You’ve got to hand it to jugglers: they really know how to up the stakes. Need more tension? Add more objects! Still not enough? Light those objects on fire! And for the grand finale? Recruit a second juggler and start tossing flaming batons back and forth. Cooperative party game Overcooked cleverly borrows this template and applies it to a restaurant setting. Across an ever-changing series of kitchens, up to four chefs must prepare meals by performing simple tasks–chopping vegetables, cooking meat, washing dishes–in an effort to prepare and serve as many complete dishes as possible within a strict time limit.
Each task is, in isolation, dead simple–actions rarely require more than a single button press and objectives are plainly displayed on screen at all times. But as part of a larger coordinated effort, each step potentially becomes that one load-bearing Jenga block that sends the entire tower tumbling when removed. If, for example, your onion soup is ready to serve but you don’t have any clean bowls, the soup starts to burn, not only ruining the dish but eventually lighting the kitchen itself on fire as well (don’t worry, there’s always a fire extinguisher handy). The tiny red warning signal that flashes and the accelerating beep that accompanies it quickly become sources of immense panic.
If this all sounds stressful, you’re right, it is. Extremely stressful. And that’s exactly why Overcooked is one of the most exhilarating couch co-op games of the year. All the stress and tension that mounts as the timer ticks away result in a massive wave of relief and triumph upon successfully finishing a level at the highest rating. It also sucks you into the experience better than any game in recent memory. The same way a truly great song turns even the most reluctant wallflower into a dancing machine, Overcooked’s potent recipe for escalating chaos will have you and your friends screaming instructions to one another without a hint of self-consciousness. More than once, I noticed a teammate standing on the opposite side of a counter directly in front of the bin of food items and found myself breathlessly demanding a tomato. To illicit that kind of reckless abandon is a rare and laudable feat.
And not only does the basic gameplay formula work wonderfully, the experience provides a huge variety of unexpected wrinkles across its reasonably meaty campaign. At the beginning, dishes involve only a single ingredient, but you’ll quickly graduate from soups to salads, then to burgers, burritos, fried foods, and so on, each meal more complex than the last. Dishes aren’t the only source of challenge and variety, though. Every mission occurs in a different kitchen, and every kitchen introduces its own unique twist.
In addition to coping with layout changes, you might also have to hop between trucks while grilling your way down a highway or dart across icebergs that intermittently connect the two halves of an icy kitchen. If you make it all the way to The Lost Morsel DLC, you’ll even have to smack buttons to raise and lower barriers while dodging fireballs. Even smaller challenges–like limited flatware or adorable mice that steal your food–can derail your efforts. The roster of potential variables is both extensive and wildly inventive. This not only keeps the experience feeling fresh, it also results in a renewed sense of accomplishment with each rating star earned.
Without that tension, however, Overcooked’s formula starts to fall apart, which is why the game really doesn’t work as a solo experience. If you play solo, you control two characters, swapping between them on the fly as they complete automated tasks you’ve set for them. The gameplay becomes a different sort of balancing act, but too much is lost in the process. The hilarity and infectious enthusiasm of playing with friends is replaced by tedious task management, so the energy fizzles. Plus, score requirements are set much lower, so you can totally bungle a few orders and still somehow achieve a perfect rating.