The yeast had taken control of his mind. He was now working for the yeast.
The new batch was especially potent. Maybe it was the blend of hops. Maybe the combination of Belgian yeasts was creating additional effects. Either way, he was pleased. The brew was a success and it was time to bottle it now. A little bit of CO2 and a hefty pull on the bottling machine’s arm is all it took to seal this particular liquid under glass.
“Where shall I go today?” he asked himself. The yeast answered: “SUGAR, NOW!”. The yeast spoke in simple commands. It decided where he would finally end up.
That day, his fate led him across town. A new type of sugary delight to eat would be his target. Twisted cinnamon scones dipped in frosted sprinkles with a dash of apple spice. The Dutch Oven bakery was the only place to get this particular treat.
Chimes jingled as the door opened, and the fateful collision of odors took place. As the brewer took interest in the overwhelming smells of the bakery, his own odor began drawing attention.
The baker took a long whiff of this new, intriguing and delicious yeasty odor. “It reminds me of home”, he said with a Dutch accent. “I must have a taste”, he continued, leaning in. Saliva was forming in his mouth. Unsuspecting, the brewer allowed it.
CHOMP. The brewer did not see it coming. He wanted to recoil in horror, but it was too late. The Dutchman was upon him. They wrestled to the ground with muffled screams. The Dutchman knew how to kill a man with his bare hands, and this was in part how he was able to knead dough so well.
The Dutchman regaled himself on the flesh of the brewer. He spoke to himself: “My origin, we are one again.” It took no more than 10 minutes for him to consume the entirety of the flesh, so delicious it was. The brewer was no more – but his yeast lived on.
“SUGAR, NOW!”, the yeast demanded. It had found a new host.