We're pounding a $40 bottle of Aguardiente, surrounded by buxom cowgirls with some serious junk in the trunk. Their hips sway seductively and emphatically, as if their gyrations are sending sonic signals to Cartagena. The band plays a sizzling mix of vallenato and salsa that sends electric subliminal sexual messages into our grain alcohol-soaked frontal lobes. We're dressed in ten-gallon cowboy hats and dark denim outfits that blend in perfectly with the hay and wood chips sprinkled throughout Mi Bohio's ranch-theme dining room. The Eighties-inspired mirrored walls and palm-trees-in-the-sunset Scarface mural makes us want to snort lines of blow off the glass tabletop. Instead we scarf on sancocho, pargo frito, and cazuela de marisco. After all, we need something to soak up the spirits sloshing in our gullets.