A Blind Husband and Sighted Wife at a ‘Dine in the Dark’ Restaurant
Our experience at Montreal's Onoir
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Sometime in the 90’s, a Swiss pastor named Jorge Spielmann started inviting people over to his house to dine blindfolded. Jorge was blind, and he wanted to give sighted people the chance to exercise empathy for blind people.
This is a terrible idea. Putting on a blindfold is not anything like being blind. It is like going blind. It simulates the very first moments of blindness. That is not my experience. I do not wake up every morning and go, “OH NO! I’VE LOST MY VISION!!!” and tell my wife she must immediately take me to the emergency room. No, my mornings are mostly the same as yours (unless you’re a morning person, in which case you’re a monster and we are not the same). But you are not able to experience how similar our mornings are. You can’t put a blindfold on when you wake up and have a routine, uninteresting, blind morning. That takes practice. Within about a minute, you will be tripping head over heels into your bathtub yelling “I give up!”
Anyway, later, Pastor Jorge leveled up his little project. He opened a restaurant to turn what he was doing at home into a business and employ blind waiters. Now this move I respect. We constantly deal with sighted people’s ignorance about how our lives work. Might as well make some “novel experience” money off it. Several places across the globe later copied the idea, some with blindfolded customers, some with pitch-black dining rooms. None are near me.
There is, however, one in that little corner of the Great White North that insists English is for peons. That’s right, I’m talking about Quebec, a place I, a peon, visit frequently because it’s where my wife’s family lives. The restaurant is in Montreal, and it’s called Onoir, a purposeful misspelling of the French phrase meaning “in the dark.” It’s the pitch-black-dining-room variety.
My wife, Gabrielle, and I first went about ten years ago, but I didn’t remember much from that trip (certainly not enough to write about it). Though I did remember one detail from when Gabrielle’s mom and brother went a few weeks after us. It was her brother recounting with indignance that he discovered his mom quietly stealing his food in the dark because she liked it better than hers.
One evening this summer, Gabrielle and I returned.
The restaurant is in a different location now with notable changes. As we arrived, Gabrielle told me there was an outdoor dining area which seemed to me like it would be less dark because of the sun. She also said the waiters serving those tables were attractive in the way front-of-house staff always are, presumably a less important hiring qualification for the dark room. But the thing that got me was the waiters outside were not blind. Most restaurants would claim blind people can’t be waiters. But I think we can all understand why this particular restaurant would have credibility issues making that argument.
We entered, getting a menu and ordering before heading into the darkness. There were lockers to store our things. Not because, in the dark, someone might treat a stranger’s purse the way my mother-in-law treated her son’s food. But because you might leave something on the floor that could make a waiter stumble and throw soup in your face.
Our blind waiter, Anna (not her real name), appeared and explained the three of us would be walking carefully into the dining room in a little train holding the shoulders of the person ahead. I followed instructions and grabbed Gabrielle’s shoulder before thinking, “Wait, what am I doing?” I let go and walked normally with my white cane.
We entered a small darkened room, passed between blackout curtains, and then went through another door to the dining room. Underfoot, I felt carpeting between the tables with raised lips on the edges. The floor under the tables and chairs was bare. It was a tactile guide for the feet of blind waiters with hands full of dishes. Anna told us she would be back with our drinks soon. In the meantime, we could call her name loudly If we needed anything, like assistance finding the lit bathroom (that’s a bathroom with light, not an awesome bathroom). I was disappointed to learn they compromise the authenticity of the blind experience by not making sighted people pee in the dark.
The room was not large; I guessed 12 or 15 tables. There was music playing quietly for obvious reasons, and I could hear our neighbors’ conversations. They sounded surprisingly normal. Nobody was talking about the darkness. This had to be at least a partial front, but I appreciated it nonetheless. I would not have enjoyed a whole meal surrounded by people exclaiming things like, “I just don’t know how blind people do it!”
While I calmly took in my surroundings, Gabrielle was in a minor panic. She said those first moments were uncomfortable and disorienting. Her first instinct was to close her eyes, reasoning, she told me, “You can’t do anything to me I won’t do to myself.” We laughed. I didn’t know who “you” was, but I hoped they had been put in their place. And the tactic did in fact settle her down.
The food started coming. The rolls were excellent, as were the appetizers—a quiche for Gabrielle and burrata toast for me. The cocktails were watered-down, but the house amber was great. For a main course, Gabrielle had duck with some potatoes, veggies, and an apricot sauce.
“Now this will be the real test,” she said.
I asked why. Because now there were multiple things on the plate she would have to locate and cut. Plus, the sauce was on the side. Dipping proved to be the most frustrating part. She loved the sauce, but couldn’t always find it. I, naturally, had no trouble winding my fettuccine with pork belly around my fork. Unfortunately, it sounded more interesting than it tasted. Dessert was great, though Gabrielle’s matcha green tea lava cake beat my cheese cake. She definitely won ordering.
Blind people do not cook the food. From what I’ve found online, that’s the norm at these places. It seems odd. The mission is raising awareness about blindness and providing jobs for blind people, but they’re acting like we can’t cook. We can, in fact. I am the primary cook at home. And there are blind professional chefs. But go to the FAQ section of another dining in the dark restaurant called Noir (a lot of these places have less-than-original names), and you will find this little gem:
Q: “Are the chefs blind/visually impaired?”
A: “No, our chefs are not blind or visually impaired. The kitchen is well lit to ensure only the highest quality ingredients and industry standard preparation techniques are used.”
The message is clear: a kitchen with even a single blind cook in it cannot “ensure only the highest quality ingredients and industry standard preparation techniques are used.” And you only publish this FAQ if you imagine your customers will be afraid of blind chefs bumbling around the kitchen pouring Lysol into the stew instead of vinegar. I’d honestly prefer if Noir didn’t beat around the bush here.
Q: Are the chefs blind/visually impaired?
A: No no no no no! They can all see, we swear! We would not let blind people go Mr. Magooing around our kitchen. Blind chefs… lol
Before dessert, Gabrielle had to use the restroom, but didn’t want to call Anna’s name out loud per instructions. She tried to psych herself up. I noted that I could guide her back to the door myself. But I knew better than to disrupt the process. Getting through the day without frustration as a blind person is all about planning, routines, and organization. I wasn’t about to give Anna the headache of runaway customers.
Eventually, Gabrielle worked up the courage to say “Anna?” It was no louder than she was speaking to me. We laughed again. She then turned up the volume ever so slightly. But that was enough for Anna. I’m guessing keeping an ear out for timid customers with full bladders is a regular part of her job.
At the end of the meal, Anna showed us back out into the light and said goodbye. She was kind, hospitable, and professional throughout. It made me feel a bitter sweet pride. Blind people often evaluate other blind people on how they represent us to sighted people. It’s a sort of blind respectability politics. I have no interest in doing that. At the same time, these places exist specifically for sighted people to pay attention to us in ways they normally don’t. Customers will, consciously or not, judge the waiters, and then form opinions about blind people as a whole. There’s no escaping it. I’m sure Anna knows the weight she’s carrying, and she carries it with grace.
We said goodbye to the sighted staff on our way out. Several seconds later, the maître D’ came running after us.
“Excuse me, I am so sorry, but you have forgotten to pay,” he said deferentially.
They told us you pay outside after leaving the dark room. But you can’t just change the script of a restaurant meal and expect everyone to remember. You pay, then get up from the table. Not the other way around. The waiter at the register told us guests walk out without paying a couple times a night. She said, sounding embarrassed, she found it terribly awkward to go after them. Occasionally, they get all the way home, and call to give credit card information. The number of people who have dined and dashed without ever realizing has to be a lot more than zero. There are simple fixes here. Have the blind waiters remind people as they’re leaving. Or put up a sign. I hear sighted people find those helpful.
It was a lovely, warm night as Gabrielle and I walked hand-in-hand through a park back to the metro. Lots of people were out, and in good spirits. Montreal is lovely in summer. It’s death in winter, but you probably don’t have family to visit there during the holidays, so you can go when it’s nice.
Despite all my criticisms, I’d say it’s worth visiting Onoir while you’re there. It’s certainly a rare experience, and it will get you thinking outside the box about blind people. Not as far outside as I’d like, but outside nonetheless. And they’re employing blind people. That’s great in itself because our employment numbers are abysmal. But they’re also giving us jobs we don’t usually get, which is worth supporting. Plus, now you know things to order, and avoid, to have a great meal. Just, for the sake of the sheepish, Canadian waiters, please remember to pay.