With that out of the way, let's get down to brass tacks.
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Overcooked! is an apt title if I ever saw one. It doesn’t just describe the setting and mechanics—it perfectly captures the hilarious mental strain of juggling a dozen kitchen tasks at once. After a session, your brain will be simmering in a stress sauce of frustration and delight, making it the most overcooked ingredient in the dish. If you have a weak heart, stay away.
THE ONION KING AND HIS KINGDOM
In the campaign mode, you and a friend control a pair of cooks tasked with preventing an alien invasion in the present day. The Ever Peckish—a massive, sentient tangle of alien spaghetti and meatballs—is about to devour the Earth. The only way to stop it is by feeding it a series of dishes to satisfy its appetite. Unfortunately, you’re not nearly skilled enough to pull that off yet.
What follows is a culinary world tour through the Onion Kingdom. Within strict time limits, you and your co-chef must prepare and serve a set number of orders. Your performance is scored, and only by reaching a certain threshold can you advance. Clear enough stages and you move on to a new era, in a different corner of the kingdom.
The story is deliberately ridiculous—a children’s tale told through cartoony animation and subtitled gibberish. It exists purely as a breather between levels, and is best enjoyed as such.
TRY TO KEEP UP
The simple act of cooking grows increasingly difficult as working conditions steadily deteriorate. You start with basic salads and soups, but soon you’re juggling tortillas, burgers, pizzas, and deep-fried monstrosities. Multitasking isn’t optional—it’s survival.
Before long, you’re managing saucepans, frying pans, and ovens all at once. Meat takes time to cook, and waiting is a luxury you can’t afford. Should you chop vegetables in the meantime? Help your partner? Wash the dishes? It’s frighteningly easy to lose track of what’s on the stove. Leave something unattended for too long and it catches fire, ruining the meal and threatening to burn down the entire level.
This is Overcooked! in a nutshell: a relentless barrage of mundane tasks elevated into chaos. Every new stage introduces a fresh complication. Kitchens are never designed with the staff in mind. You might cook aboard a rotating space station, or serve meals while sliding across ice floes on an arctic river. Space is often limited, forcing you into each other’s way—or temporarily sealing you off from half the kitchen.
The joy of cooperation comes from the frantic communication across the couch: the cursing, cheering, laughing, and shouting. I wouldn’t play this game any other way. Together, you develop systems to streamline your work. And nothing beats the moment when you finally master a stage, reaching a wordless understanding of what needs to be done. Overcooked! may be the only team-building exercise I’ve ever encountered that genuinely works.
I briefly tried the single-player mode, where you alternate control between two chefs, and it only reinforced my belief that this game was designed first and foremost for two players.
UNFORGETTABLE COMEDY
It’s such a simple concept, yet brilliantly executed. One morning, I woke up half-asleep and started laughing as I remembered some truly ridiculous Overcooked! moments. Like repeatedly sprinting across a narrow platform, only to accidentally bump my brother off the stage while he was holding the dish we’d spent ages preparing. Or losing a fully cooked meal to a thieving rat because I had to abandon it to wash the dishes.
These moments were agonizing in the moment, but in hindsight they’re pure slapstick. I suppose time doesn’t just heal wounds—it also develops a sense of humor.
One triumph stands above the rest. On our umpteenth attempt, my brother delivered the final dish to the last boss with literally one second to spare. The stage lasts fifteen minutes. I remember standing there, powerless, watching the timer tick down and muttering, “It’s no use. We won’t make it.” It felt like a bomb countdown at the end of a thriller—except this time it was real, because it was up to us.
And together, he made it. And we beat the game.
2020 is still fresh in my memory, but Overcooked! will undoubtedly remain one of my most cherished gaming experiences of that year. Couch co-op feels like a dying art form, yet this game surpasses many of the ones I grew up with. Remember how those were often designed? You died, then sat there watching your friend play alone, secretly hoping he’d die too. Overcooked! does none of that. Here, you fail together, you succeed together, and you laugh together—bonding over the shared joy of serving the perfect dish to the people of the Onion Kingdom.
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