Dining in the Dark
Jan. 8th, 2006 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jenkSpotted in the WSJ:
Dining Here Brings a Whole
New Meaning to the Blind Date
By ARNIE COOPER
January 5, 2006; Page D8
West Hollywood, Calif.
"OK, you're the first to be seated. Good luck!" As instructed, I place my right hand on my guide's shoulde while my dinner date latches on to mine. A door opens and we step into darkness. With "chill-out" lounge music playing, our mini conga line begins snaking through a room whose décor and dimensions we can only imagine.
Zenorina Covarrubias, our server for this evening, gently takes my hand. "Here's your chair. And there's a pole on your right," she warns. Carefully I settle into my seat, while Ms. Covarrubias helps my guest, Roberta Grant (a writer friend), do the same.
Dining out was never so challenging. Held weekly at the Hyatt Regency on Sunset Boulevard, Opaque's Dining in the Dark is precisely what the name implies. A three-course meal served in a pitch-black room with an added twist -- the entire wait staff is blind or vision-impaired. There are no candles or runway lights, not even an illuminated emergency exit -- just 25 or 30 fearless foodies engaged in an experiment of the palate and psyche.
Just why would anyone battle L.A.'s Saturday-night traffic to eat in a place with no lights and fork over 100 bucks to do it?
Blame it on Jorge Spielmann, a blind minister who once blindfolded his dinner guests to give them a "glimpse" into his life. In 1999, Mr. Spielmann opened his 60-seat Blindekuh (Blind Cow) restaurant in an abandoned Zurich church. The idea caught on, with spinoffs appearing in Berlin, Brussels, Paris and London. (New York's Suba restaurant flirted briefly with the concept but cheated; its sighted waiters wore night-vision goggles.)
However, it took German-born Ben Uphues to bring truly blind dining to the U.S. The long-haired 28-year-old was running a toy distribution business when he first encountered the concept at Berlin's Unsicht-bar in January 2004. "I went there with a friend, and we had a ball -- the best time of our life." So much so that he decided to bring dark dining to the States. Nine months later he was wrangling with the West Hollywood fire department for a special waiver to break the fire code.
But there were other challenges. Like finding good help. Mr. Uphues contacted the Braille Institute, where the career development person told him no blind person had ever gotten a job waiting tables. But, says Mr. Uphues, "the blind are really the most qualified for the job." Who better to navigate through an unlit dining room?
Fifteen applicants were proffered; then, following a day of coaching with an Orientation and Mobility trainer, Mr. Uphues selected nine for his wait staff team and launched this past July.
Originally, Mr. Uphues had hoped to attract privacy-craving celebrities, but that has yet to pan out. And blind dining is not for everybody. "People are not going say, 'I'm hungry, let's go to Dining in the Dark,'" he says. Moreover, Mr. Uphues admits that since the restaurant opened, three or four people had to leave because they were unable to handle the darkness.
* * *
Clearly those first few minutes in the realm of the sightless are unsettling (even though you get to choose your dinner beforehand in the lighted lounge area.) You're about to do what you've done a thousand times before. Yet questions clutter your mind. Should I keep my eyes open? Should I speak more loudly? What if I need the restroom? Why on earth am I here? I knew it would be dark; I just didn't take the time to contemplate what darkness really means or how it affects one's state of mind.
I reach across the seemingly oversized table, struggling to grab Ms. Grant's hand. "Oh my God," she says. "I wasn't prepared for the intensity of the experience. It's much darker than I imagined," she tells me, along with her suggestion for this article's lead:
You arrive at Opaque via staircase, but it really should be a small craft across the river Styx entering the nether world.
"It's really much blacker than the nether world," she says with a laugh.
"This is my world," another voice, Ms. Covarrubias's, calls out. With one's dominant sense temporarily disabled, the social niceties become elusive. But Zenorina is anything but miffed.
"I was born premature; that affected my sight. I am legally blind, but I can see colors," she explains. "I have your bread, and the butter's in a little cup. Did you notice the rose petals? Are you enjoying your time?" (The hyper-attentive Zenorina was more like a doting grandmother than a waitress.)
Beyond not knowing who's within earshot, sightless novices forget to use the sense so vital to the visually impaired, touch. Perhaps more important, we take an all-or-nothing approach to sightlessness. Even the vision-loss simulator cards (designed to give sighted people a sense of what vision impairment looks like) scattered around the lounge area didn't quite prepare me for what I was about to not see and see.) Absolute darkness is unattainable even in Hollywood. Instead, occasional glints of faint light somehow created shades of black, lending a textural feel to the space.
And absent any boundaries, most people speak louder. Or was my sense of hearing just enhanced? (In normal circumstances I probably would not have heard a woman cry out, "I can smell salad" -- nor would she have smelled it.) Indeed, once the six other parties were seated, the noise level became distracting. Being immersed in darkness lowers one's inhibitions, providing ample opportunities for unbridled fantasizing. Just make sure your date has a sexy voice.
Enough musing. This was still a restaurant, after all. I can't say the food was spectacular; contrary to the notion that sightless feasting intensifies flavors, it seemed to have the opposite effect on me. (I couldn't even identify my squash.)
No wonder Mr. Uphues intentionally keeps things simple. "I want people to figure out what they're really eating." An overly detailed menu would prove too complex for the endeavor. Instead, four options were offered: roasted chicken, Moroccan salmon, filet mignon wrapped in pancetta and "Thai curry" -- the vegetarian dish -- each with a choice of salad and dessert.
Unfortunately, simplicity doesn't mean you won't need a napkin. Just how does a blind dilettante eat filet mignon with a knife and fork? He doesn't. Yes, I struggled fork in hand through my salad with reasonable table etiquette. However, by the time my main entrée appeared, I simply grabbed a hunk of meat and began stuffing it in my mouth. Ms. Grant, hardly the cavewoman type, did the same with her salmon.
Not that anyone cared. "I'm stabbing at air," a woman shouted out, and Mr. Uphues acknowledges that the floor is "kind of dirty" at the end of the night. You'd think this setup would be the perfect formula for broken dishes and glasses. But Mr. Uphues reports that they've broken only one glass -- and that was in the lighted bar.
By the time dessert arrived, I'd shed all pretense and proceeded to slather my probing fingers with the creamy layers of my "lemon cloud" before finishing it off. You end up eating more when you can't see the plate.
Of course, the real lesson is how much you take your ability to see for granted.
Mr. Uphues agrees. "A lot of people think it's just that the food's going to taste different, but it's also all these little details that are so easy for you to do every day that you don't even think about. We're trying to make people understand that life is different and still beautiful if you can't see."
As for the vision-impaired themselves, dark dining is even more powerful. Says Ms. Covarrubias, "I love my job. Because this is something that's letting me share with the world what I'm living. Normally people want to give me everything in my hand and baby me. Now I get to do that for you."
Mr. Cooper is a writer living in Santa Barbara, Calif.
URL for this article: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB113641656074537960.html
Held weekly at the Hyatt Regency on Sunset Boulevard, Opaque's Dining in the Dark is precisely what the name implies. A three-course meal served in a pitch-black room with an added twist -- the entire wait staff is blind or vision-impaired. There are no candles or runway lights, not even an illuminated emergency exit -- just 25 or 30 fearless foodies engaged in an experiment of the palate and psyche.Hm...next time I'm in LA, this could be cool.
Just why would anyone battle L.A.'s Saturday-night traffic to eat in a place with no lights and fork over 100 bucks to do it?
[Y]ou get to choose your dinner beforehand in the lighted lounge area. [...] Yes, I struggled fork in hand through my salad with reasonable table etiquette. However, by the time my main entrée appeared, I simply grabbed a hunk of meat and began stuffing it in my mouth. Ms. Grant, hardly the cavewoman type, did the same with her salmon. [...] Mr. Uphues acknowledges that the floor is "kind of dirty" at the end of the night.
Dining Here Brings a Whole
New Meaning to the Blind Date
By ARNIE COOPER
January 5, 2006; Page D8
West Hollywood, Calif.
"OK, you're the first to be seated. Good luck!" As instructed, I place my right hand on my guide's shoulde while my dinner date latches on to mine. A door opens and we step into darkness. With "chill-out" lounge music playing, our mini conga line begins snaking through a room whose décor and dimensions we can only imagine.
Zenorina Covarrubias, our server for this evening, gently takes my hand. "Here's your chair. And there's a pole on your right," she warns. Carefully I settle into my seat, while Ms. Covarrubias helps my guest, Roberta Grant (a writer friend), do the same.
Dining out was never so challenging. Held weekly at the Hyatt Regency on Sunset Boulevard, Opaque's Dining in the Dark is precisely what the name implies. A three-course meal served in a pitch-black room with an added twist -- the entire wait staff is blind or vision-impaired. There are no candles or runway lights, not even an illuminated emergency exit -- just 25 or 30 fearless foodies engaged in an experiment of the palate and psyche.
Just why would anyone battle L.A.'s Saturday-night traffic to eat in a place with no lights and fork over 100 bucks to do it?
Blame it on Jorge Spielmann, a blind minister who once blindfolded his dinner guests to give them a "glimpse" into his life. In 1999, Mr. Spielmann opened his 60-seat Blindekuh (Blind Cow) restaurant in an abandoned Zurich church. The idea caught on, with spinoffs appearing in Berlin, Brussels, Paris and London. (New York's Suba restaurant flirted briefly with the concept but cheated; its sighted waiters wore night-vision goggles.)
However, it took German-born Ben Uphues to bring truly blind dining to the U.S. The long-haired 28-year-old was running a toy distribution business when he first encountered the concept at Berlin's Unsicht-bar in January 2004. "I went there with a friend, and we had a ball -- the best time of our life." So much so that he decided to bring dark dining to the States. Nine months later he was wrangling with the West Hollywood fire department for a special waiver to break the fire code.
But there were other challenges. Like finding good help. Mr. Uphues contacted the Braille Institute, where the career development person told him no blind person had ever gotten a job waiting tables. But, says Mr. Uphues, "the blind are really the most qualified for the job." Who better to navigate through an unlit dining room?
Fifteen applicants were proffered; then, following a day of coaching with an Orientation and Mobility trainer, Mr. Uphues selected nine for his wait staff team and launched this past July.
Originally, Mr. Uphues had hoped to attract privacy-craving celebrities, but that has yet to pan out. And blind dining is not for everybody. "People are not going say, 'I'm hungry, let's go to Dining in the Dark,'" he says. Moreover, Mr. Uphues admits that since the restaurant opened, three or four people had to leave because they were unable to handle the darkness.
Clearly those first few minutes in the realm of the sightless are unsettling (even though you get to choose your dinner beforehand in the lighted lounge area.) You're about to do what you've done a thousand times before. Yet questions clutter your mind. Should I keep my eyes open? Should I speak more loudly? What if I need the restroom? Why on earth am I here? I knew it would be dark; I just didn't take the time to contemplate what darkness really means or how it affects one's state of mind.
I reach across the seemingly oversized table, struggling to grab Ms. Grant's hand. "Oh my God," she says. "I wasn't prepared for the intensity of the experience. It's much darker than I imagined," she tells me, along with her suggestion for this article's lead:
You arrive at Opaque via staircase, but it really should be a small craft across the river Styx entering the nether world.
"It's really much blacker than the nether world," she says with a laugh.
"This is my world," another voice, Ms. Covarrubias's, calls out. With one's dominant sense temporarily disabled, the social niceties become elusive. But Zenorina is anything but miffed.
"I was born premature; that affected my sight. I am legally blind, but I can see colors," she explains. "I have your bread, and the butter's in a little cup. Did you notice the rose petals? Are you enjoying your time?" (The hyper-attentive Zenorina was more like a doting grandmother than a waitress.)
Beyond not knowing who's within earshot, sightless novices forget to use the sense so vital to the visually impaired, touch. Perhaps more important, we take an all-or-nothing approach to sightlessness. Even the vision-loss simulator cards (designed to give sighted people a sense of what vision impairment looks like) scattered around the lounge area didn't quite prepare me for what I was about to not see and see.) Absolute darkness is unattainable even in Hollywood. Instead, occasional glints of faint light somehow created shades of black, lending a textural feel to the space.
And absent any boundaries, most people speak louder. Or was my sense of hearing just enhanced? (In normal circumstances I probably would not have heard a woman cry out, "I can smell salad" -- nor would she have smelled it.) Indeed, once the six other parties were seated, the noise level became distracting. Being immersed in darkness lowers one's inhibitions, providing ample opportunities for unbridled fantasizing. Just make sure your date has a sexy voice.
Enough musing. This was still a restaurant, after all. I can't say the food was spectacular; contrary to the notion that sightless feasting intensifies flavors, it seemed to have the opposite effect on me. (I couldn't even identify my squash.)
No wonder Mr. Uphues intentionally keeps things simple. "I want people to figure out what they're really eating." An overly detailed menu would prove too complex for the endeavor. Instead, four options were offered: roasted chicken, Moroccan salmon, filet mignon wrapped in pancetta and "Thai curry" -- the vegetarian dish -- each with a choice of salad and dessert.
Unfortunately, simplicity doesn't mean you won't need a napkin. Just how does a blind dilettante eat filet mignon with a knife and fork? He doesn't. Yes, I struggled fork in hand through my salad with reasonable table etiquette. However, by the time my main entrée appeared, I simply grabbed a hunk of meat and began stuffing it in my mouth. Ms. Grant, hardly the cavewoman type, did the same with her salmon.
Not that anyone cared. "I'm stabbing at air," a woman shouted out, and Mr. Uphues acknowledges that the floor is "kind of dirty" at the end of the night. You'd think this setup would be the perfect formula for broken dishes and glasses. But Mr. Uphues reports that they've broken only one glass -- and that was in the lighted bar.
By the time dessert arrived, I'd shed all pretense and proceeded to slather my probing fingers with the creamy layers of my "lemon cloud" before finishing it off. You end up eating more when you can't see the plate.
Of course, the real lesson is how much you take your ability to see for granted.
Mr. Uphues agrees. "A lot of people think it's just that the food's going to taste different, but it's also all these little details that are so easy for you to do every day that you don't even think about. We're trying to make people understand that life is different and still beautiful if you can't see."
As for the vision-impaired themselves, dark dining is even more powerful. Says Ms. Covarrubias, "I love my job. Because this is something that's letting me share with the world what I'm living. Normally people want to give me everything in my hand and baby me. Now I get to do that for you."
Mr. Cooper is a writer living in Santa Barbara, Calif.
URL for this article: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB113641656074537960.html
