To paraphrase the illustrious Milhouse Van Houten: “Remember Trix? They’re back! …In Pog form 6 colors.

Okay, well Trix never actually left, but when General Mills removed the cereal’s artificial colors and flavors at the start of last year, it kind of desaturated the cereal in the public eye. And even I’ll admit that, while I appreciated the cereal’s newly authentic fruit flavor at first, its overly citrusy taste profile started to sour on me. Before long, I was out there on the front lines with my “Give Me Red Dye #40 Or Give Me An Even Swifter Death” picket sign.

And apparently General Mills heard the anguished cries of a bunny litter’s worth of distraught inner children, because now “Classic” Trix is back on shelves alongside its tri-colored companion. So whether you’re hankering for a carrot or a slice of carrot cake, Trix has something for you, your kids, and all your silly rabbits to gnaw on.

Let’s take a flavor roadtrip back to the ancient old days of early 2016, shall we? Don’t forget to bring your Sports Almanac!

I’ll be honest: I don’t think enough time has passed in the public conscious for most to forget what real Trix tastes like. But regardless, this is exactly the Trix you you’ll remember eating as a kid—unless you grew up in the original era of tri-flavored Trix, in which case, feel free to tell me to get off your lawn at any time. In fact, the cerebral resonance here is so strong that, upon my first bite of that forbidden, laboratory-grown fruit flavor, I was mentally transported back to the days of The Great Trix Train Robbery, when, after asking my parents’ permission before going online, I tantalized myself with the mysteries, whodunits, and tomfooleries of a certain larcenous hare.

Trying to describe the overall taste of Trix as anything but distinctly Trixian is difficult. It’s like a potently syrupy tropical cotton candy fruit smoothie—the kind you’d always imagine the Might Morphin Power Rangers drank at the Gym and Juice Bar—that was candied with a thick glaze produced by liquefying a Laffy Taffy variety pack. The 6 fruit flavors blend very seamlessly together, and I’m still uncertain whether each colored sphere actually does taste different (or if it’s just a Froot Loops-esque conspiracy), but for the sake of frivolous digital entertainment, I’m going to try breaking down and ranking them:

6. Lemony Yellow – The Fred Scooby-Doo fruit snack of the bunch, Lemony Yellow isn’t bad, but the slightly acidic citrus flavor it oozes out reminds me too much of “all natural” Trix, which, the more I eat this technicolor dreamstuff, the more I dislike.

5. Orangey Orange – While the Velma Scooby-Doo fruit snack is objectively the worst, orange fairs a little better here, with a sweeter tanginess and a more syrupy Orange Julius finish. Speaking of which, I’d take this one to a mall food court, but there wouldn’t be a second date. And I wouldn’t share my Auntie Anne’s pretzel.

4. Raspberry Red – The most inoffensive of the original flavors, Raspberry Red balances tartness with sweetness, like a strawberry possessed serial killer’s ghost. Raspberry as a flavor doesn’t have the universal palatability to anchor a cereal on its own, but its berry bursts are welcome as an accent.

3. Grapity Grape – This unfortunately named flavor nevertheless champions grape as an underrated breakfast flavor—a cause only the late Sir Grapefellow ever recognized. Its juicy purple undertones here are deep, brooding, grounding, and refreshing—albeit sticky to the trachea, like a sip of purple Kool-Aid.

2. Lime Green – Technically still citrus, Lime is given a pass because its potent burst of sweetened tang reminds me of Long-Lost Lime Skittles, and because its color reminds me of Nickelodeon Slime. If Trix ever adds a Green Apple puff, I’m unsubscribing from life.

1. Wildberry Blue – Rule #1 of childhood: always eat the blue thing first. While many millennia conditioned prehistoric humans to seek out all the tasty red things in nature and not the blue ones, about two decades of flavor science flipped that script. Wildberry is the most elusive flavor to describe—it’s somewhere between, yes, a blue Scooby-Doo fruit snack, a blue raspberry, and a Crunch Berry—but its that mystique that I love most about it.

So there you have it: every Trix puff ranked. I probably imagined half of that.

Trix is a reliable cereal to pair with milk, to make it even more like berries & cream yogurt. See, Trix’s puffs avoid the problem of excessive corniness that plagues Cocoa Puffs and Reese’s Puffs, by saturating each piece with flavor to the core. This means they stand up to sogginess well, too, artfully pairing milk’s creaminess with their half dozen of assorted candied fruit. My only wish is that these hollow, crispy balls had the same dense crunch of their former fruit shapes—heck, my real rish is that General Mills just brings back the fruit shapes.

But perhaps we won’t have to wait long for that. General Mills has already hinted that the fruit shapes may return soon, which would mean all cosmic balance would be restored and no one would ever age again. I think. Regardless, I’m glad Trix’s 6 colors are back—I’d say this proves the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it rule,” but since the cereal’s fruit shapes originally broke that rule by changing the initial puffs shape, this point is moot. Trix will probably never be an every day cereal for me, but it will always be in the weekly running for my go-to Saturday Morning munchie.

Life hack: blend it with Crunch Berries and it’s like getting punched in the mouth by an ambiguous Fruit Gusher.

The Bowl: Classic Trix Cereal

The Breakdown: With a proprietarily memorable blend of sugary artificial fruits, this nostalgic stuff tastes like I always imagined Carmen Miranda’s hat would. Airy pieces and a lack of fruit shapes are the only thing holding it back.

The Bottom Line: 9 Alf Cereals out of 10