Restaurant in the sky (belgium)

 

A shrill scream pierces the afternoon air. Gingerly, I prise my sweaty hands away from my eyes to find all of my dinner companions staring at me in shock. It's then that I realise the noise is coming from me.
"Are you OK?" asks the young man to my left. "That was some scream." Paralysed by fear, I am physically unable to reply or even to blush. Instead, I screw my eyes shut and emit a long, low moan.
The reason for my distress is simple: I have foolishly accepted the worst dinner party invitation of my life. But it's not the other guests that are so unbearable, it's the location.
Instead of a sitting round a cosy kitchen table, we are dangling from a crane 150ft in the sky, complete with dining chairs, table, crockery and even a slick-suited waiter who pours us a glass of wine as we swing gently in the breeze.

Dinner In The Sky is for people who expect more from their restaurants than four concrete walls and a solid floor. Instead, diners perch around a massive table, which is suspended from a crane high up in the air.
It sounds completely insane, but as the most unusual - and entirely legal - way of getting high over dinner, it is the new must-do experience for the super-rich and adventure-hungry who yearn for something a little more extreme at mealtimes.
Although based in Belgium, the "restaurant" can be driven to any destination in the world.
There have already been dining events in Paris and Brussels, while New York and Niagara Falls are on the agenda.
What's more, for a mere £10,000, they'll drive it over to Britain for you to host your own sky-high dinner party.

 

Today, I am one of a select group invited to a special preview dinner at Zonhoven, a town on the Belgium/Holland border, where the concept is being promoted at a trade fair.
I arrive feeling decidedly peckish, but my appetite soon fades as my host, beaming with Gallic pride, points to the crane from which I will shortly be hoisted. "It's tres tall, oui?" says David.
I tilt my head skywards, where towering above me somewhere in outer space just short of the moon is the crane's summit. I feel like Jack and the Beanstalk.
I am starting to regret this and I haven't had so much as a whiff of bread roll. It may not sound very high to daredevils who like bungee-jumping or skydiving, but 150ft is about half the height of Big Ben or the equivalent of ten double-deckers stacked on top of one another.
For someone who suffered vertigo while checking out a friend's new loft conversion, it may as well be Mount Everest.
Unfortunately, before I can concoct a fib to excuse myself, a glass of champagne is thrust into my hand and I am whisked off to be strapped into my dining chair. All the other dinner guests are already seated.
The chairs themselves are shaped like racing car seats and are attached to the table with lots of sturdy-looking nuts and bolts and a steel safety cable.
The equipment and crane are rigorously checked before each event, but nonetheless my furrowed brow betrays my mounting anxiety.
"Don't worry it's safe - 100 per cent," David reassures me. As if to prove his point, he ushers his cute seven-year- old daughter, Cleo, to a spare seat.
It reminds me of when former Agriculture Minister John Gummer fed his fouryearold daughter a hamburger at the height of mad cow disease.
But Cleo is clearly well used to being strapped into this particular highchair, and the nonchalant cross-legged position she adopts is in stark contrast to my tense demeanour, as my sweaty palms clasp the table for dear life.
The table, made from heavy-duty plastic on a metal superstructure, is nine metres by five and weighs six tonnes - as much as a large elephant.
Although there is no floor underneath the chairs, in the centre of the table there is a sunken platform from which two waiters scoot about preparing dinner and drinks. I am alarmed to note they are not even wearing safety harnesses.
The whole contraption is attached by a steel cable to a giant crane arm that towers somewhere far above us. This is controlled by an operator who sits in his control cabin ready to press the button.

You have to TALK LIKE THIS to make yourself heard over the wind, meaning that conversation is rather limited, while table-hopping is clearly not an option if you find yourself seated next to a conversational dud.
Luckily I am sitting next to Kris Ulbulghs, 33, a charming software manager from Brussels. He says: "I've been up in a hot air balloon before, but this is amazing. The views are terrific I thought we'd be blown about by the wind, but it's really calm and relaxing."
And you know what? Despite my initial reservations, he is right. I have had many bizarre meals over the years: I have tried chocolate-coated grasshoppers in Mexico City and drunk champagne in a revolving restaurant with views over Sydney Harbour.
But these once magical meal-time memories have been rendered pedestrian by my dinner in the sky.
An hour later, safely back on terra firma, I hop off, legs still shaking, cheeks still ruddy, and marvelling both at my unexpected bravery and the hitherto undiscovered capacity of my bladder.
Now I just need to find a decent place to have something to eat