Yvonne van Dongen
Veteran NZ journo incredulous gender ideology escaped the lab. Won’t rest until reality makes a comeback.
Last Friday, I did a weird thing I’d never done before. At my age this is rare – finding something I’d never done before which doesn’t involve risk (never do that) – so I thought I’d share it with you.
What was it? I ate a three-course restaurant meal in total darkness and was served by blind waiters. The restaurant “Dans Le Noir” was in a special room set aside for the concept in a large Auckland hotel. “Dans Le Noir” is a franchise that originated in Paris in 2004 and has since expanded all around the world. The theory is that by switching off one of the senses, the others would come to the fore.
I went with two friends who were weirdly apprehensive. I say weird since the one that was the most apprehensive has been sky diving and scuba diving, two activities timid me would never consider. We paid online beforehand, selecting the three-course menu, no alcohol. The thought and high probability of spilling expensive drinks was too alarming for three frugal old trouts. Besides, we knew we’d need to keep our wits about us.
The three of us met with the other people who had also signed up for the experience – a couple and three young friends – a male and two women. They looked nice enough, which was reassuring since we’d not see them during the meal but they were to be our table mates. Then Sharleen appeared and, yes, it was obvious she was blind. She also had a big voice and personality that meant she was perfect for the role of head shepherd of eight bewildered sheep.
Sharleen led us to our table by insisting we form a conga line, a hand on the person’s shoulder in front of us, Sharleen at the front. This entailed edging our way into a pitch-black space and passing through two velvety curtains. I could feel them as I brushed past and it occurred to me that this process was some sort of reverse rebirth. Going back into the womb. Not that I have any memories of this, of course. But those soft flaps and the intense darkness and the not knowingness and the reliance on big Mama Sharleen. Okay, fanciful, but at least I wasn’t scared. The experience was already too terrifying for my skydiving friend who asked to be led out. She ended up eating her meal in another of the hotel’s restaurants.
Sharleen led each one of us to a chair which we felt, pulled out and sat down on. No table cloth. Hard surfaces only. I felt the cutlery and napkin, also a glass and was told there was a bottle of water in front of me. I fumbled for the bottle, loosened the lid and nervously poured a thimble full into my glass.
When they say pitch black they mean it. I doubt I’ve ever been anywhere as dark. I kept waiting for my eyes to adjust but they never did. There was no light at all. We’d already had to hand in our cell phones and bags. Just as well, since I’m sure I would have flicked the torch on just for a minute, just to get my bearings, just because pitch black is borderline unbearable.
Sharleen delivered the first course to each of us soon after. It was in a big bowl obviously, but a similar bowl was used for all the courses. Wise decision given the risk of spillage.
The first course was cold soup. We weren’t given any information about each meal since the big reveal would come once we’d finished. So we spent the time eating and guessing. Tomatoes? Prawns? Lemon? Gazpacho with prawns? Frilly things dangling from my mouth – dill? It was delicious at any rate.
Once that was over we handed our plate to the person on our right so that all the plates ended up with Sharleen. Then we waited for the next course. Sharleen had already told us none of the courses were hot, only warm – also wise.
By now the decibel level had risen to the point where it was actually hard to hear the person next to me. Too many hard surfaces? Or were we shouting to make up for the loss of sight?
Into this cacophony came the main course: a bowl of what? I smelled something savoury. Hardly a massive elevation of my senses to be fair. But I was hungry so I forked generous mouthfuls into my gob and made my best guess. All I could come up with was beef on a bed of lentils. It reminded me of a ’70s flat meal. Wholesome but a bit bland. Should have been served on Temuka pottery. All the same, filling and not half bad.
Suddenly the sound of breaking glass to my right. Clearly someone had smashed something somewhere. I didn’t like not knowing what had happened and it was too noisy to ask anyone.
Again, plates to the right and more waiting. By now, the darkness had become annoying. Something about that absence of light made me feel like I was being suffocated. I was glad we were on our last course.
“Not as sweet as you might think,” hinted Sharleen. She was right. When it came – in that famous bowl – I could tell it was ice cream, some kind of cake and, I thought, pastry, because it was crunchy like baklava without the honey. My friend suggested corn which sounded bonkers to me. Corn in a dessert? Cray cray.
Actually my son, who watches too many horror movies, said later:
How did you know the chefs hadn’t inserted cockroaches or dead mice into the meal, since, you know, this is the one opportunity that they could get away with it?
Fortunately, this never crossed anybody else’s mind.
The three young people had already left since they had only paid for the two-course meal. So that left the two of us and the couple waiting for Sharleen to lead us out. We could hear other people entering the chamber of darkness. The restaurant has three other blind waiters and can take up to 40 people. The noise was deafening and, honestly, by now, we were a bit over it.
Once more we were led by Sharleen but this time out of the darkness, through the pairs of velvet curtains, into the light. We all laughed with relief when we burst into the highly coloured world. So happy to be reborn. So happy to see the friend who stayed outside.
Once we were all assembled and had exchanged garbled impressions of the experience, we were led to a screen which showed what we’d actually been eating. I won’t spoil the surprise should you intend to go but let’s just say we were sort of right with the soup, I was completely wrong about the main meal and my friend was right about the dessert. Corn? Yes really.
What did it teach me? That I eat with my eyes. I was astounded at how elaborate and beautiful the meals looked on the screen. Without sight, all I had left was taste and smell, two senses that, in my case, aren’t actually that accurate. Lesson? Look after my peepers.
This article was originally published on the author’s Substack.
