Within seconds after entering Opaque one of my shoelaces became untied, and I was struck with a bout of ambulophobia (the fear of walking). Then, after hobbling to our table in baby steps, and with a quivering grip on my dining companion’s shoulder, I stood paralyzed over my chair for a moment in a state of kathisophobia (the fear of sitting down). Quirky anxieties aside, although reasonably justified, our exhilarating experience of dining in unimaginable pitch darkness had begun.

Opaque renders one’s eyeballs useless the moment a member of its blind wait staff escorts your party, in a human train, from a lighted lobby into a windowless, black hole of a banquet room in the basement of the US Grant Hotel. It’s a concept that entrepreneur Ben Uphues brought to the West Coast from his native Berlin, where he frequented dark-dining events with friends. His original Opaque operates weekly in West Hollywood, a highly successful venture that prompted the recent expansion to San Diego, and will soon be in San Francisco.

Here, the space seats 50 guests every Saturday night, but you’ll need a dolphin’s sense of sonar to determine the place’s size and diagram; we never figured it out amid the rousing chatter from a faceless, full-capacity crowd. As for the presentation of your prix fixé, three-course meal – ordered in the lobby and cooked in the hotel’s lighted main kitchen – it could be pretty, could be not. Aiming your fork from plate to mouth while relying on your remaining senses is what matters most.

In the midst of a slow and circuitous journey to our seats, our blind waitress calmly instructed us to “stay put” before walking away to re-check the exact location of our designated table – a mix up that occurred due to our short-notice reservation. “Oh crap,” I blurted, as we stood there like abandoned children in her brief absence, with our pupils fruitlessly stretched open in search of even the faintest glimmer of light. I desperately wanted to retie my shoe, but I felt too benumbed by the darkness to comfortably bend over.

Once at the table, the waitress urged us to feel the backs of our chairs before aligning our butts to the seats. Landing lights would have been awfully reassuring, but the whole reason behind the dark-dining concept is to enter a blind person’s world and allow your other senses to kick into overdrive. And they did.

While the waitress fetched our drinks, my friend and I established through hand touching that we were indeed seated directly across from each other at a small, round table. We weren’t sure at first. At each place setting was a linen napkin in the center, a heavy fork to the left and (yikes!) a steak knife on the right. Flower petals strewn over the tablecloth provided much-needed comfort when our inquisitive hands discovered them.

A generic glass of wine for my companion and a cold bottle of Heineken placed somewhere under my chin were manageable items to maneuver. Buttering the table bread wasn’t. Confident that I had loaded my knife with a dab of butter and successfully spread it over the slice, the bread went into my mouth dry except for a few embedded olives adding interest. I’m still not sure where the butter went in that initial transport since I came away without any grease stains on my clothing.

Hearts of romaine salads ensued. Frilly to the touch, the lettuce was drizzled with a creamy dressing that smacked of pumpkin spice, giving way to a few unexpected candied walnuts. “It’s great that you don’t have to think about table etiquette here,” my friend expressed coincidentally as I dragged my index finger across the bottom of the plate to lick up the remaining liquid.

Our entrées included three piles of food that required fondling before stabbing our forks and knives into them. We concurrently guessed the fresh vegetables on our plates, a medley of broccoli, cauliflower and jumbo spears of asparagus. I cheated and ate most by hand.

My friend quickly found his citrus-marinated sea bass, saying the filet felt thick, and tasted dry on the outside but moist within. He added that the accompanying herbed risotto was pleasing, although I missed out because the idea of swapping bites in this visionless environment could get as complicated as sharing a pizza while skydiving.

A tender, grilled rosemary chicken breast prevented me from keeping track of some excellent Peruvian mashed potatoes served underneath the meat. The spuds squished from side to side of my plate whenever I applied knife pressure to the chicken. Otherwise, I kept fairly organized by developing a newfangled system of checks and balances based on memory and intuition rather than eyesight.

Did our food taste any different eating as a blind person? My companion was ambivalent, but termed the experience as “a fun adventure.” I believe that my sense of taste was heightened, especially in the beginning of the meal, when whatever went into my mouth rapidly medicated my jitters.

Above all, it’s impossible to come away without forming a deep appreciation for the remarkable capabilities exhibited by the blind wait staff, which Opaque hired from the San Diego Center for the Blind. Throughout the entire dinner our waitress remembered our names and where we were sitting, providing swift plate and silverware replacements while serving larger parties at nearby tables. We on the other hand could not have ventured an inch from our table, or into the outside public for that matter without her expert guidance.

The cost is $99 including tax, which doesn’t include drinks. Reservations are required. 800-710-1270 or visiting www.darkdining.com.