Dark Table Staff in Kitsilano Still Clueless About the Blackout—KFC Now Serving Those Who Can’t Afford $18 Salads

KITSILANO, BC — As thousands of Kitsilano residents scrambled for candles, emergency flashlights, and the will to carry on without Wi-Fi, staff at Dark Table—the city’s premiere blind dining experience—remained blissfully unaware of the widespread blackout, mostly because they are, by design, always in the dark.

“Wait, there was a blackout?” asked Jeremy Hollis, a server at Dark Table, squinting into the same impenetrable void he’s worked in for years. “Huh. We just thought the kitchen ran out of soup again.”

Patrons dining at the restaurant similarly had no idea that, for the first time in history, all of Kitsilano was inadvertently partaking in the “immersive culinary experience” that Dark Table has been charging $75 per person for since 2012.

“I assumed the darkness was just an avant-garde palate cleanser,” said one customer, still delicately holding an imaginary wine glass. “Then I got home, opened my Sub-Zero, and realized my organic grass-fed ice cubes were melting. That’s when I knew—this was a true crisis.”

As residents slowly emerged from the darkness, blinking like newborn deer adjusting to their first sunrise, they were immediately confronted with an even greater shock: Kitsilano, long a refuge for ethically sourced kale smoothies and gluten-free macrobiotic bliss, had just opened its very first KFC.

which is great for folks in a smaller tax bracket, who can now grab a bucket of fried chicken without having to cancel their yoga membership. But for those who once thought Kitsilano was a temple of artisanal hummus and $18 smoothies, it’s a sad reality check that the neighborhood is now just a playground for overpriced fast food and mid-tier gentrification.

“What’s next? Proving I don’t have a Whistler chalet just to get a biscuit?”

Back at Dark Table, servers continued guiding diners to their tables in blissful ignorance of the blackout, the KFC crisis, and the existential reckoning happening just outside their windowless restaurant.

“It’s kind of poetic,” said one diner, fumbling for a forkful of what he hoped was mashed potatoes. “Last night, everyone in Kits was eating in the dark. But only we were paying premium for it.”

The waiter, in his crisp uniform, hovered by the table, eager to refill glasses but uncertain whether to interrupt the conversation.

'Can I get you anything else, sirs?'"

'No,' the first diner replied with a smirk, 'just a little more darkness, please.'

Everything felt like a hipster’s version of the apocalypse—just a lot of overpriced water and existential confusion. The waiter glided by, offering more “atmosphere,” as if the dimly lit salmon tartar could somehow distract them from the fact that the city was still in the dark. The only thing glowing in the room was the bill.

Sub 2 our Newsletter