I suppose a fork is out of the question?
By Jonathan Green The Observer

As we hold hands, her nails dig into my fingers with such force I am sure I'm bleeding. I can't be certain as it's too dark to see in front of my hands. I am on a blind date in the basement of a Lower East Side restaurant in complete darkness, trying out New York's latest singles-night-dining in the dark. Fans claim they do it to deprive one sense and heighten another: taste.

But it has a different effect on my blind date.Even before the first course arrives, Justine, a Wall Street banker, has launched into her near-death experience on 9/11. 'I don't know why I'm telling you this as I haven't told anyone, it must be the darkness...' And then with the pop of a camera flash, our faces are briefly lit, and while I had been straining forward to hear, my face is now staring at her cleavage. I try to look apologetic but then we are plunged into darkness again.

There is now an awkward silence. I hadn't known what to expect when I was asked to the first singles night at the chic Spanish restaurant, Suba. But how could I refuse the offer of having the ultimate blind date?

Suba's owner Yann de Rochefort believes in stimulating all the senses: 'The idea is to really experience what you are eating by removing one of your senses - sight.' He smiles. 'It's sensuous, no?'

Ten minutes ago I was sipping orange margaritas in the bar checking out my fellow blind-daters. Then we were taken downstairs to the pitch-black basement and led by waiters in night-vision goggles. Now I am sitting in the dark next to Justine. So,' she barks from somewhere in front of me. 'You know about me, what about you? What do you do? Where do you live?'

As I begin to give her a brief history, the black curtains which hide the kitchen are pulled back and a chink of light allows us to see for a few seconds.The darkness has had an effect. I can see a couple snogging. The couple move but their mouths do not appear to part. They are definitely not eating. Then it is dark again. As I try to find a plate of food, I stick a finger in what feels like a soggy ball. It smells of fish and oil. Eventually I locate my fork but guiding it towards my mouth is tricky.

The organisers decide to call it a night and turn the lights on early: the party has been getting out of hand and there is food everywhere. The couple next to me don't look up. They are still kissing. Opposite is Fiona, a 28-yearold interior designer who was daintily sipping cocktails upstairs two hours ago. Now she looks flushed, her lipstick smeared. She has been kissing Joe, 32, an accountant. They had sat in the dark for 20 minutes, then he made his move. 'We were eating and I just asked her if she wanted to sit on my lap,' he says.' She did.'

The manager is relieved it's over. He says he's never seen people lose their inhibitions so fast. Yann de Rochefort is keen to host another night 'but strictly for a high-end clientele. Not like this.' Meanwhile, Justine who turned out to be a real vamp - dressed in Gucci black leather - has left to spend the evening with her dog. And no, she didn't say goodbye.

· Suba,109 Ludlow Street,New York (001 212 982 5714)

Newspapers all over the world carry this picture from the Ungaro show today. The Sun goes bananas ("no prizes for guessing the breast-dressed model at a fashion show near the Eiffel Tower yesterday... This little petal looked stunning" etc etc), but even more respectable newspapers here carry it on front page.

Well, no prizes for guessing maybe, but I still want to guess - this is of course the wonderful Raquel Zimmermann, who has the good luck to have a Jewish aura with a Brazilian body.

And contrary to other fashion sites, this humble weblog has the stunning hi-res version (Special Thx and kisses to my mysterious source in the East)