Everything sold in this house is something you have to eat. Ingredients come out upon a conveyor belt. Whatever you win, that is your meal.

The conveyor belt is also a music box. When it turns it plays a different song each time, and yes, house rules state it is impolite to abstain from having a taste of the songs. They are an amuse-bouche, after all.

No one knows what the item they are bidding on is going to be, just that it will be proportionate to their offering.

A woman with the plumes of a pheasant decorating her hat sobs, crying hard and openly. Everyone attending is suitably impressed by this bid. Her tears are large and juicy, and harden into jewels as they roll to the floor.

The auctioneer gathers them up in a huge mother of pearl shell, and this too will be up for auction after it has been made unrecognizable.