What it was like
Nothing kills a board game night faster than a table you have to clear before you finish. Which is the whole reason this one lives in a mead taproom with long communal benches, where a rulebook, a map, four expansions and everybody's drink can stay spread across the wood and no one comes to move you along.
There is no tournament, no scheduled game, no entry beyond walking in. Regulars bring things out of their own collections and teach them to strangers. Somebody sets up in a corner with brushes and a half-painted miniature between turns. The staff run the room knowing a three-hour session is the expected use case rather than an inconvenience, and the mead rotates often enough to become its own side quest.
Monthly, evenings, twenty-one and up, with food from the kitchen and whatever truck is parked outside. Bring the friend who owns the enormous box nobody will ever agree to learn.