Fan Fiction Friday: Fantasy Island
Alton Brown fan fiction crossover index
Wide shot. The seaplane settles onto the island airstrip as the tide rolls in. Guests gather, the breeze carrying salt and anticipation. At the end of the dock, Tattoo rings a small bell.
TATTOO: De plane! De plane!
Cut. Alton Brown steps forward, notebook in hand, already cataloging details—knife rolls, travel-worn chef coats, the way some guests look past the welcome table and straight toward the kitchens tucked into the palms.
ALTON (aside): Nobody comes to an island like this for a casual snack.
Tattoo gestures him along the familiar path. Open-air kitchens appear between the trees, fires laid but not lit, ingredients staged with deliberate care. At the veranda, Mr. Roarke waits, immaculate as ever.
MR. ROARKE: Mr. Brown, welcome! Today, our guests are all chefs. Highly disciplined chefs, known all around the world for their exquisite cuisine.
ALTON: I noticed. No distractions. No entourages.
MR. ROARKE (smiling): They have each taken vows of focus. Celibate, some might say. All their energy is reserved for the craft.
(Three chefs step forward from the plane, one at a time.)
MR. ROARKE (intently): Chef Aurelia Voss has recently opened a new restaurant in Las Vegas. She lives her life in precision. Her knives are arranged by length and balance. She speaks softly, every word weighed.
ALTON: I heard about her new Vegas location. Before that, very big in Los Angeles area.
MR. ROARKE (continuing): Chef Marco Bellini is classical, restrained, and trained in old kitchens where recipes were learned by repetition, not reinvention. Every night he runs... Mr. Brown?
ALTON: Um... Oh! The same four-table restaurant in New York. Reservations are years in advance.
MR. ROARKE: Correct! And the third, Chef Jun Park—modernist, minimalist, calm. Notice how he watches the fires in the outdoor cooking area... as if they are already lit and waiting just for him.
ALTON: He also has a successful line of... well, not really "cookbooks" but more like "cooking textbooks" for culinary school and home cooks. Impressive!
MR. ROARKE: Each has requested the same fantasy.
ALTON: Let me guess. Victory.
CHEF VOSS: To defeat them both.
CHEF BELLINI: To prove tradition still wins.
CHEF PARK: To show restraint is stronger than excess.
Alton frowns, pen hovering.
ALTON: Mr. Roarke, they can’t all win. If each defeats the other two, the math collapses. Even on an island. And these really are the best in the world for the day, maybe for all time.
(Roarke steps closer, lowering his voice.)
MR. ROARKE: That is only what they say their fantasy is.
(He gestures, one by one.)
MR. ROARKE: The fantasy of Chef Voss is to cook without fear of being outshone.
MR. ROARKE: The fantasy of Chef Bellini is to see his traditions respected, not merely repeated.
MR. ROARKE: And the fantasy of Chef Park is to discover whether simplicity can still move people.
Alton looks back at the kitchens, understanding dawning.
ALTON: So the battle isn’t about beating the others.
MR. ROARKE: No. It is about meeting themselves at the stove.
Tattoo rings the bell again. Fires are lit. The chefs take their stations—separate, silent, intent.
ALTON (closing his notebook): Then I suppose my job is simple. Make sure the food tells the truth.
MR. ROARKE (whispering to Tattoo): That is his fantasy!
(The camera pulls back: three kitchens, three paths, one island waiting to see what each chef truly serves.)
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