Backstory: Dining in the dark

Without the reserve that seems to come with sight, my neighbor and I get right down to the essentials: Within five minutes, I find out that he is Tim, 30, a finance lawyer, and doesn't like opera or cats. He gingerly pours the water and passes the bread. Across the table, his wife, Rosie emerges, a voice from the dark – she was born in Oxford, is also a finance lawyer, is dining as a birthday surprise, and thinks gardening is a strange hobby. It just so happens that my husband is a lawyer, too, and soon all three are engrossed in patent agreements. Suddenly, I realize one extra benefit of the dark: I yawn, roll my eyes, and prop myself on one elbow. The legal department is none the wiser.

Rebecchi arrives with the first course, but this time he's not letting on what it is. Carefully, I feel for the edges of the plate, then move my fingers inward and feel something hot, squishy, and glutinous. I find a fork and dig in. A strong, sharp taste of pepper greets my tongue, along with something creamy. Risotto, I guess, and it's delicious.

Across the table comes Faux Pas No. 2. A crash. A squeak of chair legs. The sound of fumbling on the floor. "Roberto?" calls that same, familiar voice. "Roberto, I've lost my cutlery. Roberto?"

Dinner progresses. We move on to some sort of spicy grilled thing, with – a wild guess – broccoli tempura. In the dark, your sense of taste is heightened – everything tastes fantastic – but is less successful at liaising with your memory. The identities of certain meal components are, quite literally, on the tip of your tongue.

Conversation, too, takes on a different spin. Barriers are broken, but every small pause in dialogue becomes a gaping hole and supremely awkward. And, apparently, my companion has found that it's easy to get bored in the dark. Faux Pas No. 3: Singing to yourself. People may think you're slightly unhinged. Especially if it's a selection of Broadway show tunes.

Then, the greatest crime of all, Faux Pas No. 4: In that strange, unnatural darkness, blacker than any starless night, a bright white light, as stark and abrasive as a ship's distress flare, suddenly illuminates our corner of the room. Diners gasp. I cringe. My husband is checking his cellphone for text messages.

Within seconds, as if from nowhere, a new voice appears near my shoulder: "You're not just spoiling it for yourself, sir. You're spoiling it for everyone else."

But, as I ponder whether people blush in the dark (along the lines of whether trees falling alone in the forest make a noise), my husband takes it lightly. "I'm fed up," he confides, and I'm sure – though I can't tell – he shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm off to explore."

Faux Pas No. 5: With a rustle of shirt-sleeves, my usually tame, rule-abiding lawyer is gone. At least I think he is, from the bumps, shuffles, and exclamations that seem to follow his progress. I'm left alone with Tim and Rosie to savor what's probably a delicious apple strudel.

It's then, with the heightened sense of hearing that seems to develop in the dark, that I start to hear the same thing happening all across the room: minor rebellions, small infractions. British people, despite their reserve and love of protocol, are breaking the rules. Instead of succumbing to the feeling of helplessness brought on by a plunge into darkness, they're rebelling, asserting their independence.

And showing their own independence, the ultraprofessional waiters of Dans Le Noir are boldly, competently handling the crowd, along with swiftly serving up a piping hot three-course meal. For them, blindness is all in a day's work.

After dinner, we sip coffee in a dim room as our sight readjusts. Thankfully, my husband is back to his usual, well-behaved self, though he confides that during dinner he tasted the wine – to distinguish white from red – straight from the bottle.

Soon, the waiters join us in the lounge. "It's really interesting" to bring people out from the dark after dinner," says Rebecchi. "There's always a sigh of relief; they're glad to be able to see again. It makes them realize just how lucky they are." He grins, "And then they really see the light."

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