Some Sundays ease in quietly. This one hums before you even touch the glass.
Kareem Kandi is still riding that KKWO festival current — not the tidy, polite version of jazz, but the expansive, traveling kind, where various bands lean into the moment and let it stretch just a little longer than expected. Earlier start, longer arc, the room shifting from afternoon light into evening tone while horns, keys, and rhythm find their way through it. It’s not a set. It’s a conversation that refuses to stay contained.
So we built a pairing that behaves the same way.
Two bottles, two worlds that don’t just blur beer and something else — they improvise. Cantillon Saint Lamvinus moves like a slow, deliberate bass line, all grape skin, cellar air, and dry, vinous pull, while The Lost Abbey Carnevale steps in lighter on its feet, citrus and spice opening the door before Brett wanders through and rearranges the room. Tart against soft. Structured against evolving. Each sip answering the last, then changing its mind.
This isn’t a Sunday flight built for quick decisions. It’s built to sit with — to let the music stretch, let the beer open, let the afternoon slip into something deeper without anyone rushing it.
Peaks & Pints Sunday Jazz Cantillon & Carnevale Flight
Cantillon Saint Lamvinus
7% ABV | Grape Lambic | Brussels, Belgium
It doesn’t enter so much as emerge, deep ruby and quietly alive, red grape skin and tart cherry unfolding into a firm tannic grip before a flicker of lemony acidity cuts through, the lambic underneath humming with cellar funk and old wood memory, the fruit integrated rather than announced, shifting between wine and wild ale without settling into either, as Cantillon lets Merlot, Grenache, and Syrah dissolve into something older than style, the finish dry, mineral, and lingering like a conversation that started in a vineyard and ended somewhere beneath Brussels.
The Lost Abbey Carnevale
8% ABV | Saison | San Marcos, California
It opens with a bright lift of tangerine and apricot before drifting into toasted biscuit and soft spice, the carbonation lively, almost playful, carrying a gentle sweetness that quickly gives way to something wilder, Brettanomyces rising slowly with earthy funk and a dry, peppery edge, Carnevale evolving in the glass with every sip, the finish long, layered, and just unruly enough to feel like a quiet rebellion dressed up in Sunday clothes.
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