Pick your card. Grab your person. We set the table, you bring the competitive streak.
Loved tonight? Your Chicago Concierge plans date nights on retainer, so you just show up.
Tap the winner of each matchup. Can't agree? Plead your case for 30 seconds, then flip the coin.
Three rounds. Keep score as you go. Loser makes the popcorn.
Take turns spinning. Land on a challenge, crush it, bank the points. Red means chaos: bankrupts, steals and score swaps. Nobody is safe.
A prompt pops up. On the count of three, you both shout your answer at the exact same time. Say the same thing and you score. Do it again and the points double. Miss and the streak resets. It gets loud. That's the point.
Play as a team. If you disagree, whoever is behind on the scoreboard gets the final say.
The Case of the Missing Reservation. Work together. Hints cost you nothing but pride.
Line up your sauces, mildest to hottest. One sauce per question. Pass on a question? Take another bite.
Interview each other like a podcast guest. Start easy, end honest. Phones face down, except this one.
Two left feet welcome. Push the coffee table aside, dim the lights, and grow closer, literally.
Salsa is counted in eights. You step on 1, 2, 3, hold on 4, then step on 5, 6, 7 and hold on 8. Start the counter and walk it together before you add any moves.
Lessons by Bachata Dance Academy. They open on YouTube.
Golden hour, bitter drinks, salty snacks. Your kitchen is a piazza in Milan now. Act accordingly.
The orange one. Think of it as 3, 2, 1, cheers.
The spritz's softer, garden party cousin.
Three ingredients, equal amounts. Impossible to mess up, easy to love.
Aperitivo opens your appetite. It is not dinner. (It will become dinner. That's fine.)
No rise, no waiting, no excuses. Dough in 30 minutes, then the real game begins.
You each build a pizza for the other person, in secret. You have to eat what you're given, and you have to say three nice things about it.
You each build a drink for the other. Pick one from every row, get your recipe, name it something ridiculous.
Taste it before you hand it over. Too sour, add sweetener. Too sweet, add citrus. Too strong, add mixer. Congratulations, you're a bartender.
Pick a film, cook what they cook, eat it while they eat it. Pausing to say "wait, ours looks better" is encouraged.
Makes one big sandwich. Double it, obviously.
The fancy fanned-out version from the big scene. Slice thin and it practically arranges itself.
Label the cups A, B, C, D. One of you pours, nobody peeks. Score each cup before moving on. No going back.
Bright and fruity. Ethiopian (blueberry, jasmine), Colombian (red fruit, caramel), Kenyan (blackcurrant), Costa Rican (honey, peach). Best as pour-over or French press.
Bold and low acid. Italian blend (dark chocolate), French roast (smoky), Sumatra (earthy, cedar), house blend (balanced). Great with or without milk.
Grassy and delicate. Sencha, matcha, Dragon Well, gyokuro. Brew at 80°C, not boiling, or it turns bitter.
Caffeine-free and wildly different. Chamomile, rooibos, hibiscus, peppermint. The best evening option.
Pair it with dark chocolate (70% or higher), salted caramel, or shortbread to cleanse between cups. Then ask each other: what does this remind you of?