Dans le Noir?

Bronze Award

SquareMeal Review of Dans le Noir?

Bronze Award

You might have heard about Dans le Noir as a rather abstract concept from the Richard Curtis film ‘About Time’ but nothing can quite prepare you for the complete sensory experience of dining in the dark. From the outside, it’s nothing special, and could easily be missed. Yet, inside, it’s an experience like no other.

Phones get locked away as soon as we arrive, and we take a seat at the bar. Now is the time to order any potential drinks, as you won’t get the chance to look at the menu later on. We opt for wine pairings, although what they’re going to be paired with remains a mystery. There’s a rhythm and routine that we become accustomed to as diners, but Dans le Noir plays by its own rules.

Now the fun really begins. The waiters here are blind, and we follow, conga-style, into the dining room, plunged into darkness as the door closes behind us. We can only imagine what it looks like, relying on our, admittedly lacking, senses to try and get a feel for the room. This unusual experience creates a communal feel, finding solace in our fellow diners as we stumble to adapt to this new environment together, appreciating the bubbly personality of our waitress who instantly sets us at ease.

We frantically struggle to pour our own glasses of water - naturally the table is soaked - and we’re not convinced we know what we’re eating, but there are other difficulties we never could have imagined. Depth perception is immediately out the window and eating feels rather disjointed, as we stab at our plates, eating dishes bit by bit rather than as an ensemble.

There’s nothing particularly memorable about the food, but it’s enjoyable enough. Dishes play with texture, from vanilla rice paper and chocolate crisps in an avocado millefeuille to a crisp chicken skin in a rich mushroom sauce. A swordfish fillet is delightfully infused with a citrus marinade, but the mashed potatoes and veggies that come alongside our main feel a bit lifeless.

Dans le Noir is perhaps not the place to go to for fine dining, and we’d probably not recommend this for a first date, but it’s the kind of experience that we believe everyone should have on their bucket list.


Good to know

Average Price
££££ - £50 - £79
Cool, Fun
Food Hygiene Rating

Dans le Noir? is featured in


69-72 St John Street, Clerkenwell, London, EC1M 4AN

020 7253 1100 020 7253 1100


Opening Times

Mon-Sat 7pm-11pm


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2 Reviews 

Le T

24 November 2013  
Food & Drink 1.5
Service 1
Atmosphere 1
Value 0.5
Cold experience
I went here for the experience. An experience I would not like to be put through again. Apart from the waitress, our experience was pretty bad. The food was luke warm and the day we went, the heating had broken so we were sitting in a dark cold room which felt like a cold cellar. We asked about the heating but was told it will get warmer when more customers arrive. The whole time we were cold so could not enjoy the evening. When I informed the manager of our cold food he just said its for health/safety reasons that it is luke warm, Thats pretty pathetic. Food was mediocre, not worth it at all. The main was ok (3 meats dish) but the dessert (lemon curd like thing was bad).

Emily W

09 August 2009  
Food & Drink 4.5
Service 3.5
Atmosphere 3.5
Value 3
Now, it’s not often that you find yourself partaking in a conga line at the beginning of an evening’s entertainment – normally that curious pleasure is reserved solely for the initiation of drunken uncles once things are well underway – but then this was no ordinary night out. So it came to pass that my companion and I were instructed to form an orderly queue with eight other diners, each placing our right hand on the right shoulder of the person in front. There was a sudden burst of excitement at the front of the queue, and we were introduced to Cyril, our waiter for the evening. In we charged, to the depths of the Dans Le Noir? building, down a ramp, through some heavy curtains – and into the darkest space I’ve ever been in, even when I only had amniotic fluid as a friend. Your eyes just don’t adjust. You become disorientated and the room seems cavernous, with voices and the jangling of fork to plate coming at you from all angles. I’m assured the room seats 60 diners, but when you’re in there you have no idea of the size, scale or layout. Which is why it makes sense that Cyril is blind. Before descending into the dining room you’re given the option of four menus: red, green, blue and white – meat, veggie, fish and specials respectively. Being something of a fish fiend, I went blue, while my companion was feeling experimental and opted for white. To accompany, we’d have the special surprise wine, I declared. Which leads me to my first question: have you ever tried pouring yourself a glass of vino in the dark? The more hardened among you will know that it’s actually fairly simple – feel for your glass, pop a finger in, pour s-l-o-w-l-y and stop when your pinkie gets wet. Easy. Using a knife and fork in zero visibility? Not so much. When my starter arrived – huge pan-fried scallops and haddock fishcakes – I approached in the only way I knew how, desperately clutching my cutlery and hoping for the best. Having successfully speared a scallop, ascertained that that was indeed what it was, and sliced some off, I realised that the whole charade was pointless. My sliver of scallop was lost in the tumult of my plate. “I’m eating with my hands!” declared my neighbour, Francine from Hornchurch. And so we flouted social convention and laughed in the face of polite society, picking up our food and gnawing on it in true caveman style. From my initial trepidation, by this point I’d begun to relax. It’s easy to see how someone with claustrophobia might make a bolt for the door, but with Francine and her boyfriend Dave for company – “Everything tastes like melon!” – my companion and I didn’t have much time for staring into the abyss or being perplexed by the fact that if you closed your eyes, everything looked the same. And the food! Oh, the food. My main course was as hearty and succulent as the first, with Mozambique prawns the size of John Merrick’s head, some other fish – possibly bream – creamy mashed potato and a cabbage, celeriac and fennel salad. And my companion, usually a fussy-eater, wolfed down his unbelievably tender Ostrich steak quicker than you could say, er, ‘squark’. Incidentally, they do let you look at the menu on the way out to discover exactly what you’ve consumed, but I think it’s a real oversight not to give diners printouts to take home. As I’ve just illustrated, it’s difficult to remember the nuances of a three-course dinner after a brief glance at the menu when you’re hopping on the beer scooter in your wine gilet. The pudding was possibly the only other disappointment of the evening. A trio of desserts, it consisted of a chocolate truffle, berry sorbet and melon jelly. Regardless of what menu you’d chosen, all diners got the same final dish and it was… mediocre. And for the price, you expect more than mediocre. Luckily for me, my companion was footing the bill.
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