Feeding the Realm: A Tavern-Keep’s Guide to Cooking for 50+ Adventurers

Adventurers are brave. They chase goblins, duel ghosts, and argue with druids. But if there’s one thing that’ll bring even the fiercest warrior to their knees, it’s hunger. And that’s where you come in.

Whether you’re a seasoned tavern-keep or someone who just happened to be standing near the camp kitchen when volunteers were asked, feeding a LARP crowd of 50 to 100 people is no small task. I’ve done it, over and over. And I’m here to pass along the hard-earned wisdom of keeping bellies full and spirits high, all while staying in character and maybe earning a few silver coins for your trouble.

The Art of Planning a Feast
The success of your feast depends not on fire or food, but on forethought.

Start with the numbers. Know how many adventurers you’re feeding, what time the meal must be ready, and who among them can’t handle mushrooms, meat, milk, or anything that once had a face. There’s always at least one elf on oats and air, and one barbarian allergic to legumes.

Plan for a hearty but simple menu. A stew, a bread, a side, and perhaps a sweet. Avoid overcomplication. No one is expecting soufflé. They want food that fills, warms, and comforts. Aim for roughly one pound of food per person per meal, and always make more than you think you’ll need. Hungry adventurers return for seconds. Tired ones return for comfort. Drunk ones just return.

If you can prep at home, do it. Dice the onions, pre-cook your meats, store your sauces. The more you can get out of the way before the campfire is lit, the more you’ll thank yourself when the game is afoot and your hands are full.

Gear of the Gods (or the Cook)
No sword is sharper than the right tool at the right time, and cooking gear is no different.

My prized possession is a used RV stove with three burners and a small oven. Runs on propane and has survived more campaigns than most characters. You don’t need to spend much; I found mine on a local classifieds site. People toss out trailers and campers all the time. It’s better than any camping stove I’ve ever used and more reliable than a chaotic firepit.

Next comes your pot. Not just any pot, a B.A.P. A Big Amazing Pot. This mighty cauldron should be capable of holding stews for fifty or corn for thirty. It’s your main vessel. Treat it with respect. Stews, chilis, porridges, they all live and die in that pot. Simmer it slow and steady over a low flame while the heroes are off saving the world, and by dusk, you’ll have a meal fit for a feast hall.

Plates? I made the mistake once of relying on paper. They crumpled, tore, and vanished by nightfall. Metal pie plates are my go-to now, cheap from the dollar store, easy to scrub with a copper pad, and durable enough to survive a troll attack. If I had to do it again, I’d get metal cups too. They clink nicely, feel rustic, and don’t melt near the fire.

Your Camp Kitchen
You’ll need bins. Lots of bins. They carry your supplies in, then act as wash stations when the meal is done. Set up three: one with hot soapy water, one with rinse water, and one with a sanitizing solution (a bit of bleach will do, just don’t drink from it). Bring a way to heat water, your stove, a kettle, or a smaller pot, and keep that cleaning station running smoothly. Oil sticks. Dried cheese becomes glue. You’ll thank yourself later.

And don’t forget the table. A single folding table will serve as your cutting board, prep station, serving line, and sometimes, your only clean surface in a muddy camp. Guard it like a treasure hoard.

Food Safety in the Field
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “This is a fantasy world. Surely a bit of spoiled meat is just part of the risk?” Nay, my friend. Food poisoning is not immersive, it’s just miserable.

Keep hot food hot, cold food cold. Invest in a decent cooler. Pre-chill it, pack it tight, and don’t open it more than you must. Store raw meat below everything else. Don’t let juices leak onto bread or cheese unless you want your rangers running for the bushes.

Use separate knives for meat and veg. Wash your hands. Bring soap, towels, and a water jug with a spigot. And for the love of the gods, if someone says they have a food allergy, believe them. “A little bit won’t hurt” is a phrase that has no place in your tavern.

Meals That Win the Day
Now, the good part. What to cook? I’ve tried many dishes, and these are the ones that never fail:

Stews– The king of camp meals. Beef and root veg in a savory broth, lentils and spices for the herbivores. Simmer all day, serve with bread, and you’re a hero.

Chili– Beans, meat, spice. Easy to scale, easy to reheat, and customizable. We’ve served chili and let players choose their toppings: cheese, sour cream, raw onion, crushed crackers. Call it “Orcfire Stew” and it feels right.

Pizza Bagels – A surprise favorite. Plain bagels, sliced and sauced. Add toppings, toast lightly, add cheese, toast again. They’re fast, filling, and wildly popular. I once made 80 and they were gone before I could grab one.

Breakfast Porridge– Oats, raisins, apples, cinnamon. One big pot, endless comfort. Serve with a drizzle of honey and you’ll see tears of joy in the faces of frostbitten rogues.

Snack Platters – Hard cheese, boiled eggs, dried fruit, pickles. Put them in wooden bowls, and suddenly it’s a tavern spread. Even better: nothing requires cooking.

Adding a Dash of Magic
Presentation, as the bards say, is half the meal.

Hide plastic under linen. Serve stew from a black cauldron. Use wooden spoons. Rename your meals. “Swamp Hag’s Chowder” sounds better than “vegetable soup.” “Elven Waybread” goes down smoother than “store-bought pita.”

Use baskets. Pour lemonade into a ceramic jug and call it “Wizard’s Brew.” Pretend the dried sausages came from a dwarven merchant caravan. The players will love it, and they’ll remember it.

If you’re serving, stay in character. Be the grumpy cook. Be the overly proud barkeep. Be the mysterious tea-seller with herbs for every ailment. Your meal becomes part of the game.

Final Words from a Greasy Apron
Cooking for a LARP isn’t about perfection. It’s about nourishment, community, and a bit of magic. Things will go wrong. You’ll forget the salt, burn the toast, drop a ladle in the mud. But if you feed people well, and do it with care, they’ll forgive anything.

So gather your pots. Ready your table. Light the flame. You’re not just feeding players. You’re building a world, one spoonful at a time.

Now go. The bellies of heroes await.