The crustular revolution will not be televised.

Probably because crustular isn’t a real word, let alone an FDA-approved one. Though one could consider it an antonym of ‘cromulent.’

Pop-Tarts varieties have gotten wilder than a berry in recent years, with a number of crazy flavors and gimmicks that weren’t necessarily crazy good by extension. But through it all, Kellogg’s wasn’t able to open up their third eye to see the true opportunity for creativity that lies in a Pop-Tart’s largely unmodified third component—arguably the most fundamentally important component. The crust.

I struggle to think of many Pop-Tarts with crust that tastes like anything more than “classic puff pastry” and “chocolate puff pastry.” There’s Red Velvet, but that’s really just clown chocolate. Perhaps the only worthy ancestral analogue I can think of for these crust-bending Pretzel Pop-Tarts would be Kellogg’s line of weirdly wonderful Peanut Butter Pop-Tarts. With a more crumbly and baked-cookie-esque crust, that trilogy of PB, Choco PB & PB&J cemented themselves as an unforgettable, holy trinity of revelatory revolutions in Pop-Tarchitecture.

So why did it take Kellogg’s so long to break the expensive factory mold again?
And was it worth it?

Uh, yes. And also yes.

Both Chocolate Pretzel Pop-Tarts and Cinnamon Sugar Pretzel Pop-Tarts are very enjoyable to eat, by any measure. The crust’s genuinely satisfying sodium infusion doesn’t just raise its overall flavor contribution: it rises past frosting and filling alike to become the star of the show.

Proving this crust’s unique genetic adaptation, Pretzel Pop-Tarts look a bit different than normal Pop-Tarts too. Beyond the scant icing squiggles, the overall tart tends to feel concave and glossy with some sort of thin, shimmering browned butter basting, an even more pearlescent relative of the standard, glassy Pop-Tart finish. As alien as it may feel to touch, this movie-theater glaze pairs well with the crust’s tame, but palpable kick of salt.

In that sense, Pretzel Pop-Tarts are a worthy spiritual successor to Peanut Butter Pop-Tarts, as well as a true “I’m you but better” Six Million Dollar Man counterpart to Maple Bacon Pop-Tarts’ failed foray into the outer reaches of salt-twinkling sweetness.

And that’s before you even consider the filling. Neither the chocolate nor the auburn cinnamon sugar jelly have a complex appeal. One is filled with your typical “unfulfilled milk chocolate that’s trying to be fudge.” Certainly good, especially when it tags along with the pretzel flavor chariot coursing through each bite. But ultimately I prefer the Cinnamon Sugar Pretzel Pop-Tart filling: it’s not quite as potent as your garden variety Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tart, but it seems to mesh even better with the pretzel crust. Perhaps because of how the cinnamon’s subtle, gentle herbal spice bridges the gradient between salt and sugar? Or maybe because powdered sugar and butter is an ultimate guilty pleasure?

It’s tough to say, and definitively subjective. You can’t go wrong with either option, so whichever your sweet tooth is drawn to is worth trying at least once. Or twice, because this is also one of few Pop-Tarts in recent memory that tastes better toasted than any other way. As a specifically passionate advocate for freezing Pop-Tarts, the salt element here feels so much more naturally baked-in when the whole thing’s bathed in a toaster’s aurora. Freezing these isn’t bad, but you deserve to get these calculator-sized stuffed pretzel in their grandest, smelt-in-your-mouth state.

Given the clear evolution of Peanut Butter Pop-Tarts, which had only very faint salt notes, to these happy mediums between both clear and white granules, I’m left to ponder what might come next. Does this indicate a complete trilogy given the fall of Maple Bacon? Or will the next Pop-Tarts simply be deep-fried?

The Bowl: Pretzel Pop-Tarts

The Breakdown: A shining survivor from a pack of gimmicky Flop-Tarts, Pretzel Pop-Tarts will please any fan of salty ‘n’ sweet snacks. I feel Cinnamon Sugar is more harmonic, but trust whichever one the appetite angel on your shoulder harks and praises.

The Bottom Line Chocolate: 9 syrupy bionic pigs out of 10
The Bottom Line (Cinnamon Sugar): 9.5 cinnamon sugar snow globes out of 10