Janet and I have spent a good bit of time over the past several years evaluating all-inclusive resorts around the Caribbean — not as vacationers on holiday, but as advisors doing the work that lets us give clients honest guidance. It is labor-intensive. It is also a labor of love.

One question we hear consistently from clients considering an all-inclusive is whether they'll get their money's worth. What we've found is that the answer depends almost entirely on two things: choosing the right resort, and then focusing on what you will do rather than what you won't. We can help with the first. The second is up to you.

People who know me well wonder how I manage the second part personally. A few years ago I quit drinking and committed to a sober lifestyle. So much for getting my money's worth at the bars. A few years before that I had bariatric surgery. I lost over a hundred pounds, but I had eighty percent of my stomach removed in the process — what's left holds roughly a cup to a cup and a half of food. So much for getting my money's worth at the restaurants. The only activity that interests me on most days is lounging on the beach or at the pool. So much for the sunrise beach yoga and fitness classes.

So how do I get my money's worth? I focus on the entire vacation experience rather than any single component. Here is how I've come to think about value at an all-inclusive, and the twelve things I actually do:

• I don't drink alcohol, but in the Caribbean a diet Coke is often more expensive than rum. I drink a lot of diet Coke. I also order the occasional non-alcoholic cocktail, and if the taste doesn't suit me, I ask for something else. It's all included.
• I do all the meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, and post-meal cleanup at home. At an all-inclusive, someone else handles all of it. The only decision I have to make is what style of cuisine I want for dinner — and some nights I don't bother with that either. I just order room service. Like every morning for breakfast. It's all included.
• I can't eat much at one sitting, but I can eat five or six times a day. At home I eat three small meals and no snacks. At an all-inclusive I go wild: breakfast, lunch, dinner, a mid-morning donut, and a mid-afternoon slice of pizza. Some days I have both. Who am I kidding — most days I have both. It's all included.
• I love a good cup of coffee but have no patience for designer coffee shops. The idea of paying five dollars for a cup of coffee in a fancy to-go cup offends me. At an all-inclusive I indulge in a cappuccino to go along with that mid-morning donut. It's all included. Even the fancy to-go cup.
• I skip the bread, salad, and soup at dinner — those are the least interesting dishes you'll find, even at a resort that bills its food as gourmet. Rather than filling up on the forgettable courses, I skip them and spend more of my limited capacity on the entrée. Janet and I order side dishes to share so I can sample them without filling up, and I don't worry about clearing my plate. It's all included.
• At dinner I'm adventurous with my entrée, ordering things I'd hesitate to try at a restaurant where I'm paying per plate. If I don't like it after a bite or two, I order something else. It's all included.
• I occasionally order dessert if it looks interesting. I'm too full to eat it right after the entrée, so I get it to go. I may or may not end up eating it, and that's fine. It's all included.
• I always ask for small portions. I usually get a full-sized portion I can't finish. I used to worry about the food waste until I asked the food managers at several resorts what happens to the leftovers. They all told me the same thing: they sell it to local farmers who use it as feed. My leftovers help make someone else's bacon more flavorful. That's a win-win in my book. And it's all included.
• Many Caribbean all-inclusives offer jerk pork, chicken, and fish with an authentic flavor profile you simply cannot replicate stateside. The secret isn't in the sauce or the rub — it's in slow-roasting the meat over pimento wood coals. I got that directly from a ninety-year-old Jamaican man who'd spent his whole life doing exactly that. You can't find pimento wood in the United States because we don't grow pimento trees and it's too expensive to import. When I'm at an all-inclusive in Jamaica, I make a point of having the jerk dishes several times, usually at lunch. It's all included.
• Dinner service moves quickly when you're ordering one or two courses instead of four. That leaves Janet and me time for a walk on the beach — or my preferred activity: sitting on a lounge chair with a cigar and watching the stars in a sky unbothered by light pollution. It's all included. (The cigar I bring myself.)
• While other guests are parked at the bars, I take full advantage of the opportunity to actually see the property I'm staying at. I watch the tropical birds, the geckos — the cats at Sandals properties, of which there are many. I go snorkeling in water so clear I can see my feet in the sand twelve feet down. You will not find that at Ocean City. It's all included.
• The best part about staying at an all-inclusive is that I do all of the above without worrying about the check. Because it's all included. All of it.

When you're deciding whether you'll get your money's worth at an all-inclusive, think about the things you will do — not the things you won't. The trick is choosing a resort with inclusions that match how you actually vacation, and then focusing on those. It's an opportunity to try things you'd never risk ordering somewhere you're paying per plate, to eat when you feel like it rather than when it's convenient, and to exist for a week without a single bill. That's the value proposition. It holds up regardless of what you drink. Or how much.