Comparison Tests
In the automotive time/space continuum, life first pokes its head out of the primordial pea soup in the B-segment. Some of its denizens are slowpoke slugs with nubs for legs. Others are beginning to sprout wings and dazzling plumage. It’s a mixed bag, with the brightest of its Darwinian candidates evolving at light speed and with the dullest apparently content to linger listlessly in dodo-dom. Selection of the fittest, here, means that shoppers do the selecting, and—as we found out—they’d better do it pretty damned carefully.
We’ve spent time aplenty sampling the bargain Bs. In 2006 (“$15,000 Cheap Skates”), we droned around Ohio celebrating the Buckeye state’s seven dead and oft-maligned presidents. On that trip, the Honda Fit easily won. We revisited the segment in 2010 (“Ego Shrinkers”), only to elect the Fit again to the segment’s highest office, nudging out the Mazda 2 Touring and Ford Fiesta SES. As a result, those two weren’t included in this competition. Yeah, we know, maybe they should have been. We’ll confess that neither would have finished anywhere near last in this face-off. But we gotta draw the line somewhere. Have you seen our restaurant tabs? There’s the food, the alcohol, the pre-arraignment hearings, the occasional small hotel fire.
Our destination was Drummond Island offMichigan’s Upper Peninsula, 700 miles there and back. The island is usually a sleepy place with largely deserted humpy roads that kink through forests inhabited by malevolent-looking pileated woodpeckers. But the island is also home to Drummond Island Resort’s Bayside Dining, renowned for its artful and aromatic appetizers, woodpecker under glass not on offer.
“You spent $135 on lamb hors d’oeuvres?” asked our T&E minder.
“Well, sort of. At first we ordered just one, but a fight broke out.”
When the resort’s executive chef, Frank Jones, heard we’d be touring the environs in econoboxes, he vowed to enliven our travels by fashioning six tasteful and photogenic appetizers, one per car, supplying some gusto where, for instance, the Nissan Versa offered none. Jones promised two appetizers of his own contrivance, with sous-chefs Scott Bousson and Zachary Schroeder contributing likewise, no doubt hoping we’d decree their creations superior to their boss’s. We did not. Chef Jones runs a disciplined kitchen—no hijinks, no insubordination, and, unlike us, no fires.
Folks who buy these B-segment cars usually do so because they can’t afford the entrée. That’s okay. These are apps that will satisfy on their own.
