The only thing more legendary than Pokémon video games has gotta be Pokémon foodstuffs. As a collection-based ’90s series that turns kids crazed, it’s no surprise that the popping technicolor likes of Pokémon Pop-Tarts and Eggo Waffles were manufactured in droves—and it’s even less surprising that these nifty little snacks had huge nostalgic impacts. In fact, my own personal obscure favorites when growing up were the Pokémon lollipops my mom would buy me at the pharmacy, each of which came with a sticker.

Also among these licensed gems was the unforgettable Pokémon Cereal. With a solid Lucky Charms imitation as its base, Bowl Pal toys inside and the kind of glimmering box embossment that blows holographic Charizard out of the magma, Pokémon Cereal is a sentimental favorite of countless ’90s kids. And lest we forget the adorable pastel marshmallows—artist Tomodachi makes pins of them and I’ll take every opportunity to promote them.

In short, Pokémon Cereal (and by extension the newly marshmallowed Pokémon: The Movie 2000 Cereal) is a hard act to reboot, since the Pokémania of its Y2K heyday will never be matched. That’s probably why it’s taken two decades and a different brand licensee to get another cereal based on Pokémon. This one’s called Berry Bolt Pokémon Cereal, and while I think the box art is seriously lacking in both embossment and Poké-species diversity, I’m here to, without bias, choo-chew-choose you, Pikachu, to do battle in my bowl. Let’s go!

I’ll be totally honest here: I was lying when I said I was going in unbiased. Another HM05-in-the-pan fruity corn puff cereal from General Mills? Yeugh.

But hey, I’m wrong, and this one’s actually good! Pretty good, at least. We’re not recoding the Pokédex here. On its most surface level, Pokémon Berry Bolt Cereal is a Trix clone with marshmallows. It’s got the same sweet citrus fruit salad profile—just with a Silly Lopunny trying to steal it, instead. Yet, the second Berry Bolt hits your tongue, there’s a twist of something more. A quick pinch of jolting sourness! Yes, it’s brief, but there’s some genuine electricity to Berry Bolt Cereal. It soon reminded me of Wonka Shockers, y’know, those saliva-inducing chews that kids in my middle school would eat by the bagful ’til their tongues bled. Berry Bolt Cereal isn’t even close to sharply sour, though. It’s just a fun puckering prickle that segues smoothly into the Trixian heart of each puff.

Not everything’s shinies and Ho-Ohs, though. The marbits don’t really add a lot to the experience—especially not visually—and because this is still a corn cereal at its core, after you’ve had about a bowl and a half, a creeping corny aftertaste starts lurking around your palate’s perimeter. With something like a chocolatey cereal, corniness isn’t all that noticeable, but it spoils a fruity flavor far faster. Which is all to say, eating Pokémon Berry Bolt Cereal dry is a game of diminishing returns.

Good thing Miltanks exist! Milk gives Berry Bolt Cereal much more staying power, by staving off the corn with undercuts of creaminess. At the same time, the milk-swollen marshmallows become more noteworthy sugar bursts. Milk does, sadly, wash away much of the shocking nuance that makes Berry Bolt unique, so perhaps the best solution is to eat a bowl of dry cereal with a glass of milk on the side.

Or, y’know. A Crunch Cup.

Sure, Pokémon Berry Bolt Cereal is better than your run-of-the-General-Mill licensed cereal. It even delivers on its name’s promise. Yet, whether eaten dry or with milk, the good parts are at the expense of something else. If you’ve got more than a couple people in your household, go ahead and give this one a try. All you’ve gotta do is fine-tune your bowlsetting. But for just me, this family-sized box is more than I’ll be able to finish without buckling under the pressure of slow-seeping corniness.

Is there a Pokémon for that yet? Osmotic corn?

The Bowl: Pokémon Berry Bolt Cereal

The Breakdown: With a fun pop of sourness, this Trix-alike is good, but corn fatigue and shock-resistant milk performance leave it short of its ancestors’ greatness.

The Bottom Line: 6.5 decroded cans of Pokémon sauced pasta out of 10