What Happens Next — A Cool Adventure about the Coolest Stuff on Earth

Professor Scoopalot

There have been hundreds of recipes for sorbet, ice cream and other delicious frozen desserts through the ages—some dating as far back as the first century A.D. Back then, the Roman emperor, Nero, had runners along the Appian Way passing buckets of snow, hand over hand, from the mountains all the way to his lavish banquet hall. You can almost hear them, “Hey Tony, hurry up will ya, it’s cold!” But it was worth it when they mixed the snow with honey and wine to create the first sorbet.

Since then, there’s been heated, or should we say freezing, competition for the most scrumtilicious flavors. People have tried everything from asparagus ice cream to lavender sorbet. But some formulas really stood out. Formulas with the finest, rarest ingredients—ingredients that affected the tastebuds so profoundly, the result caused immeasurable happiness while being consumed. These are the formulas of the amazing Professor Scoopalott: scientist, chef, and table tennis whiz.

You’d never know to look at the good-natured professor with his wild white hair and his bottle-thick glasses, that he had been abandoned as a child. Left by the side of a brook in a remote town in Switzerland, Brother Heath, a wandering monk, found the baby while on one of his daily walks. He was collecting rocks for a meditation garden when he heard a strange cooing sound. He looked around. Is there a bird in the bushes? he wondered. It must be a dove.

But he’d never seen a dove in the mountains. Once in a while he’d see a golden eagle, even a vulture or two, but no doves. He tip-toed slowly, quietly by the brook and was startled when he saw a trout jump so high, it looked as if it had been launched from a trampoline. He stood still waiting to hear the sound again. It was coming from behind a bush, a pretty shrub known as, the Lapland Rosebay. He moved closer and spread the branches of beautiful pink flowers apart. There he was, tucked underneath the bush, with pink cheeks almost the color of the flowers, his arms waving and reaching.

“Oh my goodness!” said brother Heath. “Who are you? And where did you come from?” He picked up the baby, swaddled in a white blanket, still cooing and moving his arms as if he wanted to answer him. “Why, you’re trying to talk to me,” he laughed.

The monk looked around. He scanned the bushes, the flowers, and mountain pines. He carefully stepped though the yellow edelweiss and buttercups, but saw no one. “Who would leave you here alone?” he said to the smiling baby as he carried him back to the monastery.

But before he left, he removed a small notebook from his pocket and wrote a message. He then untied his rope belt and poked a hole in the paper, slid it onto the belt and tied the belt to a tree. “If your parents come back, they’ll know where to find you,” he said to the baby.

The next day he returned to see if the note had been read. Indeed it had. The message he'd written was crossed off and replaced with the words, Thank You. Brother Heath took the belt, wrapped it around his waist and tucked the note in his pocket realizing no one would be coming back.

The monks fed and took care of the baby who had yet to be named. “He’s so adorable, don’t you just want to scoop him up,” Brother Heath said to the other monks. That’s when they decided to call him, Scoopalott. The name fit, he was always moving his hands as if to scoop up the air or anything in his reach.

Later, when a visiting monk from another order asked where he was found the monks just looked at each other. The town was so remote no one could remember the name of it or even if it had a name. But since he was left by a brook, Brother Heath decided to call it Brooklyn.

Scoopalott felt most fortunate to be raised by the monks, known as The Order of the Conna Sirs. They were excellent cooks, smart like anything, and took great care to foster his many interests. “Can we go higher up the mountain today?” Scoopalott would ask. “I know there are plants up there I have not explored.” He loved science, nature and he especially loved making frozen desserts from mountain ice he’d bring back from his treks.

The monks often took young Scoopalott to remote places in the Alps where they gathered delicious edible fruits like Alpine strawberries and tasty bilberries. “I feel like Marco Polo,” he said to Brother Fawn, one of the youngest monks.

Brother Noble, a monk who loved world history, often read to Scoopalott. The young boy enjoyed learning that in the 13th century, 17 year old Marco Polo traveled to Asia with his merchant father, Nicolo and his uncle, Maffeo. They brought back treasures of jade, porcelain, silk and ivory. “But one of his greatest discoveries was recipes for tasty snow-cone like concoctions made by adding juice and fruit pulp to snow,” said Brother Noble.

Brother Noble

Scoopalott imagined himself a great explorer as he returned to the monastery with baskets of fruits and berries. When he turned them into a dessert that tasted almost magical on the tongue, the monks were impressed. “How did you do this?” asked Brother Herb. “You’ve transformed these plants into the most delicious treats.”

“Yes, and I want to do more. I’m keeping track of the herbs and flowers in my notebook. There are many more, higher up the mountain still waiting to be entered into my notebook. Can we go tonight?”

“Better wait until the morning,” Brother Chef said, as he was adding rosemary to the chicken for tonight’s dinner. It will be easier to spot the plants when there is light, don’t you think?”

“I suppose so,” said Scoopalott.

“Besides, the other monks are really going to be impressed with this tasty chicken dish. Wait until they find out it was your idea to add this fragrant rosemary.”

By now the monks were not surprised. They knew Scoopalott had a real knack. “He seems like one of us,” Brother Herb said to the others.

“He is one of us,” said Brother Chef. “I dare say, he’s even cleverer. I think it’s time we let him in.”

Like the famous monks of Chartreuse France, each of the six Conna Sirs monks had one specialty, one rare ingredient handed to him from an older monk. There were a total of six secret ingredients. And since each monk was only aware of their own, no one would be able to obtain all six secrets from one monk.

“Have I ever told you the story of the French monks?” Brother Noble asked Scoopalott one day.

“No.” said Scoopalott, barely looking up from his notebook. “I think Chamomile mixed with peppermint would make a great tea.”

“Yes, it would,” said Brother Noble, "a relaxing tea ... But now, the French Monks had a secret recipe created hundreds of years ago. They made a tonic that they claimed was an elixir for a long life.”

Scoopalott sits up, his eyes wide open. “Really? Go on”

“There were 130 herbs, plants and flowers crushed and blended into the elixir. To this day the secret recipe is stored in the Monastery of "La Grande Chartreuse." Only two monks are allowed to make the elixir at one time. If one of them dies, another monk learns the secret.

“Whoa,” said Scoopalott. “But why are you telling me this story now?"

“You’ll see,” said brother Noble.

When Scoopalott began making his fantastic frozen desserts, the monks agreed it was time to share their secret.

“Come in,” said Brother Green, as the other monks: Brother Heath, Brother Herb, Brother Chef, Brother Noble and Brother Fawn were gathered in the sitting room. Remember the story of the French Monks?”

“Of course!” said Scoopalott. "How could I forget.”

“Well, we have a similar story, said Brother Fawn. “Each of us possesses one secret ingredient, one specialty that is ours alone. And maybe because of our influence, but mostly because you’re just you, we believe you’ve proven yourself to be the messenger of our good deeds.”

“You will be the only person who knows all six ingredients, said Brother Green. We really never knew why we each had only one secret specialty. But we realize now, that when they are combined, they become even more amazing, and more importantly, you are the one destined to possess them.”

“We only ask that you keep the secret recipe hidden and pass it down.” It will be our contribution, our legacy,” said Brother Heath.

“I am honored,” said Scoopalott with tears in his eyes.”

“Group hug,” said brother Fawn.”

“Oh now Scoopy, you’re making us cry too,” said Brother Chef.

Good Human Man

One by one, the monks traveled with Scoopalott to remote villages and towns. They went to places like Egypt, Brazil and Viet Nam to gather the six secret ingredients. When Scoopalott combined these ingredients, the results, as they predicted, were astonishing.

Scoopalott took a vow never to reveal any of the six ingredients or their sources to anyone unless they proved worthy. Not even to his beloved adopted son, The Good Human Man, a child that, like him, had also been abandoned. Scoopalott found him left on the seat of an ice-cream truck one day.

As Scoopalot gathered the secret ingredients he’d tested them on the monks. Brother Chef would joke around, "Aha! I’ve got it,” claiming he knew exactly what was in the recipe. But no one knew the complete formula, especially after Scoopalott added a secret ingredient or two of his own. “These are by far, the most delicious desserts on earth,” they all agreed.

Scoopalott’s success was not good news for one person, the Baron von Glutton, a boy who grew up in a wealthy family in a castle not far from the monastery. Instead of waking at 6:AM to go for a walk before breakfast, the Baron stayed in bed until 9:AM when the butler would bring him a tray with Swiss muesli, a cereal that had oats, raisins, nuts and sugar. Instead of hunting for Alpine strawberries in the mountains and forests, they’d be served to him in a silver bowl. Sometimes he’d even demand to have honey cookies or chocolate croissants for breakfast.

Baron von Glutton

Dinner was a more formal affair. He’d dine with his parents in the great hall at a long wooden table. It was important to be dressed for dinner, which was never a problem for von Glutton. He enjoyed wearing a crisp white shirt and was an expert at tying a perfect necktie.

His table manners were impeccable. He never forgot to put the big white linen napkin on his lap. He chewed his food with his mouth closed, and he never slurped his soup.

Often they’d dine on dishes like pork fricassee, rabbit stew, or sautéed perch with a potato dish called rösti.

But the Baron’s favorite meal was Swiss Fondue. Fondue is a bubbling pot of flavorful Swiss cheeses. Most times the fondue pot is set in the middle of the table over a candle to share with the other diners. But since this table was so long, the Baron was given his own pot and a long fondue fork to dip his pieces of crusty bread, ham and other delicacies into the cheese.

“The secret lies in the right mixture of different flavors of cheese,” his chef would tell him.

Sometimes he’d even have fondue for dessert. But instead of cheese, rich milk chocolate would be served in the fondue pot with strawberries, marshmallows, and little pieces of cake.

One day the chef was more excited than usual about dessert. “I have a surprise for you,” he said to the Baron. “Close your eyes.” And he set down a bowl of strawberry sorbet. “Okay, open them.”

“What’s this?" said the Baron.

“Try it", said the chef.

Baron von Glutton put a spoonful in his mouth. He could taste the fresh flavor of sun-ripened berries mixed with just the right amount of sweetness as it melted on his tongue. It was like music in his mouth. Notes of strawberry, sugar and other things he couldn’t identify seemed to sing out as he ate. He took another spoon and another, and another in quick succession. He ate it so fast he felt a sensation called brain freeze and had to put his hands up to his forehead to warm it.

“Are you okay?” asked his mother, who was also enjoying the sorbet, but eating it slowly to savor it.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you eat like that,” said his father.

“It’s so delicious! How did you make this?" he asked the chef.

“Oh, I didn’t make this. I could never make anything like this. This was made by a young man who was raised in the monastery. His name is Scoopalott. He’s about 14, your age, and he has the most amazing talent.”

The Baron’s parents dressed him in clothes befitting his status. He enjoyed wearing a fine top hat and suits made of expensive fabrics. They provided him with a good education, horses, anything he wanted, but he was never satisfied. At times, he seemed ungrateful.

“Why don’t you brush Whinny’s coat today?” his father suggested.

“Why on earth would I want to do that? I might get my riding coat dirty,” he’d answer, brushing it off just thinking about it.

“It would give you a chance to bond with your horse, and to show your appreciation for her amazing talent.” Whinny could jump cleanly over any obstacle and always made the best time in competitions.

“We have stable boys for that,” he’d say. Besides, I have other things on my mind.

Each day he’d ask for another of Scoopalott’s frozen desserts. The chef brought him lemon sorbet, gelato made of hazelnuts, and chocolate ice cream with almonds. The Baron noticed that while he loved the ice-creams and sorbets, he began to feel some resentment. How can a poor boy raised by monks attract so much attention? he thought.

One day he overheard the townspeople rave about the little Scoopalott boy after tasting one of his delicious sorbets. The Baron grew jealous, very jealous. He realized he wanted to be admired and he wanted to be powerful—something his wealth and status already afforded him. But he knew this was special. This was the kind of thing that even money couldn't buy.

He ran home as fast as he could. He didn’t even notice that his tall, shiny black boots were getting scuffed and dusty, something that would ordinarily bother him.

“I want to make ice-cream, and sorbet and gelato!” He announced breathlessly.

“But we’ll just buy you some Little B,” his mother told him. “What kind . . .

“NO!! I want to make my own, he interrupted. And it must be the best!”

“You don’t even know how to cook,” his mother said.

“Then have the chef teach me,” he demanded. “I want to make the desserts and I want to make them NOW!”

His father just looked at his mother and said, “Give the boy what he wants.” Perhaps this will be the thing that will satisfy him.”

What would satisfy me, thought the Baron, is to get rid of that Scoopalott kid. What kind of name is that anyway? And who made him the tif and taf of Brooklyn?

Each day the Baron would put on a clean apron to make sure nothing got on his clothes, and head down to the kitchen. He and the chef would make sorbet, ice-cream and gelato and though they were good, they weren’t as good as Scoopalott’s. Angry and frustrated he would complain, “This isn’t good enough. I thought you were a master chef. Can’t you do better?”

The chef felt insulted. “I’m a great chef, but sometimes there are things that are beyond my control. There are secret recipes, which are just that, secrets. This is the best I can do. It’s the best anyone can do. I quit!”

The von Gluttons hired chef after chef. But no one could make the desserts taste like Scoopalott’s. Even the chef they brought in from France, Chef Pierre couldn’t do it.

“We can’t keep firing chefs,” his father finally told him. This chef is here to stay. I forbid you to go down to the kitchen. Find another hobby, something that will make you more civilized!”

But there was no other hobby he wanted. The Baron was obsessed with the idea of making a better frozen dessert. And more so, he wanted to be as popular as Scoopalott, even more popular.

At night he snuck down to the kitchen when it was closed, and worked to create his own formulas. He had learned a lot from all the different chefs, and thought that if he tried hard enough, he’d come up with something.

Further, he thought, I have the money to advertise and sell my desserts in shops all over Switzerland. And eventually he did. The town’s people enjoyed his ice-creams and sorbets. But as soon as someone tasted Scoopalott’s, his would be forgotten. This is maddening. What is it he has that I haven’t got? he would ask himself as he looked into the mirror straightening his silk tie.

One day, after hearing that his own mother had requested a Scoopalott chocolate sundae, he just cracked and decided whatever it took, he was going to get Scoopalott’s formulas.

Each day Scoopalott grew more famous. He had worked hard, studied and got a degree in chemistry from Swiss Alps U. He was now Professor Scoopalott. His sorbets were being talked about not only in Switzerland, but in France, Italy and even New York City. This only fueled the Baron’s jealousy. For years he hired chefs, but now he hired assistants. At first it was to help him make the desserts. But as time passed, it turned into something more sinister. He needed people with the kind of skills that would help him steal Professor Scoopalott’s formulas.

Mario Purplefoot

“I know there are clues to this formula,” he said to his new assistant, Mario Purplefoot. “I know that you need water, sugar, milk, fruit, gum Arabic and nuts to make these desserts. So somewhere there are clues to the exact ingredients that he uses.”

“Oh, no question about it,” said Mario.

Mario Purplefoot met Baron von Glutton when the Baron visited the wine vineyard where he worked. Twelve year old Mario was a grape stomper. He stomped the grapes that were harvested to make wine. But he grew tired of the job and the Baron sensed it.

“Do you like what you do Mario?” The Baron asked.

“Not really,” Mario answered. “Look at my feet. They’ve turned purple from all this grape stomping. But my mother, Peeladis Banana, thought this would be a good job for me. She said I always stomped my foot when I got mad and sent me here two years ago.”

His mother is the evil Peeladis Banana? the Baron thought. How utterly delicious! This boy was bred to do bad things. “How would you like to work for me?”

Of course, Mario was flattered by the Baron’s interest in him. And this was his chance to show someone how smart he really was. When Mario wasn’t stomping grapes, he read voraciously.

“I enjoy science and the arts,” said Mario. “And I’m very good in math.”

“Can you cook?”

“Cook? Ah, No. But I could learn. I’m a fast learner”

The Baron didn’t really need a cook; he needed someone just like Mario, someone who was eager to please and someone with a brain.

The Baron brought Mario to his study to discuss his duties and a plan of action.

“What’s that?" he asked Mario who held a purple furry creature in his hand.

“It’s Stompy Do, my pet. He’s my best friend and constant companion.”

“Well, put him down, and don’t let him touch anything. It’s not sanitary.”

Immediately, Mario set Stompy on a chair. Just as the Baron suspected, Mario was eager to please him, even as the Baron’s cranky side began to show itself.

He was accustomed to being self-centered and cruel, but he didn’t want to lose Mario either. I don’t want to scare him away, he thought. He flashed a fake smile that looked as if his lips were frozen that way. And maybe they were. After all he had eaten frozen desserts everyday for years since he tried the first strawberry sorbet. And even he couldn’t help but smile when he ate them. “What do you think of this?” the Baron asked Mario. He holds up a pint of Baron Von Glutton's Rainbow Sherbet with a caption that reads: “Made from real rainbows.”

“How can you make sherbet from real rainbows,” asked Mario. “They don't even taste like anything. They're actually an arc of spectral colors, usually defined as . . .”

“Shut up you imbecile! the Baron blurts out. “Of course I'm not using real rainbows!”

“You're not?” said Mario. “But what about truth in advertising?”

“What are you talking about!” the Baron fumes, “Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

“My mother?” said Mario. “NO. All she ever cared about was herself.”

“Well," said the Baron, the only truth here is you better do what I say or you won't live to see another rainbow! Just then the Baron catches himself and uses the smile. “Oh, I said that as a joke of course. What I mean to say is, if only I had the selection of luscious fruits that Scoopalott uses to get beautiful raspberry red, lemon yellow, blueberry blue, I wouldn't have to resort to this! It's another one of his stupid secrets and you’re going to find out where they come from. Now go, and take that silly pet with you!”

Mario grabbed Stompy Do and whispered, “it’s okay Stompy, this is our chance to really do something.”

Part 2 written by Ben Epstein, from Conant Elementary, Fourth Grade, An International Baccalaureate Primary Years Programme Candidate School. Teacher Marnie Diem

Stompy Do is a tiny purple dog, so cute Mario couldn’t take his eyes off him. Mario is at the grocery store, “Stompy Do, cutie," said Mario. “What should we try first?"

“Woof,” he pointed to the oranges.

“OK,” said Mario. He took a bite into the orange. “No,” he said, “it doesn’t taste like something in Scoopalott’s food.” Mario picked up an apple, “maybe this,” he said. He took a bite. “No, he said, “this isn’t it either.”

10,000,000 foods later . . .

“This isn’t it either, said Mario in a sleepy tone. “Well that’s the last food in the store Stompy Do.”

At Scoopalott’s . . . the Good Human Man was at the counter thinking about the Baron’s next trick. Just then a customer came in. His name was Sugar Daddy. Sugar Daddy was actually the devious Baron but the Good Human Man didn’t know that. He said, “May I help you?”

“Yes,” said Sugar Daddy. “I would like the best ice cream you have.”

“Coming right up, one super deluxe!” yelled the Good Human Man.

Sugar Daddy

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What Happens Next
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