DIY Rainforest Cafe

    A week ago, I tucked a Phoenix Palm as tall as me behind my big blue chair in the living room. According to all of the internet, it actually belongs outside, but it lives in my house now and that’s final. Its fronds will tickle my elbow as I settle in to talk to my loved ones over the phone. My friends have (rightfully!) accused me of trying to establish my own franchise of the Rainforest Cafe from my apartment.     Have you ever been to a Rainforest Cafe? It’s a restaurant, allegedly. It’s hard to focus on the food when immersed in a plastic jungle. Not an inch of the restaurant is spared from animatronic animals, neon water features, and a riot of fake plants. And just as everything is covered in jungle accoutrement, the jungle accoutrement is covered in dust. From the piped in jungle noises, to the smell of decades-old theme park water features, to the constant haze of dust particles, The Rainforest Cage is a full body experience. I haven’t been since I was a teenager.

    One food item passed our table with great fanfare several times that night: the lava cake. The Rainforest Cafe lava cake is punctured with live sparklers and accompanied by singing waitstaff. My dinner partner, Peter, ordered this lava cake, of course. When we were teenagers, Peter made us reservations at every expensive restaurant in range because he had his parents’ credit card and a hunger for teenage rebellion. Back then we were at the age where the lava cake’s entourage teetered between embarrassing and delightful. But it was ludicrously expensive and Peter, as I have mentioned, had a job to do.

    Peter rebelled through consumption. Each time I haul another pot filled with dirt, roots, stems, leaves, and tiny styrofoam balls up the narrow stairs to my apartment door, I wonder if I’m not doing the same. It certainly feels a little naughty to spend my money on something so decorative. But I also wonder if I’m chasing that experience once more.

    With each plant, I’m reminding myself: When I was a teenager, I did cool stuff (in the eyes of a teenager, at least). And while I was doing that cool stuff, there was no room for worries about the world or my health or next election. There was only me, my best friend, and the robot elephant trumpeting behind us. One day I’ll have the opportunity to do new, cooler stuff, maybe even in a real jungle, or at the very least in a nicer restaurant.

    But for now, I can sit in my big blue chair where the Phoenix Palm tickles my elbow and I can close my eyes and remember when I went to the Rainforest Cafe with my best friend and ate a volcano.