The Norse feast was not a side event. It was where oaths were sworn, disputes were settled and reputations were made or lost. Feeding the hall was a position of standing, and the man who did it well was remembered for it.
That instinct never went anywhere.
It just relocated to a folding table outside a hardware shop on a Saturday morning, where one bloke holds the tongs, nobody questions his authority, and the only dispute left worth having is whether the onion goes under or over.
Same job. Roughly the same tools. Considerably less pillaging.