The art of darkness
SIMON DAVISIFUMBLE for the glass and grope for the bottle of claret.
"Just put your finger in until it gets wet," says Susannah kindly. The couple on the nextdoor table giggle but this is serious stuff and my first lesson in being blind.
Last week a snazzy new restaurant opened in Paris called Dans le Noir?
where diners sit in pitch darkness. Not curtains-closed-and- lights-out darkness but absolute, chink-free, coalface, unfathomable, inky-black darkness to which eyes never become accustomed. The only thing you can see are the squiggles that dance on the eyeball under such conditions. It's like dipping your head in a bucket of Quink. The seven waiting staff are registered blind but the Italian chef and kitchen staff are not, which I think is probably for the best to avoid eating a bowl of fingertips.
In the lobby, which is lit, three guide dogs mooch about. There is a stylish mahoganycoloured bar staffed by a pretty girl called Sarah who pours me and the photographer, Paul, a beer, and explains the protocol.
Several other guests are milling around. There is a quiet sense of unease mingled with camaraderie - like a bunch of students waiting to enter the exam hall.
"Please take off anything that produces light, including watches, turn off your mobiles and there's no smoking," says Sarah, pointing at the lockers.
"You may find the first five or 10 minutes quite freaky and claustrophobic," she warns, " but you will get used to it. It is a challenge. It is like learning to eat all over again." She advises against attempting to share food with your dinner date until you are confident with the fork.
She also says sound is amplified in the darkness and therefore, unlike most restaurants, there is no need to shout. And also that one gets more drunk in the dark. I choose the menu surprise and a bottle of red and some water. My dinner companion, photographer-Paul, decides he wants to know what he is eating and goes for the set menu.
Susannah, who is blind, appears from behind a black curtain to greet us. A maitre d' tells her our names and what we have ordered, which she commits to memory. We then form a crocodile with Susannah at the head.
She is now our eyes and our confidence. Each person places their hand on the shoulder of the person in front and we start to move forward.
We shuffle nervously through the black curtain and on through a further curtain until we are inside. The outline of the stranger, whose shoulder I am now gripping, starts to blend with the blackness until it dissolves and I can see nothing. I blink rapidly but to no avail. I am now in a world without shapes and it is quite alarming.
"Turn left," says Susannah's voice from the front and my appreciation of how important this woman is to my enjoyment and safety becomes clear.
There are other voices in the room, chatting and laughing merrily, although I haven't the foggiest idea where they are or what they look like.
Unlike any other restaurant, it occurs to me that this is a space completely devoid of vanity. I wouldn't be surprised if the room were full of people picking their noses, yawning, wearing no makeup, sporting nasty cardigans and eating with their mouths open. All happy as Larry.
Susannah takes my hand and guides me to my seat. I am clinging to her like a child to his mother on his first day of school, but then she is gone. You obviously can't signal to your waiter, so if you want anything you simply call out their name and their voice appears by your ear within a moment. It's like having a panic button.
I feel the table. There is a napkin, quite starchy, two knives and forks and four glasses. They don't bother with a vase of flowers. We are told about the neat trick with the finger in the glass and start pouring wine. Whether it was the one I actually ordered is anyone's guess but it was plummy and comforting.
Communication provides reassurance in absolute darkness and so conversation is fluid. You can't look over the shoulder of the person you are with to check out another table because as far as you're concerned, they don't even have a shoulder, let alone anyone beyond it.
You soon get chatting to voices sitting on tables nearby as all normal inhibitions disappear. After talking for only a minute or so a woman on my left called Sophie tells me she has been a lawyer in Paris for nine years but is frustrated and wishes she could pursue her love of poetry.
We all then guess what each other looks like. Someone thought I had blonde hair and was short. I told one of the voices, which was amusing and rather sexy, that I thought she would look like the actress Emmanuelle Beart. The thing is, under such conditions you can simply imagine what you like about people.
THE other odd thing is that you find yourself reaching out to touch the person who is speaking to you as it's simply too odd talking to a floating voice. If you were on a date it could be a mighty useful icebreaker.
Susannah arrives with the menu surprise. I'm not sure a plate of roasted vegetables qualifies as the world's greatest bolt from the blue but they were tasty enough and it was fun guessing what was what.
I use the cutlery but it is infuriating and I eventually use my hands. I can see why you get more drunk, though. I was loath to put my glass down in case I couldn't find the damn thing.
The main-course "surprise" was tuna on some potatoes and capers. I could tell, by using my hands, that it had been neatly presented, which seemed wonderfully pointless. Like vacuuming the underside of a rug.
I tried to use cutlery again but dropped my fork, so that was that.
Paul had stonking-great gambas (apparently), which, thankfully, had been peeled. The food is good but I'm not sure whether the dark helps focus your sense of smell or taste, which is one of the restaurant's central aims. It's a nice idea but the novelty of the surroundings rather overwhelms the process of eating.
Perhaps with frequent visits this emphasis would shift.
The voices at nearby tables were leaving and we suggested meeting in the foyer to see what we all looked like. Susannah led us into the light.
It took a while to adjust, and as we filed out our faces were scrunched up like hostages released into the midday sun.
The sexy and amusing Emmanuelle Beart-voice had come from a short, rather dumpy girl. I will admit that I wouldn't have given her the time of day, usually. God, we're pathetic sometimes, aren't we? It is perhaps this realisation that is the project's greatest credit. Everyone should go.
. Simon Davis travelled to Paris by Eurostar (08705 186186, www.eurostar.com), current returns from Pounds 59. Dans Le Noir? 51 rue Quimcampoix, 75004 Paris, 00 33 1 42 77 98 04, www.danslenoir.fr. Dinner for two including wine Pounds 50 approx.
Sittings at midday, 8pm and 10pm. The bar, again in pitch blackness, continues until 2am.
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