Taonga Review: Farming, Friendship, and Pineapples With Purpose
I showed up on Taonga Island expecting a beachy clicker about growing corn and feeding chickens. Instead, I found myself solving puzzles, trading sugarcane for ancient relics, and accidentally raising more alpacas than one person should. It kicks off like a chill little farming sim, but then it keeps piling on extras: adventure bits, weird jungle relics, a barter economy, and a neighbor system that's cozier than expected. Thinking of settling in? Let's see what kind of mess you're getting into.
So I Accidentally Built a Pineapple Empire
Taonga starts the way all proper tropical detours should: weird letter, sketchy boat, promise of free land. I figured it'd be chill, some coconuts, maybe a mango tree. Nope. Five minutes in, I'm tying rope and laying down a dock. One hour later? Windmills, alpacas, and more coconuts than I knew what to do with.
No joke, this game moves fast. One second you're picking pineapples. Next, you're clearing jungle debris and swapping beads with locals who definitely know something shady. It looks like a farm sim. It’s not. It’s an entire island chain hiding secrets, and yes, your energy bar is going to cry.
Farming With a Side of Pirate Quests
Yeah, farming matters. But this isn't some sleepy crop cycle. You grow wheat, sure. Bake pies. Then you use those pies to win favor with a pirate who smells like burnt sugar and only shows up when your mango stash runs dry.
You're not farming for fun. You're farming because someone needs a raft repaired before the moon festival, or whatever excuse the questline cooks up next. It's chaotic, but it works.
Everything links to something. You're juggling harvests, unlocking buildings, crafting tools, plotting boat trips. It's not high-stakes strategy, but it's got enough moving parts to keep your brain just busy enough. Plus, the ocean's nice to look at.
Exploring Islands Is Where It Really Clicks
Taonga looks like it wants you to stay put. But nah, you'll be island-hopping before you know it.
Each new island feels like a tiny fever dream. One minute I'm translating stone tablet riddles. The next, I'm chasing a parrot who's addicted to papayas. These places aren't just resource dumps, they've got flavor. And the occasional sea turtle who just strolls through like he owns the beach.
You poke around, grab odd treasures, come back with stuff you didn't know you needed. It keeps the loop spicy.
Energy Is Your Boss Now
Everything eats energy. Grass? Ten. Trees? Twenty. That weird bush that looks cursed? Thirty, minimum. Energy regenerates over time, or faster if you down enough smoothies to make your dentist nervous.
At first, it's manageable. You pace yourself. You feel clever. Then, weirdly, it tightens. Like, really tight. You're deep into a dense jungle zone, five steps from finishing a quest, and... boom. Out of juice.
So yeah, the shop's there with energy packs and boosters. It's not pushy, which I appreciate. But you're either waiting, planning, or chewing your way through your entire tropical snack hoard.
Alpacas, Workshops, and Other Weird Jobs
The animals are cute. But also slightly terrifying in their productivity. Chickens, goats, cows, and the alpacas. So many alpacas. They're basically the backbone of this economy.
Feed them. Pet them. Collect their fluff. Use that to run your jam factory. Totally normal sentence.
Then you get into workshops. First, it's baking bread. Then jam. Next thing you know, you're crafting caramelized fruit tarts for a traveling merchant in exchange for exotic wood. No clue why this makes sense. It just does.
There's weaving. Smithing. Some kind of jelly production line. It sounds like a lot, but it all clicks together like a chaotic island Lego set. And you're the flip-flop-wearing manager somehow holding it together.
Your Neighbors Are Kinda Awesome
There's multiplayer, kind of. You can visit friends' farms, send gifts, toss each other energy. Low stakes, very chill.
What's fun is snooping. The leaderboard lets you peek at how other players run their islands. Some people go full garden designer with artful hedges and ponds. Others just go full cow industrial complex. Honestly? Both are inspiring. And slightly unhinged.
You don't have to interact. But when you do, it feels nice. Sometimes a neighbor has exactly the obscure item you need. They save your butt. You send them a smoothie. Everybody wins.
What to Do When You're Out of Juice
Eventually, and by that I mean, like, an hour in, you'll hit a wall. Energy's out. Crops need to grow. Boat's off on a 3-hour expedition to who-knows-where. Congrats, you've hit cooldown.
But that's kind of the charm?
Taonga doesn't want you to marathon it. It's more like... snack-sized gaming. You check in, do a few things, log off. It respects your time, even when it's this close to baiting you into one more action.
Sure, things slow down mid-game. You'll unlock new islands, but the pace dips unless you've got a spreadsheet or a credit card. If you treat it like a background app for your brain, though? Totally fine.
No Drama, Just Vibes
Visually, it's all sunshine and fruit stands. Nothing too cutesy. Just good vibes. The animals are adorable. The characters say weird stuff. Quests are light but oddly charming.
No battles. No countdowns. No high-stress events. You're making jam. Sailing to mystery islands. Collecting jade for a retired pirate grandma. It's soft chaos, and I love that for us.
If cozy island builder nonsense is your thing? This absolutely counts.
Final Verdict: From Corn to Cult Leader
I downloaded this thinking, "Sure, I'll plant some tomatoes." Two weeks later, I'm mass-producing fruit tarts and building ceremonial fire pits for a turtle god. Not proud. Not stopping.
That's Taonga. It worms its way in. Not with hype, but with alpacas. So many alpacas.
Looking for combat or endgame loot? This ain't that. But if you want a weird little world to pop into with smoothies in one hand and zero expectations? Go build your pineapple empire. You'll know when you're hooked.
Just... bring snacks.