I must preface this one because some parts will sound mean and pretentious. Liz and I have a lot of fun together. We have always made the best out of a bad situation; found our own way to make it fun and memorable. When we talk about these things to our friends, we use self-deprecating humor, exaggeration, embellishments, and outright lies to make our stories interesting. I just want to make sure you, dear reader, understand that I will not be exaggerating, embellishing, or lying when I tell the story of the date Liz planned for us earlier this week. Anything I say that sounds mean or pretentious is because I am being mean and pretentious. None of this is an act, this is all the godawful truth and me at my most honest.
Bottom Line Up Front: Dining in the dark is a con, and if someone takes you on a dining-in-the-dark date, they probably hate you.
Let’s go back a month. Liz texts me and asks if I have plans for February 7th at 8:30 PM. I check my calendar and notice that’s a Tuesday night so yeah, I’m definitely free. Liz tells me she’s taking me to a surprise early birthday dinner so keep that date open. I reply, “ok, sounds great,” but in my mind, I’m already wondering, “What the hell kind of dinner needs to be reserved a month out…on a Tuesday…at 8:30 PM?” I think this could be some Michelin-starred, hottest restaurant in the area, but then I realized Liz specifically says this is in Arlington, an area where you can get a day-of reservation for most restaurants, no matter the day.
And now my anxiety starts to creep in, and I need to know what we’re doing. So I start guessing…
Question: Is it a concert?
Answer: Nope!
Question: A class?
Answer: Nu-uh.
Question: …murder mystery dinner?
Answer: Haha, nope!
Liz is not realizing that the situation is turning bleak, causing my anxiety to climb to 100.
After a month of guessing I finally get to “dining in the dark,” a phenomenon that I knew about and I remember Liz talking about at one point (or we both overheard someone talking about it?). So now, at least, I can prepare myself.
I was not prepared.
First off, when we go out we need to get respite care for MiL. Respite care is provided by Medicaid, so as I explain the details of this date I want you to know that your tax dollars partially funded this monstrosity.
(Ok, I feel a little bad about that one but it’s a good joke so I’m keeping it. Respite care is necessary, and you won’t know until you’re the primary caregiver for someone who has round-the-clock needs.)
Our caregiver was going to show up at 6 PM, so we decided to start our date at 6 PM. Remember, our reservation was at 8:30 PM. Also Liz and I are pretty dry right now, so we weren’t going to go to a bar and pregame. We went to the Board Room in Clarendon and played some games before walking to the Barnes & Nobles, a true sign of a date with time to kill, and then walked to Circa where we had some NA cocktails, before finally ending up at AmBar where the Dining in the Dark event was being held. Even with all of that we were still thirty minutes early. At this point, we said, “To hell with going dry,” and ordered some real cocktails, our first of the year.
They seated us at around 9 PM. This is for dinner. On a Tuesday. There’s just a group of folks sitting in the basement of AmBar, munching on the bread they gave us to tide us over. At 9 PM. On a Tuesday.
At around 9:15 PM, the MC grabbed a microphone and introduced the “experience.” She started by telling us that they were going to dim the lights and we were going to put on blindfolds. She then started to get into the food, itself, and she quickly let us know that this was her first time hosting, and boy, was it obvious. Look, she seemed really nice, but if you’re going to sell, “Eating while blindfolded with knives and glasses,” I want the host to be the most confident person I’ve ever met.
So what’s the point of wearing blindfolds? You see, by blinding ourselves we’re supposed to have heightened taste and smell senses. As if we become Daredevil. It’s scientifically incorrect and, also, kind of insulting to the actual blind community.
At this point, I looked right into Liz’s eyes and said, “You did this.”
We put on our blindfolds and it was time for the first course. There were three tracts - meat, pescetarian, and vegetarian. We took the pescatarian tract. The first course comes out, I feel around and realize it’s a bowl, put my hand in and realize it's a wet salad, and grab my fork to try and poke around.
By the way, a question I love to ask a group for the purpose of chaos is, “Would you rather give up wet foods or dry foods?” The chaos erupts when everyone realizes they have different definitions of “wet foods” and “dry foods.”
Also, by the way, you shouldn’t eat with a fork when you’re blindfolded.
I take a bite of the salad. Some mixed greens, lots of vinaigrette. I take a second bite - could be apple, could be radish - can’t tell because of the vinaigrette. At this point, I hear Liz say, “Oh no, it’s a bullshit salad.” I respond, “You did this.” It’s at this moment we realize the food is going to be worse than the experience, and whatever we say about it is going to be heard by everyone around us. And we know we’ll be heard because Liz and I both hear the guy next to us say, “Oh my god, this is so good.”
Do you remember that episode of The Simpsons when the world was ending and Homer got a spot on one of the two rockets that were going to carry folks to safety, but he looks around and realizes he’s not sitting with the best specimens the human race has to offer, and it turns out his rocket is gonna be launched into the sun? That was what it was like hearing the guy next to me comment on how good his store-bought vinaigrette was.
The host then asked people what they thought they ate. What a flex, man, let me tell you. I ate acid. I didn’t say that out loud, but I ate distilled acid flavor with a bit of a leafy texture. Liz whispers, “We ate a conference salad.” I respond, “You did this.”
Second course - two grilled shrimp over creamed corn. With vinegar. 98% acid, 2% sweet. When the server asked what the vegetarians thought they ate there was a single small voice from the corner of the room that said, “I don’t know…eggplant?” I had to laugh, causing Liz to laugh because it’s just…look at us. Look at our food culture. The rest of the world has incredible street food, we got blindfolds and maybe eggplant. I whispered over to Liz, “You. Did. This.”
Third course - I take a bite and say, “Oh, it’s overcooked fish,” because it was overcooked fish. Liz adds, “Over…potato salad?” because it was over potato salad. I respond, “You did this.”
When the host asks us what the pescatarians thought they ate one guest, god bless this man, says, “Fish and potato salad.”
When the host says, “You all ate pan-seared trout over fingerling potatoes with dill and vinegar,” the same voice, god bless this man, says, “That’s fish and potato salad!”
At this point, I took off my blindfold because I needed to use the restroom. The table was covered in oily greens, creamed corn, and potato salad. Seriously, for real, why wouldn’t this be done with finger food? Have you ever tried to eat a salad with your eyes closed? Creamed corn with a fork? Go ahead and do it - it is impossibly messy.
The fourth course was baklava. It was good, and probably the only thing that was actually produced by AmBar chefs off of their menu.
The dinner was over by around, I don’t know, 3 AM? Liz and I got an Uber to take us home, laughing at the whole experience while waiting for our car to show up. We continued to make fun of the experience in the car and, finally, the Uber driver joined in. He told us, “I’m a big food guy,” and we said, “Yeah, we love food too,” and he said, “Guy Fiari is my favorite. The Triple D? He went to Metro 29 diner and I was so excited! I go there all the time now!”
I can feel Liz’s fingers digging into my hand at this point and it’s not that the dude was a Guy Fieri fan…well, it is exactly that. But I like Guy, too! I love how he embraces trash food and I also embrace trash food I can go on for hours about my favorite diners and cereals and packaged snacks - it’s just in this moment, following this experience, to have our Uber driver amping Guy Fieri was a goddamn fever dream.
By the way, the company that did the Dining in the Dark “experience” was called Fever.
As we exited the Uber, I turned to Liz, hugged her, and whispered in her ear, “You did this.”