Oh, Trix Yogurt, how I’ve missed you.

Not in a “physical scarcity” sense, mind you. Trix Yogurt took a 5 year hiatus from shelves around 2016, so yes, for a while, that nostalgic itch was impossible to scratch (unless you were a lunchlady, because you could still order the stuff from General Mills’ foodservice catalogue). But even since Trix Yogurt made its triumphant return in the spring of 2021, I still haven’t bought any. I guess I just unconsciously consigned it to the museum of memory: a glimmering pastel relic of a treasured past whose shine I dare not spoil by revisiting it with an adult’s jaded taste buds. Much like Oreo Cakesters, which I also haven’t eaten since their re-continuation, I simply doubted I could go on living if my favorite childhood yogurt wasn’t as good as I remembered.

But with the launch of these new Franken Berry and Boo Berry Yogurts from Yoplait, I finally have an impossible-to-ignore reason to try these two-toned treats again. See, when Trix Yogurt returned last year, they came back in “Strawberry” and “Berry” flavors, making it pretty clear that “Screamin’ Strawberry” and “Boo Blueberry” are just the Trix Rabbit’s cultured progeny wearing Monster Cereal masks.

That may be a little lazy, but I’ll never blame General Mills for expanding the Monsters’ reach beyond the cereal aisle, whether that’s in the form of cookies, Fruit Roll-Ups, or otherwise. Long live the Count & Co.!

Okay, honesty time: it feels really hard to review these Franken Berry and Boo Berry Yogurts in any concretely helpful terms. See, while a child’s imaginative palate may be able to discern and describe kaleidoscopic worlds of distinctly fruited flavor within these respective yogurts, to me, they both taste extremely similar. Don’t get me wrong, I could tell them apart in a blind taste test, but when it comes to talking about what they taste like, both yogurts are just so full of the same ambiguously/abstractly fruited over-sweetness that discrete terms like “strawberry” or “blueberry” feel inaccurate, if not outright offensive to the natural organisms they represent.

So instead of reviewing each yogurt with the precision of an erudite cereal blogger, I’m going to channel the nonsensical Cakester-hoovering lad he once was.

Franken Berry’s Strawberry Scream Yogurt tastes like if you mixed a Kirby with a Jigglypuff. Straight up. This is how I imagine synesthetics taste the color pink, and it’s juicy and it’s creamy. Part pink Starburst, part those-little-sundae-cups-you’d-get-with-the-little-wooden-spoon. I like it a lot: it’s like spooning up a blast from every past at once. But the cups are small, so the thrill burns out fast—it’s a lot of utensil work and packaging for a brief slurp down memory lane.

Boo Blueberry, on the other hand and belying its mascot’s incorporeality, has a bit more bite: a twinge more twang, if you will. It’s like if you mixed an electric grape with a BlackBerry’s android dream of what a real blackberry might taste like. Like Frank’s, this ‘gurt is purty good: it belongs to the same genre of tongue-tweaking blueness as Crunch Berries and Tropical Punch Kool-Aid. Only thing I don’t dig is that, unlike the overall mellow Strawberry Scream, Boo Blueberry tends to leave a lingering aftertaste, which, although it doesn’t taste bad, still leaves my mouth feeling like it got ectoplasm’d.

Both of these Monster Cereal inspired yogurts are tasty throwbacks that won’t disappoint your mouth’s memories of how good Trix Yogurt was. However, as often happens when we sip long on the sweet nectar of recollection, we’re reminded of how far we’ve come, and how much we’ve changed: how age makes us more sugar sensitive, and how small it makes a kid-sized yogurt cup look in an adult’s hands. In short: bittersweet. Emphasis on the sweet.

Let’s just hope this opens the door for semisolid spinoffs featuring the other monsters: I want Count Chocula’s pudding, Frute Brute’s cherry preserves, and Yummy Mummy’s high-pulp blood-orange sarcophagus juice.

The Bowl: Franken Berry and Boo Berry Yoplait Yogurts

The Breakdown: These have all the amorphously awesome goodness of Trix Yogurt from back in the day, and yet they feel too sweet and too insubstantial to be all that unforgettably enjoyable as an adult.

The Bottom Line: 7.5 forbidden Cakesters out of 10