I paid $120 for a fine-dining experience narrated by AI. High-brow restaurants should take notes. --[Reported by Umva mag]

I was a little thrown when I arrived at Venhue and saw that the windows were tinted black. Barring a few neon signs, I couldn't see into the restaurant from the sidewalk.

There's "unassuming," and then there's "Is this place open?" — and Venhue seemed to walk that fine line.

I knew from the website that I'd enter an "eclectic wine bar, " but it was surprisingly comforting to find more of a retro dive bar.

This was much more my speed than typical white-tablecloth Michelin-star vibes.

The environment was chill and comfortable, with fun touches like an arcade game and a small TV playing VHS tapes. The beer-branded stools and chalkboard menu made me feel like I was back home in the Midwest.

I checked in with the sociable worker behind the bar — who I later learned was one of the restaurant's cofounders — and he handed me my "backstage pass" for the evening.

The little card on a lanyard displayed the night's menu.

Venhue has one communal table that can seat up to 16. The night I went, there were only eight of us — two couples, a party of three, and me.

At 7:30 p.m., we entered the dining room. At first, the strobe lights and illuminated purple ceiling were overwhelming.

When we walked in, the screens were displaying the Venhue logo, but as the courses started, they flashed with a wide variety of photos and videos.

At different points in the night, there were eyeballs, celebrities, beach scenes, and other AI-generated pictures on the screens.

At the same time, different colored strobe lights flashed around the room. Speakers played music that varied from what you'd hear while being placed on hold to old-school ringtones to heavy-metal screamo.

There was nothing overly fancy or frilly about the table settings.

Two vases held fake tulips in the middle of the table, and floral trivets sat in front of each seat as placemats. There was a napkin, but notably, no utensils.

The waitstaff consisted of a couple of servers and Venhue's other cofounder. They came around to explain that the can of Liquid Death would be our water for the evening, and the three glasses were for the wine pairings.

Once everyone was settled in, the staff came around with a welcome snack and shot that was supposed to open up our taste buds.

They told us what it was, but I only understood about half of the fancy descriptors and it wasn't listed on the menu, so I'll just call it a mousse.

I'm all for little extras when I'm paying over $100 for a meal, but I was immediately hesitant when the cofounder told me to lick the mousse off the plate and chase it with the sake spritz.

Putting my pride aside, I went for it. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to chew, but I definitely swallowed something solid.

Surprisingly, it was great. The flavors were sharp, and I could see how the citrusy sake could ignite my taste buds.

Venhue offers two tasting menus: regular and vegetarian.

I was the only vegetarian of the night, so I got a little green glowstick at my place setting and had different dishes (with similar components) from everyone else.

My amuse-bouche course was a small pea tart with asparagus, pecorino sardo, and lemon caviar. I was instructed to eat it in one bite, which isn't my usual vibe, but I did as I was told.

It was kind of just salty, pretty peas on a pastry, but it was good. The little tart had a lot of flavor, but I couldn't distinguish the components from each other.

Once the amuse-bouche was cleared, the staff came around with homemade "end-of-summer-themed" focaccia.

The exterior was perfectly crisp, and the peachy sauce and topping were bright and sweet.

If they'd offered more, I would've eaten several pieces.

It took me maybe a little longer than it should have to realize the AI videos and voiceovers playing were actually narrating us through the courses.

While the staff handed out push-activated lights to "choose our own adventure" for the spice level of the appetizer, a Michelin tire commercial played.

The AI-generated voiceover referenced the company's prestigious culinary award as the appetizers landed in front of us on big tire plates.

Partially because I'm competitive and partially because I actually like spice, I turned my light red to indicate I wanted the hottest sauce on my dish of eggplant, ricotta salata, vinegar, pine nut, and basil oil.

Without the menu, I couldn't for the life of me tell you what I was eating, but it was good. The spice level was just right, too.

This was also when we got our first wine pairing — a white from Sardinia, which is where the head chef is from. I like white wine, and I was a fan of the light glass.

At the start, the cofounder explained that the meal would move quickly. But those first courses were speedy.

Watching the servers run around the room and back into the kitchen for the first half hour or so was borderline comedic.

The little break that followed the appetizers was welcomed. But the moment of calm turned out to be a ploy to introduce a surprise limoncello-sake shot.

When LMFAO's "Shots" is playing over the speakers and someone hands me a test tube of liquor, I kind of just go with it. Luckily, it was pretty small, and the flavors of the alcohols really complemented each other.

Next, we filed into the bright, quiet kitchen for the chef-snack course. It was a stark contrast to the dining room, to say the least.

While everyone else got to sample some wagyu beef, I was content with my vegetarian dish of artichoke, olives, gremolata, and lemon. A sous-chef also went around and topped all of our plates with some shavings of summer truffle.

I'm not sure my palate is sophisticated enough to appreciate these courses. But I will say that I don't like olives, and I still ate every bite of this. The artichoke was nice and crisp, and I think I picked up the umami flavor of the truffles.

I only took a few tiny sips of the accompanying sake because, at this point, I was trying to pace myself.

Throughout this course, the staff was putting on some sort of fake-serious, fancy-restaurant bit. It was kind of strange, but maybe I would've found it entertaining if I'd taken the whole shot.

When we returned to the table, the vibe had significantly changed. Different lights were on and more menacing music and videos were playing.

It took me longer than I'd care to admit to realize the table decorations had changed to skulls and black roses while we were in the kitchen — maybe I was right to temper down my alcohol consumption.

Along with the table changes, a goofy eye mask was waiting for all of us at our seats.

The blindfolded tasting was the only thing that actually scared me going into this. But having a collective giggle about the googly eyes calmed my nerves.

Luckily, this course was just a palate cleanser, not a whole dish. The staff went around and carefully handed us shots of some sort of peachy liquid.

I'm not sure my taste buds were actually stronger without my vision, but it was delicious. At this point, the alcohol was catching up to me, and I was starting to find the little bits and gimmicks funnier.

Before the main course, there was another goofy interlude where the cofounder came out to pour us some "extremely rare and expensive" red wine in the world's smallest wine glasses.

I'm not a huge fan of red wine in general, so this was actually the perfect portion size for me.

Our actual second wine pairing was also a red meant to complement the flavors of the entrée.

My main course of the evening was chitarra pasta with seasonal mushrooms, fava beans, pecorino Romano, ramp butter, and summer truffles. The wine wasn't half bad alongside it.

The noodles were very al-dente, which I happen to like, and the ingredients all worked well together.

As we ate, the staff came around with some absolutely delicious sourdough, and we fell mostly quiet in the dimly lit room.

When the pasta bowls were cleared away, the cofounder came out with a bingo set. We each got bingo cards with different culinary-related words and stampers shaped like a Michelin star.

Winners got to spin a wheel for a small kitschy prize or shots for the whole table. Somehow we all ended up with another shot of sake.

By the time the servers came around with cherry-flavored gloves, I was ready for anything. It turns out we'd be using them to eat our dessert with our hands.

I slapped the glove on and grabbed a handful of the cold chocolate mousse. My social embarrassment flew out the window long before I wiped the bottom of the bowl clean with a dentist's glove.

This was my favorite dish of the night. It was almost like a naked ice-cream sandwich, and cherry, chocolate, and almond happen to be some of my favorite flavors.

I kind of forgot about the glass of sparkling Moscato we got with the course — the dessert was sweet enough.

At the end of the meal, a list of nearby bars popped up on the screen in case people wanted to continue the night together.

Although I see the owners' vision for this being a communal space, that's the one aspect I felt fell short the night I dined.

I was the only person dining alone, and a loud, dark, overstimulating room wasn't exactly an ideal environment to get to know strangers. That said, by the end of the night, we were all sharing smiles and giggles.

When I was a kid, I used to rope my siblings, cousins, or friends into playing "fancy restaurant" and putting on grand performances for our parents.

With all the love in my heart, that's what Venhue was like.

The AI-generated screens perplexed me from beginning to end. But after a few shots, I basically just had a chance to be outlandishly silly for a night.

Plus, my total only came to about $120, which is a fraction of the price of most New York tasting menus.

Would I call Venhue totally unpretentious? No. But it was a wacky evening run by an incredibly charming staff and stuffed to the brim with delicious food.

I hope it inspires other New York restaurants to take themselves a little less seriously.