As the days get shorter, the names of all the Quaker oatmeal products out there keep getting longer. And while I may be about a month late on the “autumnal apple cinnamon” trend, I thought I’d toss out another oatmeal review for all of you out there who want to snuggle up by the fire with a warm bowl of mushy ‘meal.

So allow me to introduce the possibly new (who really knows when these things are new anymore? I think there are more Quaker oatmeal varieties than there are actual Quakers) Quaker Real Medleys Steel Cut Apple Pear Pecan Flavor Oatmeal!

Hey, these are steel cut! And steely is a synonym for cold-blooded! You know what else is cold?

Snow!

There’s the obvious winter connection. Phew, now I’m off the hook for being so late.

The veritable thesaurus of adjectives in this oatmeal’s name does a pretty good job of telling you what it’s all about, so I won’t waste words on it. Instead, I’ll use that extra chunk of word count to share with you five of my favorite words: macaroon, junior, noodle, rigatoni, mostaccioli. Crap, now I just want pasta.

Cracking open my sealed cup and taking a whiff, my nostrils sizzle with a pleasant spiciness. It smells just like a rich, warm glass of bubbling, spiced apple cider! With the ghostly memories of October hayrides, apple-picking, and other stereotypical fall activities that teenage girls tweet about dancing around in my head, I eagerly read the directions.

I follow them verbatim, filling the cup to the thick black line, stirring, and microwaving for two and a half minutes. I should have known better than to trust a cup that tells me to microwave for a time equal to the name of a Charlie Sheen sitcom, because after my food nuking apparatus beeps, I can see that this Quaker volcano has violently erupted watery oat lava all over the Pompeii that is my Black & Decker.

At least it smells good—like the freshly baked, gooey innards of an apple pie! After stirring once more, I inspect the messy crater left behind in the cup.

Yeesh. For those of you reading this at work, make sure no bosses, small children, or coworkers with heart conditions are reading over your shoulder before scrolling down.

I thought the last Quaker product I reviewed looked bad, and oatmeal never really looks attractive, but let’s just say even my cat has the decency to puke up things more attractive than this.

But you know the rule: don’t judge a book by its cover (note: this rule does not apply to cat vomit). So after letting the bubbling beige inferno cool, I took a taste.

Oh. Oh dear.

You know how I said it smells like an apple pie? Now imagine your menace of a little cousin took a forkful of that pie at dinner time and flung it into your class of water. Then you accidentally drank it. Yeah, this oatmeal is kinda like that: super mushy and saturated, with merely a hint of cinnamon and apple taste behind an overwhelmingly bland sogginess.

The apple pieces taste more like those dried apple “chips” than the candied insides of a pie, and while you may be thinking, “hey, I like apple chips,” ask yourself whether you’d like their nuggety chewiness jarringly jammed into the middle of a mealy pile of faintly flavored oats.

This textural overload is worsened by the massive pear clumps I encountered. They impart a distinct tanginess, but their waxy chewiness makes me imagine an episode of Fear Factor where contestants are forced to eat bite-sized portions of a designer leather belt.

Unexpectedly, the nutty pecan shards here have a bold, pleasantly toasted profile, but even they pecan’t save this half-soggy, half-clumped mess that could very well be the real world embodiment of Master Belch. As I masochistically powered through my goopy cup, I envied the me of 10 minutes ago who naively and optimistically compared it to apple cider.

Oh Dan, you were so young! And so dumb!

As I finally reached the dank, subterranean caves of the cup’s bottom, I noticed a thick crust coating the bottom rim. As I chipped away at it, I could see that the composition of this elusive ore was largely cinnamon! So while perhaps a more thorough stirring (I’d probably need a blender!) or less water could have improved the chemistry of this Loch Ness mess of oatmeal, I wasn’t willing to go out and buy another cup.

So are you, dear reader, brave enough to learn from my mistakes and explore the watery catacombs of this virtually spice-less and bitterly fruity oat chew toy? I would advise against it, but if you do decide to take the plunge, at least take James Cameron with you.

To get the memories of Quaker Real Medleys Steel Cut Apple Pear Pecan Flavor Oatmeal out of my mind, I will now share with you five of my least favorite words: ricotta, coagulate, “bookoo bucks,” gnocchi.

I don’t care what the correct pronunciation of gnocchi is! Just stuff it in my mouth so I don’t have to say it.

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The Bowl: Quaker Real Medleys Steel Cut Apple Pear Pecan Flavor Oatmeal

The Breakdown: Chewy, unsweet fruit wedges, bleh-worthy oats, and overly shy cinnamon make this a piping hot whirlpool of sadness. Where’s Grandma’s apple pie when you need it?

The Bottom Line: 2 oatmeal cryptozoologists out of 10

***Appendix: note how the cup in the top picture says “HEARTY TEXTURE.” Quaker, you sure weren’t lying. This is exactly what I imagine eating a heart would feel like.***