Ah yes, St. Arnoldus of Soissons—the myth, the monk, the medieval microbiologist who looked upon the tepid, parasite-laced waters of 11th-century Belgium and thought: “Nope. Let’s boil that hellscape and add hops.” Canonized not just for his piety but for his prescience, St. Arnoldus urged the masses to “drink beer, not water,” which in retrospect is perhaps the most righteous public health campaign ever disguised as day drinking. He is the patron saint of brewers, alewives, and those of us who’ve seen God in the golden shimmer of a Belgian tripel—and on July 18, we raise our chalices not just in reverence, but in spiritual fermentation. Call it salvation through saisons, redemption by dubbel. Amen, and pass the Orval.
Peaks & Pints St. Arnoldus of Soissons Day Flight
Brasserie d’Orval Orval
6.2% ABV
Once upon a hop-splashed fairy tale, a grieving duchess lost her gold ring to a trout and accidentally founded one of the world’s most legendary Trappist breweries. Welcome to Brasserie d’Orval’a Orval, where mysticism meets microbiology and every 5-ounce taster poured at Peaks & Pints becomes a benediction in bubbles. Brewed since 1931 to bankroll the resurrection of the Orval monastery—and designed by a Bavarian brewmaster named Pappenheimer, because of course it was—this singular ale dances somewhere between sacred yeast science and forest-born fable. Dry-hopped with abandon, fermented with both devout discipline and wild abandon, and kissed by Brettanomyces like a sacramental head trip, Orval is not so much a beer as it is a spiritual reckoning in amber.
Hanssens Artisanaal Outbeitje
6% ABV
Hanssens Artisanaal Outbeitje is not so much brewed as it is conjured—an alchemical whisper from the oaken bones of Belgian tradition, born of loss, persistence, and an almost heretical devotion to the divine funk. When German forces seized the Hanssens brewery during WWI, Bartholome Hanssens didn’t surrender—he transformed, becoming a blender of lambic dreams, aging wild worts from across the Senne in barrels like secrets and marrying them with the care of a monk hand-copying forbidden texts. Outbeitje (“little strawberry”) is their ode to the berry patch: dry as a flamenco stomp, tart as monastic gossip, kissed with just enough fruit to remind you it once knew summer. No sugar, no tricks, no pasteurization—just spontaneous fermentation and old-world sorcery in a glass. A fitting lambic pour for St. Arnoldus Day, when even the sour saints rejoice.
Brouwerij De Brabandere Petrus Aged Pale
7.3% ABV
Petrus Aged Pale is the beer that was never supposed to be—a ghost note in the barrel-aged symphony, the hidden monk’s verse never meant for secular ears. Originally brewed as a blending component for De Brabandere’s Oud Bruin, it lived a quiet life aging in cavernous 25,000-liter oak foeders, doing the tart work behind the scenes. That is, until beer savant Michael Jackson (the one with a notebook, not a glove) tasted it in the ’90s and declared it holy enough to bottle on its own. Thus, the “mother beer” was set loose: a 7.3% oak-aged sermon of tannins and tang, malt whispers and red apple sharpness, aged up to 30 months like some kind of liquid relic. It finishes with a dry lemon snap and a lingering pucker that feels like a benediction to your taste buds. Call it what it is—accidental genius, fermented fate, or just the sour soul of St. Arnoldus himself, humming in oak.
Bosteels Tripel Karmeliet
8.4% ABV
Bosteels‘ Tripel Karmeliet, the monastic multigrain marvel that pranced out of obscurity in 1996 and straight into hallowed Belgian folklore. Brewed from a love‑letter recipe whispered from a 17th‑century Carmelite dormitory—yes, oats whispering soft balletic praise to barley and wheat—this cathedral in a goblet is a creamy, citrus‑kissed, spice‑ridden sermon in liquid form. It shimmers straw‑gold, perfumes your nostrils with banana‑vanilla lightness, then hits with coriander and pepper like a holy smack. And that creamy‑zing mouthfeel? Satin draped in saintly bubbles. It’s the kind of beer that doesn’t just sit on your tongue—it preaches. A fitting apostle for the Day of St. Arnoldus.
Chimay Grande Reserve
9% ABV
Chimay Grande Réserve is the dark-robed oracle of the Trappist world, brewed by monks who clearly commune with yeast gods on a higher frequency. Born in 1948 as a Christmas miracle and aged like ecclesiastical velvet, this 9-percent cathedral in a chalice unfurls with figs, molasses, pipe tobacco, and a whisper of roasted heaven, all cloaked in the softest carbonation ever to froth across your mortal lips. Bottle-conditioned with the patience of saints and designed to age into a philosophical conversation with your grandchildren, Grande Réserve doesn’t shout—it sermonizes. It is, quite frankly, the liquid equivalent of Gregorian chant echoing through oaken abbey halls. A most holy relic for this, the Day of St. Arnoldus.
LINK: Peaks & Pints beer and cider cooler inventory
