal tract. I am usually quite comfortable when things shut down in Bowelville, even if it's a week. But usually when nothing is moving down there, I'm not on a boat with unlimited food.
Every meal I allowed myself one tablespoon of everything at the buffet, which filled up my plate, then I went back for seconds of what I liked. For days and days I ate like this, one "tasting" course and then an entire meal on top of that.
Three days in I stopped being comfortable. I added a breakfast of apples and oatmeal instead of grits and bacon.
The next day I kicked it up to muesli and prunes. Ten prunes.
The next day I considered the nuclear option: Eggs Benedict.
I didn't do it, though. I have finally learned my lesson. In fact, in New Orleans a man was at the hotel restaurant complimenting the server on "the best eggs Benedict" he'd ever had. I was tempted to order them for a moment, then thought better of it.
Eventually, the prospect of dry land and a day with three cappuccinos straightened things out.