Orange County "Dining In The Dark" Event - PART 3 of 3

Our server, a visually-impaired woman named Linda, introduced herself to everyone. And while I waited for the lights to come down again, I shut my eyes and practiced reaching out for my fork and my water glass.

Then it began. The room went dark. This time for a whole hour. For the first few minutes, it was disorienting and uncomfortable. I had this irrational fear that I was going to be hit square in the nose by something. Thankfully, it passed.

Almost immediately, my ears perked up to the goings on around me. Voices became clearer. I noted to myself that without the need for eye contact or being self-concious of one's own appearance, conversation seemed to flow freer -- the kind of comfortable back and forth you'd have talking to someone over the phone when you're in your pajamas.

Added to that, I noticed things I hadn't noticed before. I took another sip of water and realized that that wasn't a lemon slice in the glass, it was an orange.

When our server came around with our food, she did it play-by-play. "I'm coming from your left and I'm putting the plate down now."

I took a fork and started prodding the plate, to get a lay of the land, letting my utensil do some groping. I chuckled to myself. Doing it seemed kind of obscene and wrong, like I was violating the food's civil right to privacy.

I decide that I've found the perfect spot on my plate to start. I applied gentle pressure to my fork and felt the tangs pierce something firm and springy. With my face hunched directly over the plate, I guided whatever it was speared on the other end into my mouth. It was chicken. Mushy, breaded chicken soaked slightly in a light picatta sauce, tasting very much like...well, hotel food.

Since it was precut, I didn't need to find my knife, but the piece was still large enough that I couldn't avoid getting sauce on my upper lip. Instinctively, I wiped my mouth with a napkin. But when every piece of food I ate afterward required me to mack with it, I abandoned table etiquette until I decided I was finished.

I raked the plate and found what initially felt like rice pilaf and mushrooms cut into a small dice. Later, I find out it's orzo pasta. Figures. I'd mistake the two even if I were able to see them. Then there was a steamed carrot, an item that everyone identified almost immediately.

My date remarked that this was the ultimate in guilt-free eating. "No one to see you pig out!" she squealed.

Somewhere in the room, we hear someone dropping an entire tray of food. Laughter and applause ensued.

When the hour was up, the lights were abruptly switched on, eliciting a sigh from the crowd -- either from relief or from disappointment that it was over.

Me, I was relieved, but not without realizing how much we take our sense of sight for granted, and being thankful that there are organizations like the Foundation Fighting Blindness looking out for it.

I looked down and saw the remnants of my dinner: A lonely piece of chicken, some scattered grains of orzo, and a half-eaten carrot that I had given up on thirty minutes earlier.

My date's plate was spotless.