So late last night—or early this morning, depending on how you keep track of these things—I attempted to book a table at Noma. With a milestone birthday coming in March, I figured, what better place to celebrate then at the Copenhagen restaurant that’s currently considered the best restaurant in the world? And since you might want to eat there someday, I thought I should share how it all went down.

Reservations for the date in question began at 10:00 a.m. Central European Time, which translates to 4:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, so I set an alarm for 3:45 a.m.—two alarms, actually, because I activated a Fitbit silent one to vibrate on my wrist in case the main alarm failed—and slept for a few hours before waking, stumbling downstairs, and being confronted by this pre-booking countdown screen.

I had no idea how many others around the globe were staring at something similar, but found out, once 10:00 a.m. Central European Time rolled around, that there were at least 1,449 of them—because I was number 1,450, with an estimated wait time of more than an hour. And there were equally as many behind me in the queue, because when I decided to try logging in using my iPhone, I was assigned a number greater than 3,000.

And then the wait began.

Half an hour in, and I was number 942 in the queue.

But I did far more in the middle of the night than merely watch the numbers dwindle. I also bantered, thanks to the results of a search of “Noma” on Twitter, with others who were on the same hunt, though none of them seemed to be searching to match a specific birthday. We encouraged each other as our turns grew closer and the tension mounted.

But I also spotted a few who bailed out upon seeing the number of people ahead of them, such as this person, whose identity I’ve masked.

I hoped there would be many more like that, Out of my way!

An hour in, and I was number 482 in the queue …

It looked as if I’d have around another half an hour to wait, which I filled with additional bantering, drooling over the menu Noma is currently serving during its Tokyo pop-up, and watching Chef René Redzepi tell the story of his restaurant.

Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have been torturing myself like that, because it would only make a failure to snag a table all the more painful. But I couldn’t help myself!

Then, at an hour and 28 minutes, I was in! (And there’ll be no screen grab of the calendar with which I was presented, because there were only 10 minutes allotted for me to find a table, so I had no time to think about such things.)

Sadly, after all that … no tables remained for my birthday. Or, it seemed, for any other date that month or the following month.

Ah, well. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to book a table at the #1 restaurant in the world, one which only seats 45 diners. Still, I found the attempt bizarrely entertaining, especially with that continual connection to other similar seekers.

I added my name to the wait list, as recommended, but since I have no idea how many potential customers are ahead of me there, or of how many ever graduate from that status to become actual customers, my assumption is that a Noma celebration won’t play out for me this year. Some other year, perhaps.

So … where should I celebrate in 2015?

Hmmmm …