#Captain crunch maple syrup full#
(I could say I made that sacrifice for journalism, but in reality I had just gone full Danimal Mode.) Heck, even my wants-to-be-in-bedhead couldn’t detect any distinct cereal flavor after sampling the dry mix like it was Fun Dip.
Sure, you can see microscopic Crunch Berry detritus in there, but they’re no bigger than one of an ant’s noses, all five of which would be hard-pressed to identify this as a Cap’n Crunch Pancake Mix by sheer aroma alone. Less outwardly remarkable, but still strange, is how the ingredients lists “oops! all berries” entirely in lowercase, and how the mix itself smells like…well…absolutely nothing. I'd like to buy a beer for whichever writer managed to squeeze this one past the copyeditors /32F2VlEACP
#Captain crunch maple syrup free#
What’s more, the packaging writer behind this stuff clearly had free creative reign, as this gem of a line seems to be appealing more to the “insomniac manchild” demographic than cereal’s traditional, you know, child-child audience. That is, of course, a very kind way of saying, “How did any of this get past the quality assurance team?”įirst off, the packaging: not only is the mix just kind of in there-no pouch, bag or fresh seal just raw dust on cardboard-but the seams of this pancake mix box are far from shipshape, as said receptacle appeared to be respirating cloudy vapor each time I applied any iota of grip strength to it.
I don’t know if it was by design or happy accident, but so much about Aunt Jemima and Cap’n Crunch’s Berrytastic Pancake Mix feels like an uncanny relic from a time where corporate branding standards weren’t quite so repressively strict. Why? Well, not because it’s good, but because it’s so stupid, it’s great. Though it may not be a proper cereal, Cap’n Crunch and Aunt Jemima’s historic new partnership is practically begging for National Cereal Day’s spotlight. After all, what better way to celebrate everyone’s favorite morning munchie than by groggily griddling up the stuff by the battered scoopful at 2am? I’m sure that’s just my brain complaining though, as it desperately wishes to get back to its dreams of supermodels eating soups or salads or whatever else my nefarious noggin gets into when I’m severed from it by sleep. I mean, can you blame me? Sure, I’ve got cereal on my mind a lot, but National Cereal Day has long been an annual anomaly that exists without discernible reason nor rhyme, just an arbitrarily selected and sweetened day from the never-ending passage of time. Every March 6th, without fail, just before my temple greets its parish of pillows, I will jolt awake with childlike wonder and adultlike anxiety, having suddenly remembered that National Cereal Day is on March 7th, and I’ve totally forgotten to draft up meaningful content.Ĭut to me, scraggled by crummy overhead lighting and disheveled as the pantry shelves I’m whipping through like a lethargic whirlwind.
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