All I play anymore is trick-taking games.

I’m not being all the way serious. But it is a rare game night that doesn’t see at least a few tricks being taken. As I wrote in the first part of my open letter to my younger self about the value of trick-takers, these things are just so dang easy to learn that they offer the perfect digestif to a full-course gaming session. Only yesterday, Shreesh Bhat’s Aurum provided a literal digestif, enabling a pleasant half-hour after dinner with the in-laws. It helps that Aurum is mostly a team game. That way, my mother-and-law and I can tear up the table.

Should I spend my gold?

Right from the get-go, it’s important to understand that Aurum isn’t quite like other trick-takers, and not only because no two trick-takers are wholly identical. This is a must-not-follow trick-taker — when someone plays into the trick, they can play any card so long as its suit hasn’t been played already.

There are others in this particular subgenre, titles like Four Dragons and Potato Man, but it’s a less-represented method in the broad world of trick-taking games. Crucially, it engenders a rather different feel. Since the initial card’s suit can’t be followed, there’s no lead suit to determine the final winner, and ties (with their subsequent tiebreakers) are common and even encouraged. There’s also some real uncertainty around when exactly a hand will wrap up. The entire hand comes crashing to a finish as soon as somebody can’t play a card. Given that players open by bidding on how many tricks they’ll claim as a team, that’s a real pickle.

And that’s before we consider the big twist Bhat has folded into Aurum: gold. As with most trick-takers, there’s a paper-thin setting, something about alchemists transmuting base metals into the devil’s pyrite. This only matters once we start to consider the gold itself. These are special cards that function as the game’s trump suit. Everybody begins with a zero-value gold card in hand, which they can use to unexpectedly win a trick. Other gold cards must be claimed by playing the lowest card into a trick. That’s a loaded proposition as well. While everybody is scrambling to either win the trick with the high card or claim some gold with the low one, there are only limited pools of gold to be had. Worse, gold is also worth points when the hand wraps up. The higher the value of the gold card, the more points it offers. Which means you’re chasing a score from two angles — your bid and your gold — both of them prone to disruption.

I mentioned that Aurum is a team game. That’s only the case with four players, although it’s decidedly the best way to play. There’s a smooth rhythm to the way the cards slap onto the table, especially when one teammate takes the trick while the other nabs a nugget. There’s just enough information to make informed bids — or alter your bid mid-hand by paying some precious gold — but it’s not so permissive that you’ll find yourself zombie-walking through trick after trick. It’s suitably devious.

Should I make some gold?

At the same time, it’s also a bit too burdened for its own good. I wouldn’t call it complicated, exactly, though it does feature more of a learning curve than some of its peers. Its central delights are outcomes of solid team play, which naturally requires that both halves of each team are tuned into what makes Aurum tick. How to bid together. How to change a bid. How to vie for both the high and low cards of a trick simultaneously. When to bow out of a play altogether by dumping some crummy middling cards. When to make a bid for a high-scoring piece of gold. It leans toward easy onboarding, but its particulars set a high enough bar that I’m not likely to pull it out after dinner.

Maybe after game night, though. Aurum is one of those rare trick-takers I haven’t entirely made up my mind on. Its gold suit is a wonderful conceit. Nabbing an eight-value nugget feels like striking it rich. Even better is when your teammate wins the trick at the same time. More often than I’d like, however, it gets lost in the weeds, especially around the bid. Missing one’s contract is pretty much a death sentence for a hand, which feels unfortunately constrained given the game’s breadth elsewhere. The result is a good trick-taker — but for all its smarts, it isn’t quite a favorite.

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A complimentary copy was provided.