Where were you when the lights went out on Dec. 26? If you had just finished dinner, you can count yourself among the lucky. For the rest of us—from what I'm told—the quest for food turned out to be an adventure that led to cold Christmas leftovers, ice cream that would have melted in the freezer overnight or, if you were like me, foolishly risking life and limb heading out into the darkness.

If I thought I would be dining in the dark, I would have simply stayed home. I had read last year of a new restaurant fad, from New York to China, of inviting diners to eat in the dark. To get to their tables, patrons are led by a host in single file, each person's hand on the shoulder of the person in front.

Intriguing, but maybe not for me, I thought at the time. I'm a visual person anyway, so that aspect is as much a part of culinary enjoyment as tasting and smelling the food. Plus, I LIKE to see what I'm eating, just in case there's something on the plate I'd rather avoid. Dining in the dark would involve a lot of trust, and I have a feeling a lot of people have trust issues.

ON THE FRIDAY of the blackout, I arrived home from work at about 6:30 p.m., and although there was plenty of food in the refrigerator, my boyfriend and I decided to head out for a burger at Murphy's Bar & Grill. We were in no rush and started to finish up some chores first.

Our lights went out at 6:45 p.m., and from the base of Alewa Heights, we could see all the lights out around us, but the lights downtown were still on. For some reason, we took that as a cue to leave the house, though just when we were locking up, we saw the lights go out downtown.

We figured if Murphy's were closed, we could always look for something else. The 2-mile drive into town is so short, we thought nothing of what traffic might be like without stoplights, until we had to cross Liliha Street, then figured it might actually be hazardous to cross Vineyard, Beretania and King streets.

It was pretty scary because it was the time people were trying to get home or to events, and many drivers were not in a good mood, seeming to forget the right-of-way rules when it comes to four-way stops. There were no police at the major intersections, though it would have been extremely dangerous for anyone trying to direct traffic in the dark.

The lights were out at Murphy's, but we saw candles glowing on the tables so we went in. Alas, the kitchen was without power, so there was no food to be had. But there were still drinks, so we hung out awhile in case the lights flickered back on, even though I had a feeling they wouldn't be back until morning.

Meanwhile, I was getting hungrier and hungrier, and anyone who knows me knows that's not a good thing. Like a small animal—a Tasmanian devil comes to mind—I must eat often and get really irritable without food to the point where my boyfriend won't even talk to me on the phone if he senses I haven't eaten.

At Murphy's it didn't look as if the lights would be back, so people were starting to head out and staffers decided to close for the night. Taking a chance, we headed to Brasserie du Vin, figuring they'd have bread and cheese at the least.

At both restaurants, patrons simply rolled with the situation, appearing to be cheerful and content, as if they were spending an ordinary Friday night with friends. Darkness and candlelight certainly have their charms, when you're prepared for them. One of my best memories of New Orleans is of visiting Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, a bar with no electricity. At night the interior is pitch black and barely illuminated only by candlelight. The city itself is dark and eerie, and it's pretty easy to see how voodoo and vampire tales might emerge from such a place.

But here the lack of food was an inconvenience. Maybe general manager Jody Jenkins could sense my aggravation because—though he didn't know us and we didn't know him—he went out of his way to let us know that though the menu would be limited, a salad and sliced salami were possibilities. However, they would be able to go into their refrigerator only once to preserve the chill overnight. That was above and beyond, because at that point I would have been happy with bread alone.

I tore into the bread immediately and noticed that dining without sight does sharpen other senses. The olive oil and balsamic vinegar I generally take for granted suddenly demanded attention and awareness of their respective fruitiness and sharpness. Similarly, I could feel the grains of salt as they melted along with buttery mozzarella on my tongue, in a caprese salad, while enjoying every drop of balsamic vinaigrette on a salad that accompanied a sampler of cheeses. Dining blind gave us more time to savor their distinct aromas and textures.

There was something amiss about the salad, so we brought out our flashlight and could see extras of dried cranberries and slices of yellow bell pepper also on the tray that we hadn't seen in the dark. And the strange leaf in the salad was a bay leaf. (Note to restaurateurs: If planning a dark restaurant, keep the kitchen bright.)

I love simple meals like this, though I admit that as a routine they can seem meager without the blockbuster entree. It was amazing how, when forced to focus on aroma and flavors alone, the nuance, character and complexity of these humble foods came shining through.

Happy eating in 2009!