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The world somehow looks livelier following a minty mojito ($8) at Calle Ocho. It's Cuba by way of Miami via the Upper West Side: The heady mix of rum, palm trees, fresh flowers, propeller-sized fans, and lime-green walls makes Spartos think she's on some sort of tropical runway. "Boy, am I ready for takeoff!" exclaims Spartos. She slurps a fruity Calle Ocho ($8), which tastes like Malibu crossed with Midori, and a punchy Latinopolitan ($9), which substitutes Bacardi LimA3n for the usual vodkaaby now, Spartos is definitely feeling the wind in her hair. So she's disappointed by the crash landing brought on by a very watery, somewhat mango-y Daiquiri Helado ($8) and a grape-juice-like red sangria ($6; try the $28 pitcherait's made from a different recipe and tastes much better). They've also got caipirinhas, for a kind $7. There's nothing like a little turbulence to cloud one's vision.