On one passage from Brazil to Trinidad, a leg that took 11 long days, we dodged squalls and ducked cloudbursts all night, every night, without any sleep. There was nothing to be happy about. But when 1700 came, we’d boost morale by having an at-sea rendition of that enjoyable interlude: We called it “Appy” Hour, because the focus was more on the “apps” than the alcohol. On that passage, we looked forward all day to our tapas: I’d smear mustard on bread sticks and wrap with ham, or serve wedges of cheese with green fig preserve. If provisions were dwindling, I’d mash chickpeas with olive oil, garlic, and lemon juice to have on toast. One afternoon, I could hardly contain my excitement. Conditions had improved, and Chaguaramas, Trinidad, was just around the corner. The Caribbean beckoned. I’d prepared one of our favorite tapas: shipboard antipasto, and it was ready. The white wine was cold. Everything was perfect. I selected some jazzy music and kept an eye on the time.