Bugsnax

Bugsnax opens with a mystery and a mouthful. You’re a down-on-your-luck journalist lured to Snaktooth Island by famed explorer Elizabert Megafig, who promptly vanishes without a trace. Her camp’s in ruins, the locals are cranky and starving, and oh right, everyone’s obsessed with eating sentient food. Welcome to paradise.

Snaktooth’s wriggling with 100+ species of Bugsnax, which are exactly what they sound like: edible animals, like walking strawberries, googly-eyed sodas, and angry potatoes wearing tinfoil hats. Each has a unique behavior, condiment preference, and horrifyingly cute voice line that echoes its name like a sugary Pokémon. Catching them is part puzzle, part slapstick, and entirely absurd. Lure a Bunger with ketchup, use a spring-loaded trap to yeet a flying taco, or bait a flaming BBQ Bunger into a puddle, it’s science, baby.

But Bugsnax isn’t just here for laughs and lactose. It’s surprisingly heartfelt. As you reunite the scattered grumpuses of Snaxburg, fuzzy, fur-covered weirdos like a fame-hungry gossip or a grumpus with deep-seated trauma about snack ethics, you’ll uncover a story that pokes at real topics like loneliness, self-worth, and yes, snack-based identity crises.

Despite some repetition in the Bugsnak-catching grind, the game’s consistently offbeat tone, memorable characters, and shocking late-game turns keep things tasty. You might come for the meme-worthy premise, but you’ll stay because you accidentally started crying when a pink walrus found inner peace after eating a donut spider.