Leave it to Kellogg’s to know what we want, before we even want it.

If the arcane flavor wizards behind Pop-Tarts came to me like genies in the night, asking what my ideal combo of an old and new toaster pastry would be, it wouldn’t include Strawberry and Cheesecake—only because I’m not creative enough. I’d probably say something dumb, like Maple Brown Sugar + Honey, Raspberry + Doughnut, or Chocolate Fudge + Cookie Butter.

Wait, wait: those are good ideas. Who told you I wasn’t creative, Kellogg’s? Get your best poppin’ people on these! But seriously, Strawberry Cheesecake Pop-Tarts are genius, too. So genius, that I’d love to see a whole factory, just making cheesecake Pop-Tarts!

I’d call it…The Mascarpone Mill.

While the idea is good, the last Pop-Tarts Splitz I had left me a little apprehensive—its two strong flavor personalities argued more than they played nice—so the only solution is to dive in to one of these suckers like a kid into a pool full of cheesecake.

(If I say “pool full of cheesecake” enough times, I’m hoping Sara Lee will make it a reality)

Aesthetically speaking, these poor Tarts are a bit confused. Despite the clean split depicted on the box, each of my Strawberry Cheesecake Pop-Tarts had a naked pastry on one end, a red squiggled one on the other, and a delirious oasis of splotched rainbow frosting in the middle.

I’m thankful to report that my criticisms largely stop there. While Sugar Cookie Brownie Batter Pop-Tarts Splitz were too potent on both sides, ultimately leading to mutually assured destruction, the Strawberry Pop-Tart half here, with its comparatively mild fruit sweetness within the Pop-Tart family, graciously takes one for the team, accepting its modesty in favor of fun for all.

There’s a reason Strawberry Pop-Tarts are perhaps the most iconic: because they’re candied and golden buttery enough to be delicious, but reserved enough that you can eat them all day like the toaster pastry equivalent of a lawnmower beer—and they’re just as intoxicating.

In short: the Strawberry side of this Splitz is the exact same souped-up fruit smoothie or pie you remember, and it provides the perfect anchor for the Cheesecake half, which is a true innovation worthy of a Modern Marvels reboot. Come on, History Channel—would you do it if I told you these taste like ancient alien nectar?

All Nostradummies aside, Cheesecake Pop-Tarts are rich—as rich as a real cheesecake—with a sharp, yet sweet tang and a nearly implacable buttercreaminess that’s a real taste bud slapper. As beautiful as it would be, this flavor is too strong for me to ever eat a full Pop-Tart’s worth of, which is why debuting the concept on a Splitz was such an intelligent bet. When the ‘berry half’s scarlet jelly meets Cheesy C.’s smooth ivory innards, the result is stunning: sharp bite and light fruit collide to make a unique Pop-Tart experience that’s somewhere between a Strawberry Hostess Cupcake and a sour cream doughnut.

Could this be the work of Fruit Pie the Magician living out a hermitic life in the mountains of Big Wheel, Anywhere?

Toasting these two-faced Tarts is a mixed bag. While the crisped crust gives the warm and gooey Cheesecake half an awesomely authentic graham crackered base, I find that the strawberry half’s famous fruitiness gets lost behind the suddenly dominant crust. In an ideal world, I would toast just the ‘cake half and hot glue it to a plain Strawbery half through sheer adhesive force of melted filling.

But in this world, I’m lazy.

Unlike most Pop-Tarts, freezing doesn’t substantially improve Strawberry Cheesecake Pop-Tarts Splitz. Granted, it makes them more refreshing to eat/rub against your temples on a hot summer day, and it tempers the cheesy tang for more pleasurable consumption of that half’s most remote edges (where I hitherto had to shove a whole Pop-Tart’s width in my mouth to achieve total balance), but it also has a chilling effect on the entire pastry’s flavor potency. I recommend it for poolside breakfasts only.

Despite these minor complaints, this is a complex and complexly beautiful Pop-Tart. With sweet, tart, and a dash of butter joined together at the frosted seam, the only downsides are the parts where they don’t mix. As a true show of my praise, I’m calling this the official spiritual successor of cult favorite Strawberry Cheese Danish Pop-Tarts. Strawberry Cheesecake Splitz are worthy of all their predecessor’s praise, and I’m hoping this means big things for future Cheesecake Pop-Tart combos.

Cookies & Cream Cheesecake, anyone?

The “Bowl:” Pop-Tarts Strawberry Cheesecake Splitz

The Breakdown: A humble fruit smoothie meets a bitingly rich dessert in what ends up tasting like a rose-tinted doughnut. In an optimized timeline, this wouldn’t be a split, but a full-on mixed Pop-Tart.

The Bottom Line: 9 snack cake witness protection programs out of 10