Eating in the dark...
Dunc and I have just returned from the Prague restaurant 'Under the Wing of Darkness' - advertised as the next in series of 'dark restuarants' to crop up throughout Europe. The concept is simple enough: A typical restaurant serves typical restaurant meals, but the setting is one of complete and utter darkness. The first of its kind opened in Zurich and employed staff who almost exclusively consisted of those with severe vision impairments. Since then, similar restaurants have been cropping up throughout Europe... I'm not sure if there are any in Aus yet, but there sure as hell should be.
I was particularly excited about going to this restaurant for one sole fact: I would be able to eat with my fingers, freely, and without fear of ridicule. I have, on numerous occasions, found myself in debates over this - Food should be enjoyed with as many senses as possible, I argue, and removing the tactile experience is simply ridiculous. My sister and father have both been known to ridicule me (possibly quite rightly) for my desire to eat even yoghurt with my fingers. In fact, I noticed this morning even that I was scooping the foam off the top of my coffee with my finger, ignoring the spoon completely.
Quite unexpectedly, the whole experience at this restaurant was revelationary for me.
Firstly, we were asked to place any possible light-producing objects into a locker (things such as mobile phones, digital watches, our laptop, etc) and we were given a very strict set of instructions:
1. The table is set in the same fashion as any other restaurant table would be, with glasses, knives, et cetera. So be careful.
2. Your waitress for the evening is Monica. You must remember her name, as you will need to call out for her is you require her assistance at any time.
3. Remember to be careful.
4. When you move through the restaurant, you must make a train - your right hand placed on the right shoulder of the person in front of you. Do not vary from this at any time.
5. Don't forget, you must be careful.
We arrived and were given the option of a variety of set menus, and, naturally, we chose the 'Veil of Mystery' menu, where you had to guess what it was that was placed in front of you. We were then taken into a room that could perhaps be described as a Transition Room, where the lights were very dim and we were again reminded to be careful. We were then escorted through a door and into such incredible darkness - the kind of darkness where you could wave your hand in front of your face and not notice any change. Monica was waiting, introduced herself, and our train departed for our table, where we cautiously sat and gently made ourselved familiar with the place setting, attempting not to knock over or break anything within our first minute.
Monica first delivered our jug of water and bottle of wine, being sure to explain at all times where she was and taking our hands to guide us to the vessel. Quite horrifyingly, though, we were left with the bottle and jug and our glasses, and left to fend for ourselves. So the adventure begun, using fingers to approximate a desired level of fluid.
Each time our empty plates were cleared, Monica would ask us what it was that we thought we had eaten. Most times we were right, but in one particularly comfronting moment, the meat that I was certain was chicken, actually turned out to be beef. However this is possible, I will never understand.
So. My revelations.
1. We couldn't take a photo of this experience. We just had to experience it and remember it. This was a little strange for us, as we are very much the 'visual diary' types.
2. I realised that so much of my life I am, to some degree, conscious of the fact that people may be looking at me. And so, when there played some particular music that I enjoyed, I swayed around and danced in my seat a little, without any fear of ridicule. At one point I licked my plate just because I could. And because I wanted to. So why not? No one was watching, anyhow.
3. There was half an hour of live entertainment (though how can we really know? It could have just been a recording with well timed spoken introductions to songs...), and at some point, the guy began to play 'Bridge Over Troubled Water', sounding very similar to the original, except for the occasional revealing accent. This song was played at the funeral of a very good friend of mine and her mother when I was nineteen years old, and I remember watching her father walking up to the coffin at this point, and the sheer agony of the moment. And instead of just trying to distract myself, as I would usually do when this ubiquitous song is heard, I just sat there and held my husband's hand and cried soundlessly. I did not feel any shame, as I would have if there was light, and I realised that there was no need for me to try to keep it in. So I didn't, and it was bloody great. The song ended, we clapped, and things moved on just a little bit more.
4. It doesn't take much red wine to make me tipsy! You know that horrible point where you lie down to go to sleep and realise you simply have to sit up and reorientate yourself, or your dizziness might cause some terrible accident? Well there was no possible way to orientate yourself in such complete darkness, and I realised that after two sizeable glasses of wine, I had had enough to make me feel a little disoriented in the setting. Would it have been light, I doubt I would have noticed.
5. Monica was completely blind. I have worked for years with people with disabilities, and studied occupational therapy for a while, but when we emerged from the darkness, I was surprised by how quickly I realised that I would never have felt so comfrotable with her, joking around and being generally silly, clumsy idiots, if I had been aware of what she looked like. In this way, it felt as though sight was somehow disabling me. Once I saw her, I began to realise how important such a place is for her and other people in similar 'situations', and began to forget about the hilarious, sarcastic and completely personable woman who really enhanced our evening.
If you ever get the chance, do it. Sure, it completely blew our daily and weekly budget out of the water, but who cares. It was bloody brilliant.
I was particularly excited about going to this restaurant for one sole fact: I would be able to eat with my fingers, freely, and without fear of ridicule. I have, on numerous occasions, found myself in debates over this - Food should be enjoyed with as many senses as possible, I argue, and removing the tactile experience is simply ridiculous. My sister and father have both been known to ridicule me (possibly quite rightly) for my desire to eat even yoghurt with my fingers. In fact, I noticed this morning even that I was scooping the foam off the top of my coffee with my finger, ignoring the spoon completely.
Quite unexpectedly, the whole experience at this restaurant was revelationary for me.
Firstly, we were asked to place any possible light-producing objects into a locker (things such as mobile phones, digital watches, our laptop, etc) and we were given a very strict set of instructions:
1. The table is set in the same fashion as any other restaurant table would be, with glasses, knives, et cetera. So be careful.
2. Your waitress for the evening is Monica. You must remember her name, as you will need to call out for her is you require her assistance at any time.
3. Remember to be careful.
4. When you move through the restaurant, you must make a train - your right hand placed on the right shoulder of the person in front of you. Do not vary from this at any time.
5. Don't forget, you must be careful.
We arrived and were given the option of a variety of set menus, and, naturally, we chose the 'Veil of Mystery' menu, where you had to guess what it was that was placed in front of you. We were then taken into a room that could perhaps be described as a Transition Room, where the lights were very dim and we were again reminded to be careful. We were then escorted through a door and into such incredible darkness - the kind of darkness where you could wave your hand in front of your face and not notice any change. Monica was waiting, introduced herself, and our train departed for our table, where we cautiously sat and gently made ourselved familiar with the place setting, attempting not to knock over or break anything within our first minute.
Monica first delivered our jug of water and bottle of wine, being sure to explain at all times where she was and taking our hands to guide us to the vessel. Quite horrifyingly, though, we were left with the bottle and jug and our glasses, and left to fend for ourselves. So the adventure begun, using fingers to approximate a desired level of fluid.
Each time our empty plates were cleared, Monica would ask us what it was that we thought we had eaten. Most times we were right, but in one particularly comfronting moment, the meat that I was certain was chicken, actually turned out to be beef. However this is possible, I will never understand.
So. My revelations.
1. We couldn't take a photo of this experience. We just had to experience it and remember it. This was a little strange for us, as we are very much the 'visual diary' types.
2. I realised that so much of my life I am, to some degree, conscious of the fact that people may be looking at me. And so, when there played some particular music that I enjoyed, I swayed around and danced in my seat a little, without any fear of ridicule. At one point I licked my plate just because I could. And because I wanted to. So why not? No one was watching, anyhow.
3. There was half an hour of live entertainment (though how can we really know? It could have just been a recording with well timed spoken introductions to songs...), and at some point, the guy began to play 'Bridge Over Troubled Water', sounding very similar to the original, except for the occasional revealing accent. This song was played at the funeral of a very good friend of mine and her mother when I was nineteen years old, and I remember watching her father walking up to the coffin at this point, and the sheer agony of the moment. And instead of just trying to distract myself, as I would usually do when this ubiquitous song is heard, I just sat there and held my husband's hand and cried soundlessly. I did not feel any shame, as I would have if there was light, and I realised that there was no need for me to try to keep it in. So I didn't, and it was bloody great. The song ended, we clapped, and things moved on just a little bit more.
4. It doesn't take much red wine to make me tipsy! You know that horrible point where you lie down to go to sleep and realise you simply have to sit up and reorientate yourself, or your dizziness might cause some terrible accident? Well there was no possible way to orientate yourself in such complete darkness, and I realised that after two sizeable glasses of wine, I had had enough to make me feel a little disoriented in the setting. Would it have been light, I doubt I would have noticed.
5. Monica was completely blind. I have worked for years with people with disabilities, and studied occupational therapy for a while, but when we emerged from the darkness, I was surprised by how quickly I realised that I would never have felt so comfrotable with her, joking around and being generally silly, clumsy idiots, if I had been aware of what she looked like. In this way, it felt as though sight was somehow disabling me. Once I saw her, I began to realise how important such a place is for her and other people in similar 'situations', and began to forget about the hilarious, sarcastic and completely personable woman who really enhanced our evening.
If you ever get the chance, do it. Sure, it completely blew our daily and weekly budget out of the water, but who cares. It was bloody brilliant.