In every romance movie with a tense post-high school breakup, there must be a cautiously sublime reunion in adulthood, where things feel good, but not quite right. There’s too much history at that point: inevitable comparisons are drawn, so much time has been lost, there are uncomfortable questions and unexpected answers.
Anyway, that’s how I feel about tasting Waffle Crisp again for the first time in over two years, when it was officially discontinued by Post following a long period of limited availability. I’ve heard rumors and nuggets of truth for a while now indicating that Waffle Crisp was still available in other countries, but it was hard to find conclusive answers when so many online stores list the stuff without actually having it available for purchase. But after noodling around the web so much in pursuit of my long-lost golden dream, I had to bite the short stack when I noticed Mexican Candy Lady only had one remaining box of Waffle Crisp from Mexico—she does not appear to have restocked recently so I worry this really was my last chance and Waffle Crisp’s last gasp.
But no matter, there’s no need to stay steeped in the past when I can still go face-first into this bowl of bite-sized waffles. New Year’s kisses are sweeter with syrup, after all.
Wait. Something is wrong here. Much like in the earlier romance analogy, both Waffle Crisp and I have changed over the past couple years. I moved, got two cats, started a new job, while Waffle Crisp became a total square.
No, seriously. I’m not crazy, right? Mexican Waffle Crisp looks different. Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve seen the “Waffle Crisp Prime” I grew up guzzling by the mugful, but referencing my own blog photos (mostly) confirms that Waffle Crisp used to be rounder, unless I’m imagining it in a state of hunger and perplexed delirium.
Subtle geometric dissimilarities aside—plus differing box art—Waffle Crisp from Mexico doesn’t quite taste like Waffle Crisp Prime, either. Sure, the classic hyper-sweet artificial maple flavor that makes Waffle Crisp, Waffle Crisp is still here, but it’s diluted by notes of honey graham and browned butter. In short, this Waffle Crisp is more caramelized than syrup-soaked.
Is this a bad thing? Absolutely not. I’m eternally grateful to see this goldenrod talisman of a box glimmer atop my pantry again, and once you add milk, Mexican Waffle Crisp’s regional idiosyncrasies give way to familiar faux-maple feelings of comfort, nostalgia, and the nourishing aura of a post-noon pancake house.
If there’s one problem with the way this Mexican Waffle Crisp tastes, it’s a lingering staleness near the bottom of the box. See, this cereal box passes its best-by date next month. While that’s bad news for the overall freshness of my Waffle Crisp, the fact that I bought the last one suggests Waffle Crisp may be out of production in Mexico soon.
I didn’t want to admit it earlier, but I’m starting to think this is the last time I’ll eat Waffle Crisp again for a while. As a new year begins, I’ll leave this brief griddled rendezvous in 2020 as a final punctuation mark. Because there’s no better reminder of life’s constant fluctuation than checking in with an old breakfast chum in the corner booth, now slightly sharper, of a late-night diner.
The Bowl: Waffle Crisp from Mexico
The Breakdown: More darkly griddled, generously buttered, and sharply shaped than its former self, this latest incarnation of Waffle Crisp still hits the right notes—whether or not this is the stuff’s final encore.
The Bottom Line: 8.5 wholesome grain eulogies out of 10