The backstory: Anthony, a burly gregarious Bengal tiger walks into a bar and locks eyes immediately with Lucky, a slightly manic petite leprechaun. The attraction is immediate; the rest, history. After deciding to share their lives together, they merge households and in the process conceive a most delicious bicereal child: Lucky Charms Frosted Flakes.
I was initially dubious of the potential merits of Lucky Charms Frosted Flakes, which I consider to be further evidence that the fat cats at General Mills are coming to terms with the fact that the only thing to love about regular Lucky Charms are the marshmallows, whose saccharine flavors and delightfully faux hues render the surrounding sea of bland beige grain bits all the more unappealing. The prior release of the “marshmallows-only” version of Lucky Charm was the first tacit acknowledgment this was understood to be a problem, and the immense popularity of this deviation mostly likely confirmed corporate suspicions. However, someone in the company leadership is still clinging to the idea that the marshmallow charms in Lucky Charms require some complementary companion component for balance.
They don't. If the American consumer is willing and eager to consume a cereal comprising only miniature chocolate chip cookies (i.e., Cookie Crisps, also, incidentally, made by General Mills) then trust me s/he has no compunction about eating one with just marshmallows.
Alas, this message has not sunk in —but no matter, because if the charms absolutely had to be wed to another type of cereal, Frosted Flakes is the ideal match. The flakes hold their own with regards to sugary mouthfeel against the charms as well as add welcome variation to the textural landscape of the cereal via the addition their corrugated surfaces, which contrast pleasantly with the smoother desiccated chalky marshmallows. Furthermore, their sparkly white coloring set against a light brown base not only appropriately reflects the crispy, “toasted” character of the flakes but also works to make the mild pastel marshmallows “pop” in a way they wouldn't otherwise.
Even the most ardent conservatives critical of intercereal romance will find their hearts softened (and their blood sugar levels subsequently elevated) when they taste this whimsical creation, with one exception: Kellogg, who failed to bless this union by granting General Mills permission to use their their trademarked flakes both as an ingredient and in the marketing campaign. Pour yourself a bowl as soon as possible lest this divine pair be not one for the ages.