O Noir is Old News, or so it seems, and was probably well on its way to obsolescence (or at the very least, kitschy novelty, like that haunted house restaurant) when we dined there a few months ago. Just over a year old, O Noir is a concept restaurant in which patrons are to eat in complete darkness, served by visually-impaired staff. Having begun in Germany in 1999, the concept spread throughout Europe, Australia and the US. Montreal, being a pretty ambitious city in many ways, least of which epicurially, had to follow suit.
Armed with a handful of close friends, my husband and I found ourselves in the reception area of O Noir a few months ago, choosing our meals from the short and unspectacular menu, and talking amongst ourselves. I had read somewhere that this would get to be a loud dining experience, and I could already feel the headache coming on. It's true that when one of our senses is limited in some way, the others will do what they can to compensate, and in this case I think we were speaking louder than we needed to, and hearing more than necessary. Despite incessant shushing from other tables, the dining room did get to be quite loud and even boisterous at times.
After placing our orders and deciding on a bottle of wine, we were introduced to our waiter, a seeing-impaired man by the name of Amaldie. He made us line up at the curtained threshold of the dining room, our left hands placed on the shoulder of the person in front of us, and then led us into a totally black room. It felt eerie and detached, somehow, like being part of a league of the departed, on some sort of deathmarch through Hades. It was an alarming contrast to be led this way into a place typically associated with warmth and comfort.
We were placed gingerly at the table, seated one at a time by being held and guided by Amaldie's hands and soft words--here is your chair, do you feel it? Please sit. I instantly had the urge to map out my surroundings, know its borders with my hands since I could not with my eyes. I felt my plate and my glass and the edge of the table, then across to where my friend Michelle sat. I felt to my left where my husband sat, wanting to know if there was a wall beside him because somehow I sensed that there was. Also I thought I saw the seam of a ceiling above us as we were being led to the table. There was both a wall and a ceiling seam. Knowing this somehow made me feel more secure.
Some of us were having a hard time adjusting to the darkness and were feeling insecure and claustrophobic. A friend of ours complained that his eyes were trying so hard to see that they were giving him a headache. All of us were immersed in the process of acquainting ourselves with the darkness and were talking in exclamations and giggling--our voices had started to develop an almost shrieking quality. Meanwhile the other tables had begun to fill up, and the phantom voices of our neighbours were loud and scared, too.
Each time a waiter would walk by, he'd call out:
ATTENTION!
ATTENTION!
so every now and again there would be a rush of air as someone walked past, and this disembodied warning across the darkness.
After a while we could start to make out other things that were not quite as black as the rest, like the doors to the kitchen, and the doorway to the reception area we had just been brought in from. I could see the shadow of my hand in front of my face, and sometimes even the waiters walking by, which comforted me further.
By the time the food came I was so comfortable and snug, I heartily tucked in with abandon.
First, a piece of almost-warm bread with a little plastic container of butter arrived. We ripped the bread open with our hands, relished the feel of it. The guts of this bread felt wonderful, soft and pillowy and warm. We had a hard time making use of the instruments at our disposal, like knives, so some of us opted to use our fingers instead.
It was a strange thing. The bread was not in any way spectacular but eating it in the dark made it so delicious we could hardly contain ourselves.
The next course was an avocado salad. The avocado felt overripe and mushy and as I ate it I could not help but imagine it being brown and past its prime. The lettuce did not much do more to alleviate this less-than-compelling fantasy, and neither did the taste. In fact, it was quite bland and could have used more acid (lemon maybe?). However, what it lacked in flavour and texture it made up for in fun! Still unable to navigate a fork, I liked to fish around for the icy little wedges of avocado with my fingers and slurp them up with my lips. I passed my bowl around and let people stick their hands in too. Somehow, in the dark with friends, it does not occur to you that almost every finger at the table has been in every mouth and in your food as well.
Armed with a handful of close friends, my husband and I found ourselves in the reception area of O Noir a few months ago, choosing our meals from the short and unspectacular menu, and talking amongst ourselves. I had read somewhere that this would get to be a loud dining experience, and I could already feel the headache coming on. It's true that when one of our senses is limited in some way, the others will do what they can to compensate, and in this case I think we were speaking louder than we needed to, and hearing more than necessary. Despite incessant shushing from other tables, the dining room did get to be quite loud and even boisterous at times.
After placing our orders and deciding on a bottle of wine, we were introduced to our waiter, a seeing-impaired man by the name of Amaldie. He made us line up at the curtained threshold of the dining room, our left hands placed on the shoulder of the person in front of us, and then led us into a totally black room. It felt eerie and detached, somehow, like being part of a league of the departed, on some sort of deathmarch through Hades. It was an alarming contrast to be led this way into a place typically associated with warmth and comfort.
We were placed gingerly at the table, seated one at a time by being held and guided by Amaldie's hands and soft words--here is your chair, do you feel it? Please sit. I instantly had the urge to map out my surroundings, know its borders with my hands since I could not with my eyes. I felt my plate and my glass and the edge of the table, then across to where my friend Michelle sat. I felt to my left where my husband sat, wanting to know if there was a wall beside him because somehow I sensed that there was. Also I thought I saw the seam of a ceiling above us as we were being led to the table. There was both a wall and a ceiling seam. Knowing this somehow made me feel more secure.
Some of us were having a hard time adjusting to the darkness and were feeling insecure and claustrophobic. A friend of ours complained that his eyes were trying so hard to see that they were giving him a headache. All of us were immersed in the process of acquainting ourselves with the darkness and were talking in exclamations and giggling--our voices had started to develop an almost shrieking quality. Meanwhile the other tables had begun to fill up, and the phantom voices of our neighbours were loud and scared, too.
Each time a waiter would walk by, he'd call out:
ATTENTION!
ATTENTION!
so every now and again there would be a rush of air as someone walked past, and this disembodied warning across the darkness.
After a while we could start to make out other things that were not quite as black as the rest, like the doors to the kitchen, and the doorway to the reception area we had just been brought in from. I could see the shadow of my hand in front of my face, and sometimes even the waiters walking by, which comforted me further.
By the time the food came I was so comfortable and snug, I heartily tucked in with abandon.
First, a piece of almost-warm bread with a little plastic container of butter arrived. We ripped the bread open with our hands, relished the feel of it. The guts of this bread felt wonderful, soft and pillowy and warm. We had a hard time making use of the instruments at our disposal, like knives, so some of us opted to use our fingers instead.
It was a strange thing. The bread was not in any way spectacular but eating it in the dark made it so delicious we could hardly contain ourselves.
The next course was an avocado salad. The avocado felt overripe and mushy and as I ate it I could not help but imagine it being brown and past its prime. The lettuce did not much do more to alleviate this less-than-compelling fantasy, and neither did the taste. In fact, it was quite bland and could have used more acid (lemon maybe?). However, what it lacked in flavour and texture it made up for in fun! Still unable to navigate a fork, I liked to fish around for the icy little wedges of avocado with my fingers and slurp them up with my lips. I passed my bowl around and let people stick their hands in too. Somehow, in the dark with friends, it does not occur to you that almost every finger at the table has been in every mouth and in your food as well.
(From Matt: Yes, most of the food was unexceptional, but the grilled octopus salad I had for an appetizer was definitely a standout.)
The main course arrived shortly threreafter. Mine was a plate of tenderloin strips, about an inch thick and three inches long, with a vegetable medley and some boiled potatoes that had been sliced. Some of the meat had been cooked to perfection, but others felt too raw, so I greedily gnawed at the edges of each of these slices like an animal, leaving a mess of half gnawed meat sliced on my plate.
I was disappointed by the accompaniments though. The potatoes were so boring I had to keep myself from falling asleep at the table. And the vegetable medley consisted of frozen, water- logged carrots and other equally atrocious, completely unrecognizable veggies.
Other entrees round the table consisted of pork steak, veal, and chicken florentine I simply didn't have the guts to taste. Call me paranoid, but I like to see my chicken before I eat it.
Dessert was your garden-variety hunk of dark chocolate/raspberry mousse cake, which I gladly slurped up with my fingers, and at one point even bringing the plate up to my mouth and eating face-first. I submit that there is no better way to eat cake.
All in all, I'm glad to have experienced O Noir. The food is nowhere near incentive enough to go back, but it is simply something that must be experienced firsthand. Also, there may never be occasion to eat with such abandon--we ate like there were no rules, no one cared, and no one was looking anyway. Which is my kind of eating.
No comments:
Post a Comment