The Rain Forest Café

If ever a name belied the contents within, it was this unassuming but oppressively restrictive eatery.
It was noonish, I was not overly hungry, but I could eat.
I sauntered into an unknown to me restaurant, innocently enough dubbed, the Rain Forest Cafe.
I anticipated a delicately prepared bowl of steamed wild rice with grilled tofu and organic vegetables, possibly an avocado salad with pine nuts and sun dried tomatoes, hopefully even a nice Vegan carrot cake for dessert.

I couldn't have been more wrong. I was handed a single page menu with the word biscuit in (80+ font) boldly stamped across the front.
I instinctively flipped over the barren menu to find nothing more than a picture of a biscuit.
My next move entailed engaging the sole waitress, an elderly lady who went by the name of Georgette according to the embroidered name stitched across her clean restaurant issue shirt pocket. "Mam, I'm sorry but you seem to have handed me not so much a menu but rather a children's spelling lesson flip card". Granted the French derived word "bisquit" does offer a challenge, but I'm hungry for food not a spelling exercise.
Georgette replied in true automaton fashion, "Sir, we serve biscuits, nothin else, they are freshly made by the owner and cook, Mrs. Violaket Meter, I assure you there are no better biscuits anywhere in the parish, would you like to order a biscuit?"
I'm not much of a biscuit eater, owing to my propensity for; macro-biotic diets.
Sprouts are more my thing along with Earth Day celebrations, saving endagered species such as the Hump Back Whale; South American Spotted Tree Newt, Albino Ring Tail Lemur, and Great Freckled Owl.
Being hungry enough and willing to make an exception, I sucked it up and reluctantly ordered a biscuit, naively accompanying my request with the innocent enough question "what can I get to put on my biscuit ?" Georgette replied this time in not so much her automaton fashion, but more puzzled; "I guess you could put another biscuit on your biscuit". I politely but readily explained that I was referring to butter or some sort of preserve.
Looking at me as if I were from Pluto or an adjacent Parish, she replied, "Sir, we just have biscuits, no butter, jelly, gravy, salt, pepper, mayo, pickle relish, nothin, just biscuits.
Georgette was never the least bit curt or condescending with her replies, it was as if she was explaining to Rip Van Winkle after his one-hundred year nap that things were decidely different. You now live in a world of Biscuit Eateries, get used to it.
My biscuit arrived on a full sized hospital tan melamine plate of which it occupied most of the available space. It was perfectly lovely, steamy hot, flaky, golden brown, not the ersatz golden brown used on fast food commercials, but actual golden brown.
I ate the unadorned biscuit and thoroughly enjoyed it.

I finished my biscuit meal, paid the bill, and as I was leaving, I turned and uncontrollably asked, " Why don't you name your place, Biscuits?"

Interestingly enough Violaket had emerged from the Kitchen, I assume it was Violaket, judging by the flour dusted apron she was sporting. She had overheard my question and replied in an all knowing but genteel and motherly way, "Son, Biscuits just wouldn't be a very imaginative name now would it?" She further queried me, "Have you ever seen a Rain Forest?" "They're fascinating and beautiful aren't they?" "Especially with those little white Lemurs and Newts and all". I left the Rain Forest Café satiated, but puzzled.