The Ultimate Tailgate Party Playbook
My first tailgate was a disaster. And I don't mean "funny in hindsight" disaster. I mean I showed up to an NFL game with a bag of chips, a six-pack of warm beer, and the unshakable confidence of a man who assumed tailgating was just "standing near your car and eating."
It was October. It was 40 degrees. I had no chairs, no table, no grill, no cooler. I ate Doritos while leaning against my Civic, watching the group next to me -- who had a full outdoor kitchen setup, a satellite TV mounted to a tent pole, and what I'm fairly certain was a professionally smoked brisket -- enjoy the pinnacle of the American experience.
A large man in a jersey walked over, looked at my sad little setup, handed me a plate of pulled pork, and said "first time, huh?" I nodded. He nodded back, the way men communicate deep understanding without words. Then he walked away. I ate the pulled pork. It was transcendent. And I decided right then that I would never show up to a tailgate unprepared again.
That was eight years ago. I've since hosted dozens of tailgates, and I've gotten it down to a science. Here's everything I've learned.
The Non-Negotiable Equipment List
Before we talk about food or drinks, let's talk gear. Because tailgating without the right equipment is like going camping without a tent -- technically possible, but why are you doing this to yourself?
A decent cooler. Not a styrofoam box from the gas station. A real cooler. It doesn't have to be a 50. The key is pre-chilling it the night before -- put a bag of ice in it overnight, dump the water in the morning, then load it with fresh ice and your drinks. This doubles your ice retention. A warm cooler melts ice like a sad metaphor.
Folding chairs. At minimum, one per person in your group. Nothing ruins a four-hour tailgate like standing the entire time. Your back will be screaming by kickoff and you haven't even gotten to the bleacher seats yet. I carry those canvas bag chairs that cost $20 each. They're not comfortable exactly, but they're better than squatting on a curb.
A folding table. Somewhere to put the food. Somewhere to play cards. Somewhere to set your drink down so you don't have to hold it for four hours like some kind of beverage-obsessed statue. A six-foot plastic folding table is $40 at any hardware store and fits in most trunks.
A portable grill. This is where it gets real. A Weber Jumbo Joe (100-$150) does the job with less smoke.
Paper towels. I'm listing this separately because I forgot them once and it was the worst three hours of my life. Barbecue sauce on everything. Grease on every surface. Sticky hands with no recourse. Bring two rolls. You'll use both.
The Food: Keep It Simple, Make It Good
The number one tailgate food mistake is overcomplicating things. This is not a dinner party. This is eating in a parking lot. The food should be delicious, portable, and require minimal fuss.
Burgers and brats. This is the foundation. You can build an entire tailgate around nothing but good burgers and bratwursts and nobody will complain. For burgers, I do 80/20 ground beef, salt, pepper, that's it. Pre-form the patties at home, layer them between parchment paper, keep them cold. For brats, simmer them in beer and onions in a disposable aluminum pan on the grill, then finish them over direct heat for a char. This is the move that separates your tailgate from everyone else's. A beer-boiled bratwurst with brown mustard on a good bun is one of the greatest foods on earth.
Wings, but smarter. Grilling wings at a tailgate is a power move, but it's slow -- wings need time. The hack is to par-cook them in the oven at home the night before (350 for 25 minutes), then throw them on the grill at the tailgate for 10-15 minutes to crisp up the skin and add sauce. You get perfect wings in a fraction of the time, and everyone thinks you're a wizard.
The slow cooker play. If you have a power inverter in your car (or a buddy with a generator), a slow cooker full of pulled pork or chili that's been cooking since 6 AM is the ultimate tailgate flex. You show up, open the lid, and the entire parking lot smells your food. People will wander over. Let them. This is how you make tailgate allies.
Snacks that don't suck. Put out a bowl of chips and salsa, obviously. But also consider smoked sausage sliced into coins and served with toothpicks. Deviled eggs if you're feeling ambitious. A cheese and cracker spread that takes three minutes to assemble and looks like you planned it. These small touches are the difference between "that guy has food" and "that guy is hosting an event."
The Drinks: A System, Not a Free-for-All
Drinks at a tailgate should be organized, because a disorganized drink situation leads to warm beer, lost drinks, and the guy who brought one Bud Light Lime and has been drinking your bourbon all morning.
Two coolers. One for beer and water, one for everything else. The beer cooler gets opened fifty times and loses cold air every time. Your mixers, fancy stuff, and food that needs to stay cold should be in the protected cooler that only you open.
The beer. Bring something crowd-friendly. This is not the time for your obscure Belgian tripel that "has notes of banana and clove." Save that for home. Tailgate beer is light, drinkable, and inoffensive. A 30-rack of Miller Lite or Coors Banquet has never been the wrong call at a tailgate. If you want to bring something a step up, a variety pack from a solid craft brewery works -- just make sure there are enough "normal" beers in there for people who don't want a double IPA at 10 AM.
One signature cocktail. This is optional but devastating in the best way. Pre-mix a batch cocktail in a big drink dispenser and you instantly become the tailgate hero. My go-to is a bourbon apple cider punch: bourbon, apple cider, ginger beer, and a splash of lemon juice. Mix it at home, bring it in a big jug, serve it over ice. It's festive, it's seasonal, and it's strong enough that one cup is enough but good enough that everyone wants two.
Water. This sounds boring, and I don't care. Dehydration at a tailgate sneaks up on you because you're drinking alcohol in the sun for four hours and not thinking about it. Have a case of water bottles in the cooler. Force one on everyone periodically. The person who passes out at the game because they had six beers and zero water is always the person nobody invited next time.
The Setup: Location, Layout, and Logistics
Get there early. This is non-negotiable. If the lot opens at 8 AM for a noon game, you should be there at 8:15. Early arrival gets you the end spot (more room, not boxed in by other cars), proximity to bathrooms (trust me), and time to set up without rushing.
Park strategically. Back into your spot so the trunk opens toward the tailgate area, not toward the car behind you. If you have a truck, this is obvious -- tailgate down, party facing outward. If you have a sedan, pop the trunk and use it as a shelf. Either way, you want the food and drinks accessible without people having to walk through your setup.
The layout matters. Grill downwind of the seating area. Coolers near the chairs but not in the walking path. Table in the center. Trash bag tied to something visible so people actually use it instead of leaving garbage everywhere. If you're using a canopy tent -- which you should if it's hot or rainy -- anchor it properly. An untethered canopy in a gust of wind becomes a $60 kite that ruins someone else's tailgate.
Music. A Bluetooth speaker is essential. Keep the volume at "atmosphere" not "concert." You want background music that sets the mood, not a DJ set that makes conversation impossible and annoys your neighbors. Classic rock, country, hip-hop -- whatever fits your crew. Just don't be the lot that's blasting music so loud that people three rows over are giving you looks.
The Games: Because You Need Something to Do Between Eating
You've got three to four hours before kickoff. You've eaten. You're sipping your drink. Now what?
Cornhole. The king of tailgate games and it's not close. It's easy to learn, competitive enough to be fun, and you can play it while holding a beer, which is the only criteria that matters. A decent set of boards costs 100 and lasts forever.
KanJam. Basically frisbee with a trash can. It's fast, active, and creates the kind of highlight-reel moments that make people cheer at a parking lot game, which is a uniquely tailgate experience.
Cards. If the weather's bad or you're not the active type, a folding table and a deck of cards goes a long way. Poker with low stakes. Spades if your group is competitive. Even just basic games kill time and create conversation.
Football, obviously. Bring a football. Throw it around. Just be aware of your surroundings -- a spiral that accidentally hits someone's windshield three spots over will create a social situation you don't want to deal with while you're trying to enjoy your brisket.
The Exit Strategy
Nobody talks about the end of the tailgate, and it matters. Here's what separates a good tailgate host from a great one.
Clean up before the game. Don't leave your setup unattended for four hours while you're inside. Secure everything. Put food away. Lock the cooler. Fold up the chairs. The last thing you want is to come back to a parking lot raccoon convention in your camping chair.
Have a sober driver or a plan. If you've been tailgating since 8 AM and the game ends at 4 PM, that's eight hours of potential drinking. Designate a driver before you start. Not after. Not "we'll figure it out." Before. Alternatively, rideshare, public transit, or walk if you're close enough. No amount of tailgate fun is worth the alternative.
Trash bags. Bring three. Fill all three. Leave the spot cleaner than you found it. This is the single biggest predictor of whether the people parked around you next time will be friendly or hostile. Nobody wants to tailgate next to the group that left chicken bones and empty cans on the ground.
The Tailgate Mindset
Here's what took me a few years to learn: the tailgate isn't the appetizer for the game. For many people -- myself included -- the tailgate IS the event. The game is great. The tailgate is where the memories are made.
It's where you meet the people in the next spot over who become your regular tailgate neighbors for the season. It's where your buddy tells the story about the time he tried to deep-fry a turkey in a parking lot (it went poorly, but everyone still talks about it). It's where you stand around a grill with people you care about, eating food you cooked, watching the sun come up over the stadium, and thinking "this is exactly what weekends are for."
Bring the good cooler. Cook something worth eating. Share with the people next to you. And for the love of everything, bring paper towels.
The game starts in three hours. You've got work to do.
