Mick had applied for a fermentation operator post, at a famous Irish firm, based in Dublin. A Pole applied for the same job and since both applicants had similar qualifications, they were asked to

Mick had applied for a fermentation operator post, at a famous Irish firm, based in Dublin. A Pole applied for the same job, and since both applicants had similar qualifications, they were asked to...

...take a practical fermentation test. The firm, known for its award-winning stout, believed the true measure of a man was how he handled a vat of bubbling yeast.

First up was Mick. He was given a massive, gleaming stainless steel fermenter, a hefty sack of malted barley, and a packet of the firm's secret yeast strain. He set about his task with a confidence born of generations of Irish brewing. He measured, he mixed, he stirred, humming an old rebel song all the while. After an hour, he proudly presented his work. The supervisors leaned in, sniffing the air, then dipped a long spoon into the nascent brew. "Hmm," one mumbled, "a bit... eager." Another nodded, "And a touch on the… lively side."

Next, it was the Pole's turn. He approached the fermenter with a thoughtful, almost scientific air. Instead of rushing, he meticulously checked temperatures, adjusted valves, and even seemed to whisper to the yeast. He pulled out a small, well-worn book and consulted it, occasionally making precise, almost surgical adjustments to the mixture. After a while, he stepped back, a faint smile on his face. The supervisors, intrigued, approached cautiously. They sniffed. They tasted. Their eyes widened. "By the saints!" one exclaimed, "It's… perfect!" Another let out a low whistle, "Smooth as silk, and the aroma... divine!"

The head supervisor, a stern man with a walrus mustache, turned to Mick. "Mick," he began, "your fermentation was, shall we say, spirited. But the Pole's... it was a work of art. How did you do it, lad?"

The Pole shrugged modestly. "Ah, it's simple, really. Back in Poland, my village had only one working brewery. We had to learn to coax every last bit of spirit out of our ingredients. Also," he added with a twinkle in his eye, "I just followed the instructions in this book." He held up the worn volume.

Mick leaned closer, squinting at the title. "What's that then?" he asked, rubbing his chin.

The Pole grinned. "'Fermentation for Dummies: A Beginner's Guide to Not Exploding Your Brewery.'"

The supervisors burst out laughing, and Mick, despite himself, had to chuckle. The Pole got the job, of course, but Mick was offered a position in quality control, ensuring no batch was too lively. After all, a little spiritedness is part of the Irish charm, just not in their perfectly brewed stout!