It’s 5:30 p.m. on a late-summer Friday. The warm afternoon air cools as you walk through the heavy double doors of Gurnee Mills mall. To the right, a jungle-themed mural guides you down a hallway until you reach a crossroads: Macy’s, or a mother elephant and her baby, flapping their ears.
You turn and walk down a small city block’s worth of lush and rocky jungle facades, complete with decorative monkeys, birds and butterflies. An animatronic crocodile sits in a small pond surrounded by coins imbued with good luck wishes. Just past a giant spotted red mushroom, you enter through the gift shop as Taylor Swift plays overhead.
Welcome to the jungle.
Though you’re over 3,500 miles away from the Amazon, you’re now immersed in the last Rainforest Cafe in Illinois. And in this moment, that’s good enough.
As a kid, I loved this place. Coming from the cornfields of DeKalb County, a meal at the Woodfield Mall location felt like the closest I could ever possibly get to a rainforest. For my family, it was expensive, and therefore quite a treat. And, like many, I sat by the crocodile — terrified but thrilled — tossing in my own good luck coins.
Though gaudy, a trip here is certainly memorable. Nearly everyone I know can offer comments and recall stories about their visits. So when the Woodfield Mall and iconic River North locations became extinct in 2020, it felt like the era of uber-kitschy and over-the-top dining experiences was truly over. I’m sure some were happy to hear it, but for a kid who grew up in the middle of nowhere, my inner child was certainly sad.
But then I realized there was still Gurnee Mills.
The 19,000-square-foot restaurant, about a 45-mile drive from downtown Chicago, was installed in June 1996, and I had never visited it. How would it be going now, at 33 years old? Would it be as traumatic as seeing a band of malfunctioning robots a la Chuck E. Cheese? Or had it abandoned its thematic roots for a more upscale, but sterile approach, like the Rock-n-Roll McDonald’s?
As I rounded the corner, I quickly discovered it was neither — it was very much the same. Like the remote Amazonian territory of Vale do Javari, the cafe’s aesthetics and operation were largely unchanged. Its customs and traditions appeared to have remained intact and undisturbed by time or outside influence.
The journey begins in the Retail Village, home of Tracy the Tree — an ornate tree with a moving face that speaks every 30 seconds. She shares facts about the rainforest and reminds you there are many fun toys available for purchase. Her expansive branches and canopy spread across the ceiling, intersecting with flowering vines and toucans.
After a few minutes, our table was ready. We made our way toward a huge aquarium archway that was empty of sea creatures but still bright and bubbling.
An almost overwhelming sensory wave washed over me as I stepped across the thick green and brown patterned carpet, weaving through booths encased in artificial rock formations.
We were seated along the border of the dining room next to a trickling water feature, with a view of LensCrafters across the hall. Our server, a lovely young man named Timur with three dazzling studs in his ears, was attentive and friendly from start to finish.
We started off with a round of drinks — a Heineken 0.0 for him and a $14 piña colada in a souvenir glass for me — and an appetizer, Korean fried chicken lettuce wraps for $17.
As we waited, I took in the scene: Above me and just to the right was a deep-blue starry sky painting that glittered and spouted off shooting stars. The entire ceiling is covered in greenery, flowers, birds and chimpanzees. Support beams throughout the dining room are designed to look like ancient trees.
In the corner sits a streak of four tigers who roar and cock their heads. Elsewhere a large pair of leathery elephants squeal, while at least six gorillas and orangutans top rocky bluffs or emerge from the walls. The animatronics appeared in good working order and the dining room was clean and well taken care of.
As was the case over 25 years ago, about every 20 minutes there’s a simulated thunderstorm during which the animals cry out as lightning, thunder and drizzling rain fill the room.
Our appetizer and drinks started out bold. The piña colada was refreshing and straightforward, and the lettuce wraps were crunchy and sweet with a nice punch of heat — until I hit a fresh ring of burning chili pepper. My daiquiri heroically stepped up to help cool me off.
My favorite dish was the $20 China Island Chicken Salad, which had mixed greens topped with grilled chicken, Mandarin oranges, sesame seeds, carrots, crispy rice noodles, green onion, wonton strips and the restaurant’s China Island dressing. The dressing was lightly creamy and coated the lettuce well enough that there wasn’t a soup of leftover liquid at the bottom. It was a light, but flavorful salad with lots of gratifying crunch.
I washed it down with a Cheetah Rita, the restaurant’s premium margarita. Bracing for an overly sweet cocktail, I was pleasantly surprised that it was well-balanced and tasty.
For entrees, we split the Taste of the Islands seafood platter and beef Amazon Fajitas.
The aquatic smattering included the fan-favorite Caribbean Coconut Shrimp, as well as mango habanero-glazed shrimp, jerk-seasoned tilapia topped with pineapple salsa, Caribbean rice and green beans for $32. I appreciated the size of the coconut shrimp, but its sauce companion was not vibing. The glazed shrimp were sweet and hot with a nice snap, and the best part was the tender and slightly spicy tilapia. Their version of Caribbean rice and beans paired well with the meal, but the once-frozen green beans had sadly been zapped of any life or flavor.
The fajitas, $28, came with four tortillas, a sizzling plate of beef strips and veggies, rice and black beans, and a boat showcasing all the usual trappings: grilled onions, bell peppers, sour cream, guacamole, lettuce, cheeses and pico de gallo. The beef was well-seasoned, a bit overdone for my taste, but my husband was pleased. You also had the option of getting a mix of chicken and beef for the same price.
For old-time’s sake, I also got the dino nuggets kids’ meal, taxonomically named Jurassic Chicken Tidbits. The three-chamber plastic plate held seven hot and crispy nuggets, above-average fries for a kids’ meal, and two orange slices — one of which promptly went into my margarita. They were comparable to nuggets found in the frozen aisle but were satisfying nonetheless and hit the nostalgia factor hard.
Though the dining room was only about half-full at the night’s peak, there were still 13 individual birthdays celebrated. Servers usually came out with a Sparkling Volcano sundae and clapped along to a birthday chant.
The confection is a mountainous chocolate brownie cake served with an inner core of vanilla ice cream and completed with a huge dollop of whipped cream, chocolate and caramel sauce. Its piece de résistance is a real sparkler on top — a distinguishing feature of this location, as online reviewers have reported silvery tassels at some other restaurants.
We got one, too, but didn’t make our server sing a song. The dense chocolate cake tasted like a slightly heartier Cosmic Brownie.
Overall, the food was better than expected — but that’s not really what you’re there for.
You pay a premium on the dining in exchange for an experience. It’s a place where every square inch is an indulgent feast for the eyes, where you can almost get lost in the wilderness of it all — at least until another patron’s Lids bag breaks the fantasy.
I was amazed that kids were still making birthday traditions here. There were even a few other childless couples celebrating and having dinner, maybe also recreating a nearly lost part of their childhood.
The Gurnee holdout is a Chicagoland rite of passage that’s still alive, waiting for your hope-filled coins. It’s a relic of an almost bygone era that can still be relished, as if visiting a living museum of itself. It’s a more-than-gratuitous novelty that has played host to families for nearly three decades — a cheesy escape from reality, where you can forget about your worries and your strife.
And, like the real rainforest, it should be enjoyed while it lasts.
Linze Rice is a freelance writer.
