A wise man once said, some things are better left unsaid. And so it goes with this special dinner.

We live in locavore times, when we not only know where our cauliflower was so lovingly raised, but on what farm and in what loam of soil; who whispered to it softly in the night as its first florets began to sprout; and what horse pulled the wagon that carried it 37.2 miles to our dinner table.

But sometimes it’s just better not to know, like when things taste good, like Cheetos or Ikea meatballs. Admit it: you’d prefer just look the other way rather than scrutinize the back of the package. (Partially hydrogenated soybean oil? Gelatin?)

That’s why for this dinner, we’re simply not going to tell you what’s for dinner. We’re not telling you where it came from, either — just that you’d be very, very hard pressed to find it yourselves. If you can trust us that it will be an amazing meal, we’ll trust you to keep it a quiet, too. And, in this city where everyone knows everything, sometimes it’s nice to keep a secret.

Join us, next Tuesday night, as we celebrate a night unlike all other nights, with a meal that proudly speaks to its provenance, quietly.