Super glue, when applied to cotton, can cause sudden and significant increases in temperature. The internet would have you believe this can spark fires. I’m not so sure about that, but wisps of smoke aren’t uncommon, and my daughter has a burn mark on her arm from when she accidentally set her sleeve against wet super glue.

This is one of my favorite random factoids. I plan to deploy it as soon as somebody hands me a “favorite random factoids” category in My Favourite Things, a blend of trick-taker and party deduction game by Japanese designers Daiki Aoyama and Pepe_R.

Categories!

It begins with a category. Multiple categories, really, as everybody at the table comes up with something to ask the player to their left.

Lest you think this can be anything, there’s an art to coming up with a category in My Favourite Things. Ideally, your category should intersect at least a little bit with what you know about that person. “Favorite color,” for instance, isn’t a great category unless you’ve seen that person’s interior decorating and fashion choices. “Least favorite movies from the 2000s” sounds good, but only makes sense if you’ve chatted film with that person. In a pinch, feel free to use your category to determine whether to ever again play a game with your neighbor. “Favorite rights that are being eroded by our government” tends to be particularly telling.

From there, everybody fills out six cards that answer the category they were passed. These are ranked one through five in order of preference. Your sixth card features a broken heart instead of a digit; this is reserved for an answer that is not one of your favorite things.

Finally, these cards are concealed back in their sleeves, returned to their asker, and used in a few rounds of trick-taking. Thanks to the game’s clever use of card sleeves, the rub is that you’re playing cards with visible answers but hidden ranks. Therefore, what do you play in response to “puce,” “Requiem for a Dream,” and “voting without tests”? Your goal is to play the best-ranked answer — lower is better — that is, unless somebody plays a one, in which case you can trump their preference by playing a heartbreak. Repeat a few times to complete the hand, then play another round where you pass to the right instead of the left. That’s the game.

Along the way, there will be laughter. Look at all the goofy things you’re learning about your friends! Ha ha!

Saw that coming.

I’m not being sarcastic about that, either, or at least not wholly. My Favourite Things comes across as a more formal and less awkward version of the Relationship Game, that uncomfortable get-to-know-you parlor activity wherein partners strain to answer vague questions about one another and are then scored to determine which of the gathering’s couples are least likely to succumb to acrimonious divorce.

In that regard, there’s a lot to like here, although the usual caveats apply. Some creativity is required — in sharp contrast to the Relationship Game, where the questions are almost always pre-supplied — and one slow player can jam up the entire group. Much of the fun comes from the personalities at the table. Some will try to be devious, inserting a range of deceptive or close-knit answers, while others fill out their cards with earnest responses. It isn’t only about the categories and their corresponding answers, but also about how the players try to game those answers. Those who struggle to think on their feet may find themselves thrust into an uncomfortable spotlight.

The trick-taking is… let’s call it “adequate.” I don’t put much stock in the imaginary line between game and activity, but My Favourite Things is simultaneously playable but not all that playable, if you catch my drift. It benefits from some drama — big reveals, a willingness to grouse about answers, a dash of showmanship. Without that, the trick-taking is too thin to stand on its own. While the heartbreak icons trumping everybody’s number-one pick is a great touch, it isn’t uncommon for all those other answers to mash together.

To the game’s credit, the format lends itself to memorability. I can recall certain beats and responses from a session a year and a half ago, let alone those from last week. But the memorable sessions were always those that allowed players to slip out of their rut, usually thanks to at least a pair of bombastic personalities breaking the ice and encouraging everyone to jive. That’s a skill in and of itself. Here, it’s essential. This social deduction more or less hangs on whether you can supply the social.

Um.

Put these together and you get a rather offbeat experience, at once a delight and hampered by its inbuilt limitations. With the right categories, answers, and flourish, there’s nothing quite like a session of My Favourite Things. Without them, it’s a drab game indeed. I hate to call a game “group dependent,” but if ever there were a game for it, it’s this peculiar parlor trick-taking deduction thingy. Like super glue on cotton, it generates smoke. To make fire, one may require a more volatile accelerant.

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A complimentary copy of My Favourite Things was provided by the publisher.