THE tables are set with confetti and streamers and the party props used at New Year's Eve bashes. The white feather tiaras are an exception. The volume on the taped samba music threatens conversation. But, after a few rum drinks, Brazil's answer to Mexico's margarita, who cares.
The second you raise your fork to attack the bo bo camarao (shrimp in coconut milk), acaraje (Bahia's kidney bean appetiser) or the fried manioc cake, the floor show erupts.
The dancers preen, strut and twirl themselves around their partners' necks like hula hoops. Strings of pearls quiver against fishnet stockings, smiles are wider than the bikinis and the glistening rib cages warn you of bathing suit season.
During a search-and-destroy mission on the dessert combination plate, a gentleman dressed in a black feather head-dress, bathing suit and black suede boots to the knee, arrives with an invitation to dance before 70 pairs of eyes.
Suddenly, the white pudding with prunes and guava paste with sweet cheese feel like bricks in the stomach. The floor fails to open and swallow you up. The balloon tied to your chair is too small to hide behind.
He flashes a beguiling smile, you die, he disappears, your breathing returns to normal. Your friends empathise with: ''You chicken.'' Welcome to Brazilian Carnival and the dinner floor show at Gripps Restaurant at the Omni Hongkong Hotel.
What is a hard act to follow is also fun, giddy and a delightful way to forget a trying day at the office, a friend's motorcycle getting stolen and a dreaded missive from the Internal Revenue Department.
