Five board games I love
After 100 issues of Don't Eat the Meeples, I'm taking a stroll down memory lane.
Last week, I sent the 100th issue of Don’t Eat the Meeples. 100! I can hardly believe it. It’s hard for me to believe that I started this little newsletter in June 2020 with a piece comparing Azul and Sagrada. I ended the newsletter with some music I’d been listening to — maybe I should do more of that. I dunno.
The subscriber list was friends and family gracious enough to see what I was doing with this thing, and while this is certainly not one of those Substacks pulling in 10,000 subscribers, it’s been gratifying to have all of you subscribers jump on board. I hope it’s been pleasant enough.
Ideally, I would have included a message like this last issue, but I was just returning from vacation, and I thought it would be good to just get something on paper. I didn’t even pull out my notebook where I’ve logged everything I’ve published, so I did just sort of miss the milestone. And you know what? I kind of love that. Milestones are worth celebrating, but I also love writing and publishing this every week, and I love that you’re here on this journey with me.
This week, I thought I’d change the pace a little bit. For my 101st issue spectacular, I wanted to just talk to you about some games that I love and some of the memories I’ve associated with them.
Carcassonne
I’m going to start this with a story about Settlers of Catan that I’ve probably told before. The year was 2010 (or maybe it was 2011) and I was just finishing my collegiate career. One of my good friends came to visit from Seattle, and he brought with him a copy of Settlers of Catan. My friends and I played it with him, and I was floored. It’s that transformative experience with Catan everyone talks about — my eyes were opened to modern board games.
Once I was out of college and had a little bit of a budget to work with, I went out and found a game store nearby, and I went back monthly for a long time. I discovered so many games there with my friends, and Carcassonne is one of those games. The plethora of expansions, the gorgeous art, the feeling of playing this simple tile-laying game that held within it so many possibilities — Carcassonne was the game to which I wanted to introduce everyone, like Catan was introduced to me.
I do still think Carcassonne is an excellent game. The satisfaction of finishing a big feature or blocking somebody’s path, the feeling of placing a farmer in the perfect spot — or the worst spot — and seeing planning come to fruition at game’s end: Carcassonne is a well to which I can always return.
Designed by Klaus Jurgen-Wrede.
Pandemic
The very first cooperative game I played, Pandemic is still a game I’ll play at any given opportunity. Is it a solved game? Maybe! I don’t really care, if we’re being totally honest. This Matt Leacock design has kept me entertained for over a decade, and I don’t feel like taking steps to reduce that enjoyment without meaningful impact to me.
I don’t know if I remember my very first game of Pandemic, but I remember some of my earliest ones. I remember the novelty of working together in a board game. I remember feeling excited when things got really bad and we still hatched a plan before successfully executing. I remember more than once being faced with a seemingly impossible task, thinking we had a plan, failing, then rewinding until we figure out a way to win.
But it’s more than just about the base game. It’s about On the Brink, which added roles that I can hardly play without. It’s about Pandemic Iberia, probably the best standalone iteration of the game. It’s about Pandemic Legacy — season one, two and zero, each of which took the game in fascinating new directions. Pandemic has been a staple in my gaming from my first forays into gaming to now, and I don’t anticipate that’ll change.
Designed by Matt Leacock.
Through the Desert
I’ve long been puzzled at Through the Desert coming in and out of publication over the years. That game store I visited when I graduated from college? I picked up a used copy of Through the Desert there, later being told by a friend that it was out of print (he showed me some astronomic Amazon prices — a practice that still confuses me.) For one reason or another, somebody had traded away their 2005 edition of this Reiner Knizia classic, and I was the benefactor.
Certainly well regarded but not a runaway success, Through the Desert was first published in 1998, and it made the Spiel des Jahres Recommended list, ultimately losing out to Alan R. Moon’s Elfenland. It was also one of two Knizia games that made the list that year, with Tigris & Euphrates receiving a nomination. While it’s probably not the height of Knizia’s designs, it still feels great to play. Playing those pastel camels on desert tiles, moving them around to try to capture territory, trying to get in the way of others’ plans: I loved Through the Desert. I still do.
Through the Desert felt like a game I uncovered. Not a game that I game discovered and shared with the world — hardly — but a game that had been buried a bit by the sands of time. Finding it on that used game shelf I revisited so many times over the years, then buying it without having done any research, felt good.
Designed by Reiner Knizia.
The Crew: The Quest for Planet Nine
While I was young, I was introduced to trick-taking games in the way that so many of my generation were: Hearts, via its inclusion in the Windows operating system for basically all of my Windows-using days. Did I understand how it worked? Hardly. Could I put together a strategy? No. Did I try to shoot the moon every time I played? Yes, absolutely.
My parents later played Pinochle regularly with family, and that became a still-not-quite-formal (but closer) introduction to trick-taking. I didn’t play more than a hand or two, but I watched plenty, and while I was still not really paying attention to strategy, it became an enduring memory.
When I feel deep into board games, I revisited trick-taking. I’m not sure of the first trick-taking game I played after entering into the hobby, but the one that stood out the most was The Crew, which I first played mid-2020. I already loved cooperative games, and I was fascinated by this trick-taking game that took classic ideas and added that element.
Beyond just being a great game, though, The Crew became a game that we dove into during the midst of an isolating time. We played it multiple times a week outside with friends on the little marble table in the backyard of the home we rented, and when the weather turned for the worse, we took the game to Board Game Arena.
Some would argue that the sequel to The Crew, The Crew: Mission Deep Sea, is a better game. It might be. I love them both.
Designed by Thomas Sing.
No Thanks!
I love a game that I can take anywhere and introduce to nearly anybody. Few games have filled that role in my life better than No Thanks!, a simple game that takes a simple concept — take a card or leave a token — and turns it into this interesting little box of a game. I’ve played this one with family, with friends, and with coworkers, and i’s gone over splendidly every time.
I don’t have a great story about how I discovered No Thanks!, and it doesn’t provoke in me feelings of nostalgia. But this game is so perfect at what it does, and it makes the gameplay so accessible, that I can’t help but put it here. It’s a game I love, and it serves an important purpose in my collection.
Designed by Thorsten Gimmler.
As always, thank you for reading Don’t Eat the Meeples. I can’t believe it’s been over 100 issues now. Wow. If you’d like to help me celebrate, I’d love to send you a shiny Don’t Eat the Meeples sticker. I think they look really nice. Next week: Great games from a decade ago — here comes 2014!