Review of “360, An Extraordinary Experience” on Discovery Princess

A hundred and forty nine smackers each, with a capacity of 20 means about three grand per seating. Not bad, but they certainly spend on the food, staff and visuals (and the booze), so it’s sure not all profit.

We checked in, had our photos taken and were offered cocktails before being taken in – blue concoctions (Blue Curaçao, vodka and something)… when they heard I don’t drink.

Shortly thereafter, they handed me a margarita glass with apple juice, lime, and…

“Beg pardon?”

The waitress smiled. “Chickpeas.”

Okay. I watch the Great British Baking Show. I know what aquafava is. It’s the slimy goo in which tinned garbanzo beans are packed. You can whip it up and it’s pretty substantial (can even make vegan meringue), but good luck getting past the beany flavor once you know it’s there. Sharp apple juice with a side o’ legume.

I took a couple of polite sips then returned it to the server.

I told them on the phone I’m a non-drinker when they called to say they were canceling our reservation for the third night as we were the only ones who registered (“Oh…” I said, disappointed… the maitre d’ then offered seats for that same night … okay, okay, afternoon… they have seatings at 5 and 7:30, and the idea of having dinner at eight is more than I can bear. Primo sleepy time – but they had availability at 5, hooray!).

I guess that non-drinking news didn’t stick as they had to hustle around to accommodate my liquids. This is a very wine-centric event.

It seems like 360 isn’t as popular as it was, or maybe people are more hesitant to blow $300 these days when you can get dinner in the dining room for free. There were still three vacant seats at our meal.

So it’s theater in the round, with screens around the room and focused on your table. It’s rather impressive how the projection on the table changes.

It’s a tour of the Mediterranean, starting in Greece, going to Italy, then Spain and winding up in France. I’d also said I don’t eat seafood (not strictly true, I love fish, but shellfish, not so much… and when the person on the phone asked about allergies and mentioned octopus and prawns, I decided yeah, seafood doesn’t work for me.)

Starting in Greece, what would we have but nasty grapes? Not a fan of olives. No issues with the oil, but the fruit? Blech.

Considering I can’t eat much these days, it wasn’t a problem to me. Unfortunately, it disturbed the server & maitre d’. Wasn’t I hungry? No… I just can’t eat a lot, and I was pacing myself. And I’m not wasting precious abdominal space on those foul little orbs.

I have absolutely no idea what the drinks were they put in front of me. There was also a young man who was getting non-alky drinks, but otherwise, I was the only person who didn’t partake.

I like smelling the wines, but tasting just isn’t worth it to me. I get drunk too easily.

So Brooke Shields, who narrates the whole shebangy as though she was on holiday (pictured aboard a ship with her medallion featured prominently on her wrist), effused about the quality of olives in the region.

They mentioned olive trees will live for 2,000 years and still produce viable fruit. I groaned.

What the woman sitting next to me didn’t know, as she shot me an odd look, was in our neighborhood, when the developer first sold the houses, they advertised “a full grown tree in every front yard!”

Yeah, a full grown olive tree, which fruits twice a year. Copiously. Those little bastards fall and roll everywhere, overripen and then squish underfoot.

You know it’s olive season when you see purpley-brown tracks through the house. And I have yet to meet a guide dog puppy who doesn’t want to scarf them down, pit and all.

Years ago, we had a little old Greek lady in the neighborhood who swore we had the best tree in the place. Twice a year, this elvish woman would bring great strapping lads to swarm the tree and phew! The mess was kept to a minimum.

Tragically, she must’ve died as she stopped coming. On the positive side, I suppose, I no longer had to find someone to take the pickled olives she would so kindly bring me to show her appreciation.

So… back to the story at hand… fruit for two thousand freakin’ years?? This tree is now roughly 55. Unnngh. Well, that thing is going to outlive me numerous times over.

Neighbors have, over the years, attempted to rid themselves of these nightmarish arbors, but They. Will. Not. Die. Cut them down, stump them out, objectionable little progeny stubbornly pop up in their place.

If I wasn’t so violently opposed to glycophosphates, I’d try tipping Roundup on it, but it’d probably go “Hey! Plant food! Awesome” and grow bigger.

Okay, well, now that I’ve throughly wandered off the topic…

Next we “went” to Santorini. The theater of it all is really quite amazing. The screens are well chosen to give you perspective of actually being there.

I gotta say, that was way, waaaaaaaaaay more relaxing than when we actually went there in person. When we were there, I was seriously stressed about getting off that damn island. (If you’re interested, the post is here: https://examiningmisadventures.com/2023/09/02/1870/)

Santorini is well known for its seafood, so Beloved’s appetizer:

Mine, on the other hand, was the veggie version:

Off to Italy, where things looked way, waaaaaaaay up.

Next, we got buffalo mozzarella, from seriously relaxed cows.

This is when they really started having fun with the overhead projectors. As it was Italy, they talked about riding Vespas.

They talked about Pompeii but didn’t make mention of the whole… well… you know… the rather adult side of Pompeii, which we witnessed when we visited there the summer before last. (If you’re interested, here it is, but it’s about houses of ill repute, don’t say I didn’t warn you… https://examiningmisadventures.com/2023/09/06/advertising-the-unprintable-in-pompeii-and-other-stories/)

That pasta course absolutely made the meal. Since we were supposedly on the Amalfi coast, lemons figured quite prominently.

When the waiters changed the chargers (if you get messy), the pattern would change to the table pattern. When the chargers returned, the pattern came back too. Beloved started playing with her plate to see what would happen.

Then off to Spain, and truffle hunting.

A DOG! Not just a dog, a LAB! This hairy hunter’s honker finds them truffles.

So the next course featured insanely tender steak with truffle butter. Call me unsophisticated, but I just couldn’t taste anything different.

Woof, that was a ton of food, so Beloved cheerfully finished off my steak… and I got high praise for actually eating all my meat… “Chef will be so pleased!”

Adding to the steak course, we had a wine that spends six months under the ocean. Again, my simple palate does not understand the difference between wine that’s sat in a cave versus twenty thousand leagues and all that.

I mean, what exactly can the ocean do to a bottle made of glass with a cork and wax seal? The vintners swore the wine was somehow transformed.

Well, okay, yeah, to a point. Take a look at the bottle.

Of course, I wasn’t drinking… instead I was getting interesting concoctions of fruit based drinks, which was fine with me.

Again, interesting things occurring on the table.

Then we went off to France, to Provence. It was very bee-centric, which made me happy. Also very lavender-y.

Dessert was a chocolate number, covered in a lavender paste, shaped like a honey pot with little gelatinous bees. Skip the insects, they were kinda yeck, but the chocolate collar around the top was tasty.

Also, you gotta consider I was about at my absolute limit with food.

I was kinda hoping for limoncello for the after-dinner drink, but being in France, we had champagne (okay, I got fizzy apple juice).

Was it worth it? Maaaaaaaybe. I wouldn’t do it again, but I really wanted to see it once.

That lemon pasta, though…