There is a very unusual restaurant in Paris called Dans le Noir? (or In the Dark?) in the Marais district. The whole point of eating there is to alter your senses and your sensibilities. You and your companions eat in darkness and are served by blind waiters.
When I placed my hand on the shoulder of Magid, our blind waiter, and he led us through one, two, three heavy curtains into the coffin-dark dining room, I knew that this meal would be otherworldly. After Magid lowered me into my chair as carefully as a blind man can lower a woman who is no longer in her cat-like prime, I sat there, feeling the blackness like a weight, the sound of cheery diners all around me.
We had ordered the menu surprise, which was also accompanied by a surprise wine. My companion, Doug, quickly mastered the task of pouring the wine by sticking his finger in the glass. For anyone mildly claustrophobic like me, the darkness felt too much like an ever-shrinking casket. All around us, people were laughing.
A clatter behind me indicated our food had arrived. "Do you know what it is?" whispered Doug, who sounded like he was clear-cutting with his knife. "Um, meat," I offered.
We sped through our meal, which was quite delicious. The first course, which I'd foolishly plunged my fingers in, was Foie Gras, we found out later. The meat was indeed meat stew, the famous French dish called Blanquettes de Veau.
I called to Magid, who seemed amused that we had eaten so quickly. He led us out through the curtains, pulling the final one back so we could step through. In French, he said, "And there's the light."