To me, snack cakes are near-sacred totems. Arcane talismans that exude nostalgic simplicity and forbidden sweetness so concentrated that it can be hard to process for an adult stomach.

Ironic, since they’re so processed.

In more innocent times I gobbled Twinkies and Zebra Cakes with reckless abandon—I notoriously once went so far as to fit a whole Ho-Ho in my mouth on a self-administered dare. But now I merely visit them, usually in the convenience stores I consider their most fitting temples, gazing upon how impressively unchanged they are in a more health-conscious world that’s largely moved on without them.

So while I rarely partake in glazed glee any more, I’m excited that Hostess has teamed up with Post to turn two of its standout snacks into chibi cereal cakes. Granted, neither Honey Bun Cereal nor Powdered Donettes Cereal seem like obvious choices for the brand, but in a way, I’m glad: throwing chocolate and vanilla rings in a bag with marshmallows and calling ’em Cupcakes & Twinkies would’ve been too easy.

Geometric precedents aside, let’s return to the world of swirled cereal buns and curvaceous donuts. Dare me to shove a whole box in my mouth?

Hostess Honey Bun Cereal Review

Listen, I always knew that Honey Buns had the ability to bring me back to life after a hard day. There’s just nothing like slowly unpeeling the vortexed layers of a sticky snail shell to savor the goo-puddled core they defend.

But I didn’t know that Post and Hostess’ (referred from here ’til my death as Postess) Honey Bun Cereal would be a true necromancer of the sweetest kind.

Not even three months after the tragic discontinuation of Waffle Crisp, its gloriously golden soul has been reincarnated into these tiny tornadoes—albeit with one sticky semisolid swapped for another. From the eye of their storms (or is it the eye of God?) comes an instantly recognizable burst of syrupy honey biscuit goodness.

Each may lack the dash of sugar-smacked maple that made Waffle Crisp my ride-or-die childhood bowlmate, but the browned and crisped grain base does a good job of bringing buttery depth to the honey infusion. This honey is not the stomach-warming nectar of Honey Nut Cheerios, but rather that of Honeycomb, topped with the creamy midpoint between a real Honey Bun’s glaze and an Iced Honey Bun’s thick and hedonistic frosting.

As for milk? You can really take it or leave it. A nice vanilla almond milk will bring you closer to an Iced Honey Bun if that’s your brand of ecstatic emulsification, but even with normal milk, Honey Bun Cereal approaches cloying territory. At exactly 50% sugar by mass, the stuff’s already best enjoyed in moderation (not unlike a real H.B.), so adding creamy solidarity to the equation could make even a gas station bathroom grimace.

I may never forgive Post for what they did to Waffle Boy and his cohorts, but this is a pretty convincing penance. A smart adaptation of snack cake excess that brings the best parts of a naked, yet buttered waffle, Honey Bun Cereal is already sure to be a year-long repeat buy that I’ll buckle up before taking home to the grocery store.

Because I’m not gonna lose another golden boy, darn it.

The Bottom Line: 9 Postesses with the Postest out of 10

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Hostess Donettes Mini Powdered Donut Cereal Review

I would be annoyed at (what I’m calling) Powdered Donettes Cereal for having such a long-winded and redundant birth name, but I can’t stay mad at it for two reasons: one, because it’s really good, and two, because it opens up the very much needed possibility of other Donettes Cereals.

I’m banking on a Weetabix-style Jumbo Donettes Cereal, so no one can give me funny looks for dissecting full-sized, milk-bathed doughnuts any more.

Perhaps most importantly, the dry mouthfeel of each ivory ring is fantastic: pillowy and heavily powdered, it’s like if Cap’n Crunch’s own Sprinkled Donut Crunch came childproofed to prevent palate laceration.

The flavor, however, blows the Cap’n out of whatever waters he fishes his treasure chests out of. Just like how Nature Valley somehow one-upped the quadrilateral clout of Cracklin’ Oat Bran, Powdered Donettes Cereal is more like a directly upgraded Pink Donut Cereal—which was already my #2 cereal of 2017.

Where its rosy cousin tasted like a frosted animal cookie, Postess’ Powdered Mini Donuts are more akin to an iced animal cracker, an important distinction that highlights the more intimately balanced relationship between sweet base and cream-kissed dusting. The base crunch may not be palpably deep-fried, but it is hearty and Nilla Wafer-esque, making for a pleasant contrast with the recognizably powdered-sugared coating.

More than a one-note sweetness, the final product is endlessly addictive, and by far the most authentic doughnut homage I’ve yet to eat by the bowlful…

…or should I say mugful. Adding milk to Powdered Donettes is a bit counterintuitive: it’s like slathering them in a liquid-diluted version of themselves. Rather—and I know this sounds outlandish—I recommend dunking the itty bitty treats in a well-milked/creamered mug of coffee.

The more earthen and grounded notes from the beverage complement the rich bursts of Donette powder, making a combo that, while dairy driven, is both unique and unforgettably fun.

Because sometimes you just want to coffee and doughnuts with a built-in crumb capture and consumption trap.

Despite a mild milk performance, I’m comfortable giving Powdered Donettes Cereal sterling marks. With the cereal aisle’s proud lineage of doughnut cereals, it inherited a big pair of baker’s shoes, yet it both filled them with creativity and liberated your and my breakfasts alike from the obligation to use milk alone.

Legendary cereals are rule breakers, and this one encouraged me to ruin my supper(s).

The Bottom Line: 10 de-soured lemon man mugs out of 10