Canada Day occurred this past week, and this weekend marks the much-beloved American Independence Day (you can tell it’s July 4^th solely by the collective sound of several million ketchup bottles squelching their tomato-y innards in unison over millions more hot dogs and hamburgers). But this is Cerealously, not “Catching Up with Ketchup,” so let’s talk about what really matters.

I was lucky enough to spend this past week on vacation with my family that has become a loving American-Canadian hybrid. What this meant was that the pantry shelves were packed tight with snacks of both origins, a union which I viewed as an edible symbol of our countries’ goodwill. I mean, is there anything more beautiful than learning French as you eat?

Bilingualism: it’s what’s for breakfast.

But what this also meant was a jarring contrast between my largely localized knowledge of cereals. Sure, I love Korean Oreo O’s, and I’ve considered booking a flight to Europe just to buy Knister Twister, but, alas, my choices tend to be regionally restricted. For the most part, though, classics like Cheerios and Raisin Bran are internationally consistent. So when I reached into our great morning melting pot of a pantry for a box of Corn Pops, I was surprised to find something altogether unfamiliar. Not the boisterous red I’ve so long known, but a neon blue “POPS” screaming back at me beneath French letters.

Now if logo differentiation were the only incongruence here, this would be a short article. But no: the Canadian rabbit hole went deeper. These Pops made my jaw drop. While American Corn Pops take the form of amorphous, aerated kernels, the Canadian ones were bloated spheres. A much more familiar shape to cereal regulars (imagine the ruggedly beautiful geometry of a Crunchberry), the spheres were remarkable enough to my perpetually childlike consciousness to warrant a double take.

But would they taste different? I considered this the perfect chance to celebrate both nations’ holidays, so I grabbed a nearby mini box of American Pops (you should know better than to think I wouldn’t come prepared) and pit the cereals against each other in a friendly competition. It’s time to Pop ‘til you drop!

When it comes to box art and presentation, the two are too similar to pick a winner. Though I will say that the red Pops logo is easier on my eyes, whether that’s because of some sort of imagined “warm color symmetry” or simply an unconscious regional bias.

But upon tasting the competitors in sequence, the difference is palpable, both in terms of texture and flavor. If you’ve had American Corn Pops before, you’re familiar with the mish-mash of mouthfeel experiences provided by the golden, corny bits: the smooth, sticky outside gives way to a single, satisfying crunch, as the air imprisoned inside pops out in a blaze of sugary, maize-tinged glory. But like eating a birthday balloon, this brief joy leaves behind a hollow, chewy husk, which must be begrudgingly chewed (and chewed and chewed and chewed) by the eater before another spoonful can be enjoyed.

The taste is quite satisfying, though. A generic, sugary sweet flavor predominates from the first bite, but chewing over time reveals a more subdued corn taste to balance the saccharine buzz.

As for these Pops’ neighbors to the north, the bowl experience as a whole is much more tame, safe, and consistent. The most accurate comparison I can make builds off of what I said earlier: they’re like a Crunchberry and a Kix puff (let’s call them Barry and Kixie) met, loved each other very much, booked a hotel room, and, uh…called the cereal stork to deliver them a child.

With the textural experience of Poppa Barry, these Corn Pops are rugged and produce a hearty crunch upon eating that instead of leaving a corn exoskeleton simply crumbles into golden sugar dust. But biters beware: like a Crunchberry, the sharp craters covering these Pops offer no mercy to the roof of your mouth. If you get too eager with your munching, you’ll leave with battle scars.

The taste these Pops inherited from their mother makes it worth it, though. While American Pops were “corn hiding behind a sugary mask,” Canadian Pops can be better described as “honey masquerading as corn.”

Because it takes a strong imagination to taste anything like corn in them: the puffs are largely tasteless on their own, but they are coated in a subtle glaze that has a natural, honey flavor. It is mild, though, and the puff/glaze combo produces an earthy (yet still pleasantly sweet), down-home experience that tastes like something a farmer actually concocted in the secret cereal distillery he keeps in the back of his barn (don’t tell the feds, man; just be cool)

So who wins? We all do. I know that’s clichéd, but it feels wrong to say one is bluntly better than the other, simply because they are so different. It’s like comparing apples to oranges, even though we’re comparing corn to corn.

Let’s just say that the overall experience you get from each accurately represents the respective holidays celebrated by both countries. Canada’s Pops give a cheery, not too loud, not too quiet consistency. America, on the other hand, provides a cereal firework, firing on all sensory cylinders right off the bat but leaving a husky hangover.

Regardless of the personal conclusions you draw from that, have a happy, safe, and cereal-filled holiday!

The Bowl: American Corn Pops. Canadian Corn Pops.

The Breakdown: ACP: a rapid-fire corn and sugar barrage that leaves unpleasant remainders. CCP: a happy, spherical treat that gives a lighter, more organic-tasting, and ultimately less “exciting” sweetness.

The Bottom Line: ACP: 7 corny birthday balloons out of 10. CCP: 7 roof-of-mouth wounds out of 10.