Not everything should have marshmallows added to them.
Most things, yes, of course.
I'm not crazy.
But not everything.
That's why I was a bit surprised to come across a large mid-aisle display of sugary cereals (that have become a cultural punchline of sorts for all that is wrong with the American diet) touting the addition of "spooky marshmallows."
You pretty much had me at marshmallows, the two for $6 was just gravy.
As it turns out, I was blissfully unaware of this development in breakfast cereal technology in that they've been producing these self-parodies of nutrition for a while now.
I like the educational take on it: "Explore the universe through tooth decay."
And if you want a glimpse into the continuing collapse of modern American nutrition, these are literally excerpts from the first two reviews I came across on the Kellogg's website:
...And they don't give you enough marshmallows.
...i think it needs way more marshmallows
But that aside, there's a holiday to take advantage of and young children to exploit.
I was torn among the offerings, but the final choice was clear: Froot Loops it was. Sure, Sugar Frosted Flakes is iconic in its own right, but it's just flakes that are frosted. And Apple Jacks? That's the cereal you take because you were last in line and there is nothing else left.
Froot Loops on the other hand… Froot Loops invented a whole new way to spell "fruit"!
And right they should, as the move not only created a more easily trademarkable brand, it inoculated them against future lawsuits from those who are perpetually surprised by the patently obvious.
You can't claim Froot Loops doesn't contain froot because no one knows what froot is (other than the stuff they make Froot Loops out of).
I was of course eager to try them.
Eager might not be the right word. Trepidatious, perhaps.
After lingering in my cupboard for a few weeks (these appeared in early September, which is just wrong), I pulled a box down to check them out.
First, the nutrition: A 150-calorie serving of regular Froot Loops has 1.5 grams of fat, 12 grams of sugar, and 2 grams of protein.
Hey, what do you know: If you add marshmallows to something, the amount of sugar increases!
Still, they had to remove an equal volume of loops to make room for the marshmallows, so not that big of an increase (although it does suggest sugar-covered loops are not exactly the nutritional equivalent of broccoli either).
The ingredients are the normal set, but to its credit, this Halloween version only has three artificial colors vs. regular Froot Loops standard four.
The back of the box includes a fun game that teaches kids the importance of cross-promotion and brand extension:
It also includes this curious bit of advice:
"Jumbo Snax" are just pouches full of Froot Loops.
Sure, go ahead, try handing out breakfast cereal for Halloween. At least you'll ensure you'll never have to pay for another roll of toilet paper again.
Time to pour a bowl!
The colors of the loops themselves were appropriately Halloweeny: orange and purple. Incidentally, I looked up why purple became a Halloween color and found something really interesting.
Okay, so maybe that's not as interesting as it could have been. There is conjecture of course (the color purple's association with witches, an attempt to make the holiday more family friendly with a less-scary color, etc.) but no one is certain.
The marshmallows themselves tried to take up the same theme, starting with a ghost.
A bat.
And … whatever this is.
I asked my son what he thought it was, and he had the same initial thought I had.
"A mushroom?" he asked.
I thought that was a real contender, although I clearly had not given a whole lot of thought as to what the connection between Halloween and mushrooms would be (other than the Froot Loops food engineers being so consumed with remorse over their role in the continuing deterioration of the health of generations of vulnerable children that they were trying to blunt the pain with psychedelics).
My son checked the side of the box. He had a confused look on his face. It was not a mushroom, he said, but it wasn't anything he thought he would have guessed.
"Don't tell me," I said, "I want to see if I can figure this out myself."
"A trans-goblin?"
Nope.
"An arrow helpfully pointing in the direction of the nearest urgent care center should you suddenly lapse into an insulin coma?"
Nope.
"A decomposing witch? A pumpkin grown with Monsanto seed stock? Something from Hunter Biden's Instagram feed?"
Nope, nope, and nope.
I finally broke down and looked.
Oh, okay, I get it.
No I don't.
I guess it's Frankenstein?
There were so many choices - from pumpkins to witches to skeletons - that they could have gone with, and this was the one they chose?
I decided to dive in regardless.
I'll pause here for a moment to give you my son's impression first. While he has largely aged out of the demo for which marshmallows are considered an appropriate breakfast food, he did come across them in the cupboard and gave them a try.
"So, what did you think they tasted like?"
"Like Froot Loops with marshmallows."
They basically smelled like a combination of Froot Loops and Lucky Charms, even though Lucky Charms is made by General Mills.
And that's exactly what they tasted like. In fact, they reminded me of the kind of cereal you end up with when you leave a six-year old alone and unsupervised for five minutes at the budget hotel breakfast buffet.
"Look mom, Honey Bunches of Cap'n Raisin Bran!"
There are combinations that enhance one another, like pizza and pepperoni, chocolate and peanut butter, and The Captain and Tenille (although I still think The Captain could have had a solo career the likes of which we hadn't seen since Andrew Ridgeley).
Overall, this cereal was fine in that it was a big box of sugar, and I like sugar.
But there is a whiff of desperation among the purveyors of processed food these days.
This is what I've come across the past few weeks, all occupying the coveted end-of-aisle spots, and all screaming for attention:
I briefly considered doing a taste test of all these Halloween cereals, and then I remembered I would kind of like to live long enough to see my son grow up.
Regardless, if you are looking for a genuinely absurd Halloween breakfast cereal, this is certainly a solid choice.
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