The Worldwide Dessert Contest

Chapter One

John Applefeller of Appleton loved desserts.

Especially apple desserts.

He loved eating them, but even more, he loved making them - pies, strudels, crisps, and cakes. As his Aunt Harriet used to say: If a man truly cares about making desserts, an apple dessert is what he should make. No one knew how Aunt Harriet had come by such wisdom, but John Applefeller, a man of some forty years, had lived the better part of his life by his aunt's motto.

And now, after a decade of making all kinds of different desserts, John Applefeller had just completed the greatest creation of his career - the world's largest apple pancake.

"This is some dessert! Some dessert, I tell you!" Applefeller said to his ten-year-old assistant, Stanley, who lived with his parents half a mile down the road.

Applefeller and Stanley were standing by seven strong apple trees that grew in front of Applefeller's small red farmhouse. It was early morning.

"Well, it certainly is a new kind of dessert, isn't it, sir?" Stanley said.

"No one else could have though of a dessert so original," Applefeller continued, as they hoisted the apple pancake onto a large brown cart. "This pancake is ten feet wide and three feet thick. I'll be sure to win first prize today in The Worldwide Dessert Contest!"

Applefeller and Stanley were about to leave for the fantastic event. Each year in mid-July all the greatest dessert chefs in the world traveled to Appleton Dessert Stadium to enter this contest, bringing with them delicious concoctions to delight the judges. And the winner of the contest, the creator of the best dessert of the year, received a trophy more precious than gold - the Silver Spoon, a beautiful hand-carved ice cream serving spoon. Dedicated dessert chefs would do nearly anything to possess this cherished prize. In northern Peru, an old woman hobbled halfway around her country with a cane in search of a pumpkin that was big enough and orange enough to use in her pumpkin pie. In India, one chef climbed Mount Everest in search of a rare polar sugarcane to use in his mocha-chip ice cream.

John Applefeller wanted to win the Silver Spoon more than anyone. Nearly every hour of every one of his days was spent in his small kitchen, mixing, tasting, stirring, and baking. But unfortunately, Applefeller had had very bad luck in the contest. He had finished in last place all ten years he had entered - never third to last or even second to last, but always last.

This year he knew he would do better.

"If I do say so myself, Stanley, Applefeller said as he spread a giant sheet of wax paper over the pancake, "This pancake is perfect. It's golden brown without being too golden or too brown. And the fluffiness of the pancake is fluffy, though not overly fluffed."

"I couldn't agree more, sir," Stanley said.

Applefeller glanced at his watch.

"But enough of this talk. The contest beings in one hour. We mustn't be late! And as my Aunt Harriet said until her dying day: When you don't want to be late, being on time makes good sense."

Stanley walked into Applefeller's barn and reappeared a minute later leading Applefeller's small pinto horse, Morocco, by her halter. Stanley hitched Morocco to the front of the cart. Then he and Applefeller climbed aboard. Stanley took the reins, and Morocco broke into a trot. After a short ride through the outskirts of Appleton, Morocco turned a wide corner.

Before Applefeller and Stanley, about a mile away, stood Appleton Dessert Stadium, an old-style arena with high bleachers surrounding a large field. In front of the stadium was a large arch decorated with ribbons and streamers and a sign the read: THE WORLDWIDE DESSERT CONTEST. Applefeller and Stanley rode toward the arch and were soon in the thick of a great crowd.

Hundreds and hundreds of people milled about. Buses, vans, and station wagons carrying excited dessert fans were drawing up in front of the main entrance. Rich men pulled into the parking lot in fancy cars. One man arrived in a Porsche shaped like a paint ice cream cone; another, in a Mercedes Benz painted like a hot fudge sundae. People oohed and aahed as they saw or thought they saw famous movie stars arriving. Policemen roamed freely throughout the crowd answering questions and making sure no fan got out of control as everyone rushed toward the spectators' gate, holding tightly onto their tickets.

And the remaining tickets were selling like cupcakes.

"Tickets here! Tickets! Real good seats! Field level! See the judges' mouths up close as they chew! Only fifty dollars!" yelled one man.

And vendors swarmed around the area selling desserts. There was a man wearing an enormous banana suit selling banana splits. There was a woman dressed as a giant cocoa bean selling chocolate ice cream. Boys and girls shrieked with delight as they bought sweets from these human confections.

Applefeller and Stanley rode bravely through this whirlwind of honking cars, screaming vendors, and rushing people. Making their way toward a side gate marked Contestants. Here they would see the "dessert registrar," the man who checked in every contestant and told them where on the field to set up their tables. But when Applefeller and Stanley were only ten feet from the contestants' gate, a group of dessert fans suddenly recognized Applefeller.

"Hey look! There's John Applefeller!" a teenaged boy cried out. "He's finished in last place for ten years in a row!"

"Yeah!" cried a young woman. "It's incredible that one chef can be so bad!"

"But what's really funny is why he finishes in last place!" said the teenaged boy.

"Why?" asked a little girl.

"You mean you don't know?"

"No," said the girl.

"Applefeller's desserts aren't really desserts at all!" said the woman. "They change into other things at the last minute!"

"You're joking!"

"No, it's true!" said an older man. "Last year his apple soufflé puffed up into a giant balloon!"

"You're pulling my leg!"

"No, he's not!" said a Popsicle vendor. "And a few years ago his apple ketchup turned into red enamel house paint!"

"That was hilarious!" cried the older man. "I laughed for hours! And don't you remember his apple French toast?"

"How could I forget?" said the vendor. "My son the wrestler tells me that it makes wonderful kneepads!"

By now everyone in the immediate area was laughing so hard they were having trouble standing up.

"Ignore them, sir," Stanley said. "They're rotten people."

John Applefeller slowly turned his head to face Stanley, his eyes glazed with a deep sadness. Through the years, Applefeller had entered a series of what he felt were highly original desserts - oatmeal-glazed, strawberry-flavored caramel apples, baked apples with peach filling, bright orange applesauce, apple ketchup, apple-flavored chocolate mousse, apple ice cream, apple Popsicles coated with apple chewing gum, apple French toast, a hollowed-out apple filled with apple yogurt, and an apple soufflé stuffed with melted chocolate and fried blueberries. But year after year, contest after contest, Applefeller's desserts had changed into something else at the last second.

Ironically, Applefeller was able to make a modest living from his failed desserts. He sold the orange applesauce that had turned into cement to a local highway crew for the construction of a new interstate freeway. His apple ketchup red enamel house paint was used to paint Appleton Elementary School. And he got an especially good price from the United States Olympic Team for his French toast kneepads.

"They may be rotten people, Stanley," Applefeller said, "but what they said is true. I don't know how it happens, but it happens. Why can't I make a dessert that stays a dessert?"