National Beer Day at Peaks & Pints: 3 Floyds Brewing

There are days that hum politely along the calendar, nodding at you like a courteous neighbor, and then there is April 7 — National Beer Day — which kicks the door open with a frothy grin, smells faintly of rebellion, and whispers, “Remember when we weren’t allowed to have nice things?”

Because this holiday, this beautiful barley-soaked anniversary, is not about novelty. It is about resurrection.

Back in 1933, after 13 long, dusty, moralizing years of Prohibition — a national experiment in telling humans not to do the very thing they most enjoy doing — the Cullen–Harrison Act slipped through like a wink from history, legalizing beer (albeit a modest 3.2% version) and cracking open the door to joy. Cullen–Harrison Act took effect April 7, 1933, and suddenly America remembered itself. People lined up outside breweries at midnight like pilgrims at a sacred spring, clutching thirst and anticipation, ready to sip freedom again.

Roosevelt, bless him, allegedly said, “I think this would be a good time for a beer,” which might be the most understated mic drop in American political history.

And from that moment on, beer wasn’t just beer. It was defiance, agriculture, chemistry, poetry, industry, and the low, golden thrum of people gathering again — which, if you squint just right, is exactly what Peaks & Pints does every single day, only with better glassware and fewer federal amendments.

Now fast-forward through decades of lager lullabies and IPA revolutions to a place where hops got loud, art got weirder, and one Indiana brewery decided “subtle” was for someone else entirely.

Enter 3 Floyds Brewing — the beautiful, snarling, comic-book-drenched anomaly born in 1996 when Nick Floyd cobbled together a brewing system out of what sounds like a mad scientist’s garage sale and declared war on boring beer.

This is not a brewery that tiptoes. This is a brewery that stomps in steel-toed boots, kicks the palate awake, and then hands you something like Dreadnaught — one of the first imperial IPAs east of the Mississippi — daring you to keep up.

They built a cult without trying to. Or maybe by trying very hard in exactly the right way: unapologetic flavor, heavy metal collaborations, labels that look like they escaped from a fever dream, and beers like Zombie Dust that sell out so fast they might as well evaporate into legend.

People call it the “Cult of Floyds.” They call it devotion. They call it, quietly, some of the best beer on the planet.

And now — thanks to Odom Corporation — that Midwestern myth has rolled into Washington this week like a long-awaited storm system, dropping kegs instead of rain, a little chaos in every pour.

Which brings us, inevitably and gloriously, to Peaks & Pints.

Because of course Basecamp Proctor would not let National Beer Day pass like a polite handshake. No, this is a full embrace, a clinking, laughing, slightly unhinged celebration of everything that got us here — from Roosevelt’s quiet grin to Floyd’s loud, glorious defiance.

On tap: a lineup that reads like a graphic novel written in hops and roasted barley.

Wig Spitter Coffee Stout — dark, caffeinated mischief, like your morning cup decided to wear leather and stay out too late.
Deluxe Lager — crisp, clean, deceptively simple, the kind of beer that reminds you restraint can still whisper poetry.
Dreadnaught — the hop cannon, still firing, still unapologetic, still daring your tongue to survive.
Gumballhead American Wheat Pale — citrusy, playful, that strange and perfect middle ground where wheat beer learned how to smirk.
Turbo Reaper IPA — likely loud, possibly dangerous, definitely not here to make friends with your expectations.
Zombie Dust Pale — the legend, the undead citrus bomb, still shambling, still glorious.
Cocomungo Coconut Stout — dessert, midnight, and a tropical fever dream all folded into one velvet-black pour.

This is not a quiet tap list. This is a declaration.

Because National Beer Day isn’t really about looking back — though it’s nice to toast those first trembling sips in 1933. It’s about recognizing that beer has always been more than beverage. It is community technology. It is agricultural storytelling. It is liquid time travel.

It is standing at a bar in Tacoma, Washington, holding a pint from Indiana, celebrating a law from 1933, surrounded by people who just wanted — and still want — something honest, something flavorful, something shared.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

History cracked the door open.

Brewers like 3 Floyds kicked it off the hinges.

And places like Peaks & Pints keep it wide open, one gloriously “not normal” pint at a time.

Link: Peaks & Pints beer and cider cooler inventory