I'm told this is a traditional thing here in the east. A thing mainlanders do.
I accept that. And have put the ceremonial dead bird in a lobstah pot full of salt water, brown sugar and various spicy spices to soak overnight so it's a more fit offering to the God of Gluttony upon the morrow. What do we say to the God of Gluttony? "TODAY."
When in Rome, after all. The dead bird's entrails are in a bag, I guess they'll be gravy fixins. All the good flavor is in the nasty bits, as always. Just like you and me.
Ooh, there's a cheesecake, too!
I could get used to that tradition, at least.