Russian River Compunction, NOW AVAILABLE IN 24OZ ALUMINUM CANS

Just kidding, this tart gem is still walez. Most people go apeshit for vintage beats, large format Russian River sours, and even that elusive over the hill geriatric sucker, Depuration. BUT WHAT ABOUT THIS OVERLOOKED GEM? This has never been in a bottle, never been growlered, rarely observed in the wild, never domesticated. Let’s let guilt set in today’s review, because you know what you DID.

Draft only, no growler, DONG so hard right now.

Russian River Brewing Company
California, United States
American Wild Ale | 5.40% ABV

A: This looks suspiciously Founey, and has the light carbonation that unsurprisingly attends this elusive beer. The lacing is minimal, the head subsides immediately, and the entire affair calms down like a Lifetime movie really quickly. However, if you somehow have a glass of this and complain about its appearance, you are doing it r0ng. The gentle light orange and deep yellow hues are inviting but they remind you of that time you backed out on a trade, and you should feel bad.

This is a perfect illustration of how it feels to sip on this romantic portrait of an amazing wild. I did not urinate on myself, that time.

S: This smells like a blend of damn near all of the Russian River gems in a fantastic way. You get that bretty funk from Sanctification, a tart apricot acidity from beatification, that oaky character from temptation, and a white grape tannic profile from that asshole, Consecration. It kinda feels like Fantome put their balls in this batch simply due to the funk ghost that haunts the glass, ain’t even mad tho.

T: Again, the funk pounds out beats in double time like Tower of Power. There’s a deep tart cheese astringency, old saddle musk, nice apricot and peach aspects to the tartness with old gam gam’s sweet pies. There’s a backend that is similar to a biscuity chewy finish and somehow the dryness gets along with it amiably. The whole thing is kinda like a kumquat shortbread cookie, since who hasn’t baked up a fresh batch of those?

When I am mashing out on rare sours, bother me nevermore, I don’t care if it is my sweet love Anabelle Lee.

M: There’s some breadiness and the pastries are kept in check by a hateful acidity that lingers, knowing of your past transgressions. No one saw that traffic accident, no one except this beer. Now light malty clues are arriving with strange alacrity. Who placed those flaky biscuits on the windowsill? Someone who KNOWS.

D: This is exceptionally drinkable and serves as a venerable Megazord of Russian River’s finest offerings in a united, powerful form. I wish this was available in bottles as it might be the best nominalization from Russian River, gives me a nice -tion in my heart. Then again, I am glad this isn’t available in bottles because then people would just wipe it out and trade it for Allagash wares, or something.

The things I would do to try this beer again are numerous and shameful.

Narrative: “Ayla, this simply is not possible!” Taeyler gasped as she found a badly worn Tamagotchi sitting on her doorstep. “Taytay, no one saw what we did that day in Claires.” Even Ayla knew deep down, her pangs of conscience were tart and cold. “No one could have foreseen that stealing those magnet earrings and scrunchies would have resulted in that hemophiliac girl bleeding to death in the piercing chair. WE COULDN’T HAVE KNOWN!” But someone did know, someone with a deep acidic disposition and an affinity for children’s hair care products. They booted up the Tamagotchi and reeled in horror to find a dead gigapet, fed constantly but never allowed to use the bathroom. “What kind of sick-” Taytay exclaimed and noticed, on the dead girl’s electronic pet, an attached magnetic earring. The deep sting of regret and tart shame.

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