O.Noir

The eating in the dark concept originated in Zurich from a blind pastor who went from part-time dinner party blindfolder to aspiring restaurateur. Fast-forward less than a decade and the idea has caught on throughout the rest of Europe, Australia and western hot spots like LA, NY and MO…ntreal. I’d spent the better portion of the year debating eating at our “eating in the dark” restaurant, O.Noir. This weekend we had a house guest that we wanted to give a memorable experience, so we decided to check it out.

O.Noir is the only restaurant of its kind in all of Canada, so it is recommended to make a reservation, as people coast to coast are hopping on planes as I type this. There are only two dinner services, one at 6:00pm and one at 9:00pm, and meeting your reservation time is essential or you will forfeit it entirely since navigating tardy patrons in pitch black is a difficult operation. It is also, I would learn, very frustrating to those already seated, when the newly-blind accidentally give you an elbow to the face while you’re trying to shove your mystery food in your mouth.

We began the evening by storing all of our belongings, especially anything that could emit light, into a small locker in the foyer. Our beautiful greeter explains the concept and gives us time to choose our selections from the menu before entering “the room”. The menu features a fixed-price 3 course meal with a selection of appetizers, a main and a dessert, of which each you can select a “mystery” dish. Based on a recommendation I’d read in The Mirror, I chose the grilled octopus as an appetizer to the mystery meal and dessert that would follow.

After making our selections we were introduced one by one to our waiter, who took a mental inventory of our names for future reference. One hand on the shoulder of the person in front of me, we stepped through a thick black curtain and through a door that we’re instructed to tap on to indicate we are passing and so the person behind has an idea of whether or not it is going to accidentally slam in their face. Somehow I had not fully anticipated the darkness and was instantly disoriented while being guided to my chair. I managed to get myself seated and facing toward the table.

At first, as if we’d actually instantaneously lost our sight, we felt a little panicked and claustrophobic. I felt around the table identifying objects. Fork, fork, plate, napkin, knife - luckily, a dull one, sitting atop a very identifiable rubber placemat. I reached out and grabbed Shannon’s hand and the three of us made small talk about how awkward we felt. A few wisps of light emerged from the furthest wall, giving an indication of just how small the room is, adding to the claustrophobia. Aside from a faint hue off of a watch and small flashes from the kitchen when food courses arrive, I would not see another thing for nearly 3 hours.

Our waiter brings us our beverages and instructs us to place it in front of us past the placemat. I ordered a mineral water and when I was handed the glass my thumb touched a lime wedge. However, unaware that it was a lime wedge upon first contact, I immediately withdrew from my waiter’s “wet, clammy hand” and had difficulty grasping my glass. Drinking proved not to be as difficult as I had anticipated, though it wasn’t long before I heard a glass break across the room and I can only assume the occasion laughter was due to some wine down the shirt.

Shannon made the excellent suggestion of tucking our napkins into our shirts to avoid certain spoils of war. Each time our waiter came to our table, he addressed me first, which I thought was because I was the male of our group, but which I later learned was because I sat at the head of the table. I figured this out after pushing out in front of me to figure out how many people we were actually sitting with and eliciting a crowd of, “Someone’s pushing the table!” in response like I’d just turned the whole experience into a seance.

Our second task was to grab a plate from our waiter, which housed a pat of butter and some warm bread. The passing of plates in the dark was not an especially difficult task, but one of many that was only aided in difficulty because the wait staff are blind, not because of the blind dining experience. Buttering bread with a knife could have resulted in a pat of butter in the lap, so I stuck with the dunk and eat method. I began to wonder if my senses were truly heightening or if the butter was just exceptionally salty, before making the useless revelation that the inside of bread feels pretty gross.

Our appetizers arrived quite quickly. The octopus really was tasty and on a bed of a light salad, but the dish was improved considerably by a douse of lemon that I stole from my San Pellegrino. Unfortunately for me, I casually discarded my lemon on my plate and ended up picking it instead of a chunk of octopus while randomly stabbing with my fork and getting a mouthful of lemon wedge instead. I switched to using my fingers for the remainder of the appetizer, which was actually quite helpful in finding a hidden piece of octopus on the corner of my plate, but a method I do not particularly recommend for eating salad. As instructed, I placed my plates together and awaited the rest of my meal.

The next course was the beginning of my mystery food. Both my dining companions had ordered fillet mignon, accompanied with asparagus and chef potato. After our experience with appetizers they both regretted this, pondering the difficulty of slicing meat in total darkness. Fortunately, our waiter explained that the meat had already been cut for us. Unfortunately, the meat was cut into such large slices and layered that it was virtually impossible to single out a single piece.

When I took my plate all I could smell was mushrooms. For my first half-dozen bites, all I tasted was mushrooms. Then I eventually found a few overcooked and under-salted potatoes, a chunk of carrot and some small, stringy asparagi. This, I am told, are the same sides accompanying the fillet mignon. My meat turned out to be two breaded cutlets with a mushroom sauce. The breading was slimy, the meat not particularly tasty and the whole meal not particularly appealing, which is more than something of a disappointment in each bite due to the shear amount of effort it took just to get it into my mouth. I eventually decided on a random-cutting and shoveling technique, making sure that all of the food on my plate was at the nearest edge to myself. I ran a finger around the dish to determine whether or not I’d finished and thought I did a satisfactory job.

Our plates sat clean and conversation was dry. I stood up and invited Shannon to a dance, and we danced by our table in the darkened room, shared a few kisses and other things that you wouldn’t get away with in a well-lit dining area, then sat back in our seats. I’m not going to recommend you use O.Noir as a kinky exhibition grounds, but I am going to imply that you could probably get away with at least some foreplay while rubbing arms with a dozen strangers over dinner.

Our night began to turn sour as we sat with empty glasses, a bad taste lingering in our mouthes and our plates sitting empty in front of us. We could hear our waiter pass by suddenly saying, “Attention,” on occasion, but never close enough to actually grab his attention without seeming like we were shouting and being rude. There was no way of knowing for sure how long we had waited, and certainly time is distorted while you’re sitting in the dark impatiently waiting, but everyone at the table individually made mention of their impatience at least twice over the course of what I can only assume was around half an hour.

Suddenly the entire room erupted into a chorus of “bon fete” (happy birthday), followed by an echoing applause that really brought home the point of how close the walls that enclosed us were. This was a welcome turn of events from our “We’re ready to go” banter, until the sing along birthday song repeated an additional three times. Eventually our waiter came back and apologized, but he had to head up the sing along. After it had been established that the reason we had been waiting in the dark for so long was because our waiter was put in charge of the happy birthday song, we were ready to go.

But it was time for dessert. My mystery finale was not much of a mystery as soon as it reached my hands. The smell of vanilla entered my nostrils and I could tell instantly that I had received ice cream. It was swirled with chocolate and caramel fudge and there were either several scoops or one incredibly large scoop because it seemed like I was eating ice cream for forever. Shannon attempted to feed me chocolate mousse, which was especially surprising since she had not told me before hand, and I ended up with an eye full of chocolate.

Eventually we received our after dinner coffee and were led out back into the foyer. The several tea light candles that illuminated the room still induced squinting in adjustment as we settled our bill. Our meal had averaged out to roughly fifty dollars a head. Had I paid this much for an equivocal meal in any other restaurant I would have been terribly upset, but I had been well aware that I would be paying more or less for a gimmick. That is more or less what O.Noir is; an interesting gimmick. The experience was new, and at least temporarily exciting, enough so to make it worthwhile and potentially recommendable. I enjoyed myself, for the most part, but fine dining it is not. To be frank, I do not believe they even particularly follow through on their other selling features.

Eating in the dark does not enhance your senses, at least I did not notice it in any capacity, because I was distracted by spending so much time focusing on and worrying about just getting the food to my face. The concept might be dressed as a “socially conscious effort” but a 5% kickback in profits (less than the amount you even pay in taxes) to the blind community seems like just enough to seem like you care, while still pocketing 95% of profits on your over-priced food. As for creating jobs for the blind, this is a great idea, but the only actual blind person I witnessed was our waiter, who I think was the only wait staff on duty. Finally, you don’t really get to experience what it is like to be a blind person eating, unless the rest of the world became blind at the same time you did. In any normal restaurant I would have been able to ask someone dining with me if my food looked properly prepared, I would have been able to flag a waiter if I wanted another drink, and I wouldn’t have been able to sit at the table naked because no one else could see me.

I would like to make a few recommendations. I would like to recommend that O.Noir take night-vision videos of the dining room that they can sell to the patrons. I think it would be entertaining to see a glowing-eyed me awkwardly trying to scoop potato into my face. I also think it would be more interesting if, according to the 50 to 95% vision loss demographic they hire from, they sought out one-eyed pirates for wait staff. Finally, here is a short list compiled of not-so hilarious lines to use while dining in the dark:

“The decor here is amazing!”
“This is the place to be seen!”
“Wow, that looks delicious!”
“Can someone flag our waiter?”
“I see.”
“Where did I put my glasses…”