From the book that got judged by its cover to the glitter that wasn’t gold, nothing gets people in trouble faster than underestimating something. If it looks like a duck, walks like duck, it must be – a duck.
Take, for example, the Ford Fiesta ST. It’s a friendly looking little 5-door hatchback, a fun little berry of a car. And it comes in sweet and fruity colours like cherry, lime green, blueberry and orange. The one I picked up a couple of weeks ago looked like it had just chugged too much green gatorade, and might need burping. With its rounded contours and a slightly bucktooth grill, the Fiesta ST seemed more like a candidate for going apple-picking than eating Corvettes.
But that’s exactly what we did. Quietly cruising behind a spanking new Z06 in the middle lane, I waited for the driver to finish his cellphone pow-wow or Popeye’s Chicken, whatever. But with a deadline waiting at home, I ran out of patience, mashed the throttle, and skimmed by on the left. Peeking in the rearview mirror, I couldn’t see his jaw and guessed it was somewhere on his lap.
The next day I headed up north, to find some winding roads off Highway 7. With all 197 ponies chomping at the bit, I had to keep watching my speed. And did I mention the ST comes standard with a standard? I’m talking 6-speed, for all you gearshift fankids out there. It was like driving an aphid on acid. The ST velcroed around corners like a champ, conquering hills and screaming down dusty trails with verve.
Of course, every great ride needs a steamy soundtrack, so it didn’t hurt that I could tune into SoulTown on Sirius – and yes, I did go a little nutso when the theme from Shaft came on. Was there ever a better driving song?!
So it was no surprise I started feeling particularly carnivorous, and stopped in at the Centre Street Deli in Vaughan. Those in the know will tell you, it’s the best place west of Montreal and north of New York to find good old fashioned smoked meat. Hand cut, too, and fatty with flavour. Best way to devour it is platter-style, with kimmel rye and hot mustard, and a side of slaw.
Reinforced with nitrates and kibbitz, I was ready to rock. Maybe it was the pastrami, but I was mesmerized by how huge the ST was inside. I mean, there were actually three seats in the back. And five doors in total, including the rear hatch. Wrapped in the leather trimmed Recaro driver’s seat, I might have felt racier, if I had not been quite so full and sitting quite so high.
But never mind. I backed out and slammed my tush into gear. Enough already, with the corned beef and brisket.
I had Corvettes to eat.