How Now Blind Cow or Dining in the Non-Light in Zurich

I have come to this Zurich restaurant, with a sighted friend, to see how people react to temporary blindness. Because this is the supposed experience offered by the Blindekuh, a restaurant where people dine in the dark.

At the reception we are asked to give up jackets and handbags, and anything that can trip people up. Also, cellphones, luminous watches, and the like. When asked for my white cane I hesitate, but then, to my surprise, I let it go without a peep.

We linger in the half-light of the ante-room for the eyes of my sighted companion to adapt. Then we thrust our way through the blackout curtain into a starless night.

We make a train and Rita, our blind waitress, steers a perfect course through the table chatter straight to our places. We orientate ourselves for a moment and then sit down side by side, rather than across from each other, and I notice a German-speaking couple to my left, seemingly quite oblivious to our arrival.

When Rita returns, it is to talk about the menu and take our wine order. Three starters, three main courses, and a couple of desserts - keep it simple is the wisdom at work here.

Rita delivers a Swiss red, opens the bottle, and pours a sip to taste. She does this so naturally that it could be a relaxed evening out anywhere. But this is not just anywhere: this is the Blind Cow restaurant where we are playing a kind of blind man's buff.

Our first course is an unconvincing carpaccio. In fact, afterwards my companion insists that it was fish. However, we tackle our main course with relish.

The situation being quite normal for me, my sliced duck with a chutney sauce and basmati rice presents little challenge to knife and fork, although I cheat with the fingers more than usual. The undissected red snapper on my partner's plate is a different story, but with hackings and stabbings she gets through well enough, and without waste on the tablecloth, which earns her my congratulations.

As we eat I listen to the conversation around me. There is no background music, so I can hear across the room. There is a lot of laughter, I notice, but it seems to be the congenial laughter of enjoyment and not people laughing at the situation.

I introduce myself to the person next to me: Sabine is a secretary in the tourism industry and she has found the experience fascinating. But the evening has lasted long enough and she needs to get outside.

Then we come to the only false move of the evening, and it is mine. Rita steps around the table to collect my plate and to be helpful I lift it towards her. The plate is tilted and my fork clatters to the floor. I apologize and Rita gives a little chuckle: it's okay.

As we tuck into our vanilla flan on assorted berries, I share my thoughts. Blind people do not live in darkness. We experience the world through the senses we have, and this does not include sight. To say that dining in the dark simulates blindness is untrue. Perhaps the adventure sensitises people to vision loss, but not to blindness. We are altogether at home in the non-light.

Aptly, the evening ends on a bizarre note. The taxi driver summoned by the restaurant to fetch us has a question to ask, but we cannot understand his German. Apparently he wants to know whether my companion is my guide dog, because he resorts to vigorous barking with a kind of question mark in his voice. And we crack up.

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