2007 Bandit Merlot

“What is this?” the Generalissimo asked when I handed him the container.

“It’s called wine.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

“But the container...”

“I know, I know. It’s not a box in the way you know and love them, but it’s still box-like.”

“But, where is the spout?”

“It’s got a screw cap.”

“Blasphemy!”

I unscrewed the top and poured him a glass. “Give it a shot.”

He stared at the glass, his lips curled into a frown that matched the curve of his mustache. He picked up the glass, tentatively bringing it to his nose. He sniffed.

“It smells like box wine.” He swirled it. “It looks like box wine.” He closed his eyes, made the sign of the cross, and poured the contents down his throat. He swallowed. His eyes popped open. “Indeed! It tastes like box wine! It is...magnificent!”

Magnificent might be a stretch. It’s not bad, as wines go. The taste is smooth without being bitter. The box wisely didn’t try to tell me it had subtle hints of cranberry or a nose of ripe melon, but instead tried to convince me of the value of wine sold in a container like this. It had a list of ten reasons, but only a few struck a cord with me. Number 2: more wine. Number 3: lower shipping weight=less fuel emissions. Number 8: made largely of renewable resources (I’m hoping they meant the box). Number 10: you can crush it on your forehead. That last one was by far the most important.

“It tastes like a freshly caught mule, ripened over a roaring flame, then plunged into the mountain spring waters of the Sahara!”

“Um...”

“It smells like the Generalissima after she’s bathed!”

“Wow, that’s way too much information—”

“I give it seven mustaches!”

“Out of?”

“Out of what?!”

“Out of how many mustaches?”

“I like piñatas!”

Bandit’s 2007 Merlot is good. I’d drink it again. That’s all that matters.

2010 Kia Soul

I wasn’t expecting much from the Kia Soul when I got to the dealership. It’s a cool looking car, with its trendy box shape (you think Volvo might go back to it now?), squat stance, and a greenhouse that looks like a nice pair of sunglasses. But it could have been oh so much more.

We drove the base model, because that was the only one they had with a manual transmission. It was black, the interior was basic, and the engine was gutless. Not a big deal. But they several others on the lot with better packages. The Soul+. The Soul!. The Soul sport.

And we got stuck with the bottom of the Soul evolutionary tree. Bummer.

Still, it was a nice car. The dash was easy to read. The back seats were okay for short trips or short people, but they don’t fold flat, which might pose problems if you have any intention of hauling more than groceries. The basic amenities were fine for the most part, with disc brakes and ABS, an interior that was cheap without screaming the fact, and a radio that I’d be happy to own without an upgrade.

The ride was solid. Not Mini Cooper territory, but nice. The brakes were fantastic, with great feel and a willingness to keep it all under control. I could see myself driving one of these everyday, so long as I ponied up the extra for one of the option packages. Alloy wheels would be nice. Same with a color besides black, white, or silver. And maybe better interior fabrics.

But that wasn’t my biggest gripe. For a five-speed, you’d think they’d make that last gear a nice long one, but they didn’t. I couldn’t commute in this car, not when the engine is pulling three-grand at sixty. And above that the power band seemed to lose some oomph, which just won’t work for me. But maybe it’ll work for you. The larger, more powerful engines offered on the other packages would help, but that still wouldn’t solve the gearing issue, which makes this car a solid “no chance” in my book. But still, it gets a:

B-


“It’s cute!” the Generalissimo cried.

“Can we just go now?” I said.

“Indeed!” He hauled ass out of the lot, bouncing onto the street amid a flurry of squealing tires an angry honks.

“Ride?” I asked.

“We have only begun!”

“Fine. Brakes?”

He stomped on them. “Excellent!”

I made a note of it. “Acceleration?”

He got on the gas and wound the little engine up. “Unimpressive!”

Another note. “Transmission?”

“Smooth! Like a baby’s esophagus!”

“Brakes?”

“We already did the brakes!”

“NO! Brakes!”

He looked up, just in time to see a deer dart out in front of us. He ignored my suggestion and hammered the gas, cutting right as the deer cut left. We missed it by at least three or four inches.

“Good eye!” he shouted. “It handles well!”

I made a note.

“Trouble at home?” he asked. He used his abnormal tone of voice, the one without the screeching or random pontifications.

“No. Well, yes.”

“You may tell me, young Thurman. My ears are always open for you.”

“It’s my bed.”

“Bedroom problems! I am well schooled in many forms of lovemaking. I would be happy to join you and your counterpart. I can sit off to the side and critique your style—”

“No, not the lovemaking. It’s my bed. It’s hard as a rock. I keep waking up with a migraine.”

“So, this isn’t about lovemaking?”

“No.” God no.

“Oh.” He downshifted, stomped on the gas, and flung the Soul around a curve at three times the posted limit, and at least twice as fast as a sane person would ever consider. “Are you sure it’s not about the lovemaking, because in this area I am an expert.”

“The lovemaking is fine.” Why was I referring to it as “the lovemaking?” I was spending way too much time cooped up in a car with the man.

“Unfortunate!” The yelling was back. Goody. “I was about to tell you my secret recipe for edible candle wax!”

“Pull over.”

“You have spotted villainy! We must fight it at once!” He stood on the brake pedal.

“No. There’s no villainy.” I clutched my stomach, hoping to hold it back as long as possible.

“No villainy?” He scratched his head.

“I just had a mental image of what you use the edible candle wax for.”

“Ha! A mental image!” He reached into his tunic. “Why imagine! I brought pictures!”

I opened the door and hurled into someone’s daffodils.

Bon Appetit cheese croissant

I like creativity. I applaud it, even. But some formulas should not be messed with unless you’re a professional. And the people at Bon Appetit are...not.

The idea probably seemed like a good one at the time. Take a croissant. Everybody loves croissants. Add some cream cheese filling. Everybody loves cream cheese filling. Then put it in a package.

Um, aren’t we forgetting something here?

Yes. FROSTING!!! I know, it’s not advertised as a cheese Danish, and can therefore ignore the formula, but come on. To be even mildly successful, you need good ingredients. The croissant wasn’t bad. It wasn’t nearly flaky enough, but the moisture was pretty good. The flavor was unimpressive, which shouldn’t surprise me. Anything purchased at a gas station should come with some kind of warning, unless the fact that you BOUGHT IT AT A GAS STATION wasn’t enough of a hint.

The filling was more like a soft bit of cake. It lacked flavor, sugar, flavor, refinement, and of course, flavor. Then comes the total lack of frosting. I can get behind trying new things, but no frosting? That’s a bit of a stretch.

And because it was mostly bread, sorry, croissant, and maybe 1/8 filling, it became less of a dessert pastry and more of a bread item. The Generalissimo refused to eat this one, too, citing that it “Wasn’t a Danish! Not even a little!” I tried to get him to take a bite, but he’s quick for an old guy.

Probably all for the best. I don’t think he would have had anything nice to say about it.

D

2009 Scion xB

The Scion xB’s styling has always struck me as something a five-year-old would design: lots of right angles and a profile only a cardboard box enthusiast could love.

But looks, as they say, can be deceiving. Lurking under the cubist exterior is enough interior space to host a banquet. Yao Ming wouldn’t run out of headroom in this car. Er, truck. Minivan. SUV? Maybe minus the Sport part of the acronym. A mobile office space for urban professionals who can’t afford a car payment and rent.

Acceleration won’t snap your neck, but the handling isn’t bad. Sure, it feels really, really wide, almost ponderous, but it never threatened to topple, even when the Generalissimo decided to give it the old Scandinavian Flick.

The interior is about what you’d expect in a car that costs $16,420. Its true purpose isn’t power or sporty handling or styling that will scorch your Underoos, but its utility. There’s a reason my local florist uses one as a delivery vehicle. If cars were sold according to interior volume per pound, the xB would be the deal of the century.

Just don’t expect it to be the car you want to drive when given a choice.

B-


“It’s big!” the Generalissimo shouted. “Echo!” It didn’t. “I can hear the ocean!”

“Funny, sir,” I said. “Can we go now? I’ve got a dentist appointment in an hour.”

“Dentistry! The devil’s medicine!”

And with that, he chirped the tires and blasted us down the road.

The Scion xB reminded me of my dad’s old VW Bus, but without the character. It had plenty of space, but I’d never want to be seen in it. The Bus had similar room, but also a cool factor that would peg the needle deep in the red.

“Handling?” I asked.

His answer involved jerking the steering wheel, sending us onto the sidewalk. I rolled down my window.

“Sorry!” I yelled. The ninety-eight year old woman we nearly crushed gave me the finger.

“It handles fine!” he yelled.

“Brakes?”

I knew better. He stomped on them. My seatbelt gripped me in all the right places. Too bad they don’t make eyeball restraints. Mine damn near bugged out under the deceleration.

“Good!”

I took a deep breath. “Sir, it’s been a few weeks. At some point you’re going to have to give me a score, otherwise your fans will only have my evaluation to go by.”

“But I trust you!”

“They don’t.”

The Generalissimo tilted his leather flight helmet back. Well, as much as he could.

“Hmmmm,” he said. “It has been many moons since I graded anything other than my counterpart’s lovemaking technique.”

“Um...”

“Actually, she’s improving. She could turn pro!”

“Seriously, ew.”

He scratched his head, then crossed his arms. “How would I do this?”

“The evaluation?” He nodded, once. “Well, you could always use the same criteria I posted on your blog.”

“Blog?”

I kept forgetting he had no idea what a blog was. “Never mind. Just think about the Scion xB’s suitability for your lifestyle, its cost versus value, how many RPGs and AK-47s it’ll hold, maybe factor in how much you enjoy driving it, then—”

“Four mustaches!”

“Huh?”

“I give the xB four mustaches!”

“Oka . Out of how many?”

“As many as you’d like!”

“Sir—”

“Indeed!” He put the xB back in gear. “Now that that’s settled, we must continue the adventure! Elsewhere!”

The front tires chirped again as the Generalissimo got on with his evaluation.

2007 Bota Box Pinot Grigio

This was my first foray into the exciting world of boxed wine, and the Generalissimo insisted we start off with something simple: a 2007 Bota Box Pinot Grigio.

Thank God.

My wine palate is a lot like my finger painting palate: minimal, trending toward the mundane, with an odd fascination toward anything showcasing shiny colors and smelling faintly of vanilla.

The Pinot Grigio was fine. It smelled like wine, tasted like wine, and didn’t burn my throat on the way down. The box said it “has rich aromas of tropical fruit and citrus which perfectly complement its light, crisp flavors of pears and peaches.” Um, okay. All I tasted was a slightly sweet wine with undercurrents of mediocrity and a light dusting of alcohol.

“It has the nose of a much younger woman, with extracts of nutmeg and allspice!” The Generalissimo sniffed his glass like he knew what he was doing.

“Nutmeg?”

“I certainly hope so!”

“And the taste?” I asked.

“Tastes great! Less filling!”

“I meant—”

“I can taste the ocean! And the subtle aroma of misplaced keys, interrupted by an incandescent effervescence of intransigence!”

“Huh?”

“I like it!”

“Effervescence of intransigence?”

“Indubitably! I give it six mustaches!”

“Out of?”

“Out of petty cash!” He drained his glass and went searching for the box. Again.

I’ll give it a:

B

A note on methodology...

Vehicles: I rate on a scale from 0-100, with points given in 12 categories. Gas mileage, for example, is weighted with 10 possible points, calculated by averaging the EPA City/Highway estimates and multiplying by the fuel capacity. It’s then divided by 500 (a nice long trip without refueling), and multiplied by ten. Like the other categories, it’s possible to receive more points than the value possible if the car is truly exceptional in that area.

Because we lack the equipment necessary to evaluate the manufacturer’s numbers for acceleration and braking, I evaluate based on the seat of my pants. A great braking car that feels twitchy will receive lower marks than a car with average brakes that feel solid and communicate well with my size 14s. Confidence in one’s car is, in my opinion, more important than mere numbers.

The score, once calculated, is then converted into a letter grade, mainly because I feel like it.

The Generalissimo grades on a curve. I think he uses the Caracciola Karussell at the Nürburgring. He will only drive cars with manual transmissions. He likes wagons, trucks, SUVs, and puppies. He will drive sedans, usually under protest. As the leader of ARDVARC (the Advanced Rapid Deployment Verification Assault Retreat Command), he prefers vehicles that can carry him (and his band of lunatics) into and out of battle, along with adequate supplies to fend off villainy and fight injustice. Or, maybe something to get him to Costco so he can pick up a 36-roll pack of two-ply.

His rating system varies, much like his odor.

Boxed wine: I have the oenological abilities of a man who drinks cachaça from the bottle. As such, please do not take my ratings as anything more than the ramblings of someone trying to keep up with a true connoisseur: the Generalissimo.

Speaking of the sunglassed one, he knows boxed wines like I know the strip clubs within a ten-mile radius of my house: he’s on a first name basis with everything we test, he often gets to sample the goods for free, and he knows the good ones cost extra.

He also will not drink and drive. His counterpart, the Generalissima, often joins us during these binges and plays designated driver, unless we can con Zak the Intern into that thankless task.

Cheese Danishes: I may not know boxed wine, but baked goods are another matter. The Generalissimo and I agree on only one thing: that the cheese Danish is the highest form of our modern pastry.

Danishes have three parts, each of which we test: bread, filling, and frosting/glaze. The bread is evaluated for taste, texture, and moisture content, then scored out of 30. The filling is tested on taste, texture, tartness, and the amount contained in the Danish, out of 40 points. As the frosting is truly the icing on the cake, it is given 10 points. The final 20 points come from the interaction of the three parts. In the last category it is possible to get a negative number if the overall sensation is that bad. Also, I have a sensitive stomach; points will be deducted if I get indigestion, acid reflux, irritable bowel, or hives.

Flair gets you bonus points.

If you represent an automobile manufacturer, a boxed winery, or a cheese Danish bakery, and you would like us to test your product, please contact us at thegeneralissimo@thegeneralissimo.com.

If you disagree with anything we have to say about your car/wine/cheese Danish, please leave a comment. We reserve the right to moderate any comments that may be offensive, or that use the words “paradigm” or “synergy” or “Hannah Montana rules.” Punishment for these infractions will range from comment deletion to the Generalissimo showing up at your home with a stern look on his face. And maybe a gun of some sort.

Key players:

The Generalissimo is the leader of the Advanced Rapid Deployment Verification Assault Retreat Command (ARDVARC), an underfunded branch of the federal government tasked with fighting the forces of evil, whatever form they take. He should never be approached from behind, exposed to water, or fed after midnight. Also, attempting to touch his mustache is like signing your own death warrant. He enjoys antique bandoliers, fine boxed wine, mustaches (primarily his own), cars, fighting evil and villainy, soup, searching for the world's finest cheese Danish, Jacuzzi-ing, mirrored sunglasses, unicorns, prophecies, and of course his beloved counterpart, the Generalissima.

Walter Thurman is a borderline alcoholic, raconteur, and a friend to small woodland creatures everywhere. He was the first person to successfully finish the full stack of pancakes at the Homestyle Café in Loma Linda, California, back in 1991. When he isn’t accompanying the Generalissimo on his merry adventures, he enjoys writing novels and sleeping.

Zak the Intern is an unpaid, underappreciated college student who only took the job at the insistence of his parole officer.

The Generalissima is the Generalissimo’s counterpart. She’s French, but we don’t hold that against her. An accomplished aviator, she can fly anything with wings (and a few things without). When she isn’t helping the Generalissimo conquer the forces of tyranny, she can be found cooking extravagant meals for no reason, adjusting the carburetor on her Citroën DS convertible, or quilting.

2009 Mazda 3 5-door

This one was a head scratcher. It didn’t help that we drove the Mini Cooper half an hour later and saw how a small hatchback should be done.

The car is good value for money at a base price of $19,295. The front seat was a little snug on my oversized butt, which really shouldn’t cross it off your list. The sunroof was small and the trunk will only hold one body with the seats up (2-3 with them down). The headroom was fine. Rear passenger space is small but okay for short trips or short people, your choice. It had four cup holders up front, and four in the rear, though I can’t imagine ever remembering to use the ones in the door panels.

The controls are easily reached, easy to use, and pretty standard. It rides well, corners well, and has a decent amount of power. Smooth was the word we kept using. The stick is in the right spot and feels solid, but the 2-3 shift can be tricky if you’re in a hurry. Might have just been our test car.

And if we hadn’t tested the Mini Cooper, we’d have been singing the praises of this little wagon. But it lacks the directness of the Mini. The joy. The point and shoot nature that Mazda knows how to do so well (think MX-5 Miata and RX-8 as current examples).

We’d have loved to try out the Mazdaspeed 3 version, with its 263 horsepower and its reputation as a giant killer, but procurement can be challenging when you’re standing next to a man dressed like a Third World dictator. Maybe next time.

C+


I sat in the back for this test. Zak the Intern had been begging me for weeks to let him ride up front, and I hoped that maybe it’d keep him from horking up the chicken curry we had for lunch.

“Seatbelt, my young apprentice!” the Generalissimo barked at him.

“Sorry, sir.” Zak strapped himself in.

“Safety first!”

“What about ladies?” I asked.

“Also first!”

“And doing no harm?”

“First again!” He stopped pointing at the ceiling with his index finger and stomped on the gas. The little four-banger revved right up. We peeled out of the lot and onto what had once been a quiet neighborhood before we arrived.

“It’s a twenty-five zone, sir,” I reminded him.

“Only when it isn’t!”

“Pretty sure it always it.” I shook my head. We’d had this discussion before, and it always ended with a cheesy grin beneath his mustache and a four-alarm migraine in my head.

We slid around the first corner we came to. Zak screamed. He could hit the high notes like Mariah Carey. Then he went ultrasonic when a dog bolted out in front of us and the Generalissimo tested the ABS.

“Works like a charm!”

Zak steadied himself, hands planted on the dashboard.

“You okay?” I asked.

The Generalissimo hammered the throttle, throwing Zak back into his seat and choking off whatever it was he wanted to say. I stuck my head between the seats and looked him over.

“Sir, pull over.”

“Never!”

We took another turn hard enough to scare the tires into screaming alongside Zak. I tilted left as the lateral g’s tried to chuck me out the far side. Only the seatbelts kept me in place. Unfortunately, Zak’s stomach lacked a restraint device.

I wiped the sick from my glasses.

“Now can we pull over?” I asked.

Tina’s Lemon Cheese Turnover

Tina’s Lemon Cheese Turnover is not a cheese Danish. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that before we continue. Tina’s makes Danishes, but I have been unable to find them. Don’t think this means I’ll stop.

The first thing you’ll notice is the total lack of frosting. Yep, that’s minus ten points right there. Then there’s the lemon filling. It’s not very good. It also looks (from the outside of the package) that there’s enough filling in this thing to give me diabetes. Nope. And it’s not very good. It’s sorta sweet, but lacks punch. It’s all rather bland. Same with the read. It’s smooth and soft, with some moisture, but not lots. And the flavors, when combined, create a giant ball of nothing.

I should cut it some slack, as it’s a turnover, and not a Danish. But I won’t, because it should still be tasty in its own right, but it isn’t. It’s a gooey caloric pastry, but not something I’ll ever feel inclined to eat. I offered some to the Generalissimo, but he pointed to the package, mocked it, then walked out the door.

I should have followed his lead on this one.

F

2009 Jeep Wrangler Unlimited

The Jeep Wrangler Unlimited is the answer to a question no one was asking.

The basic two-door Wrangler is an institution. Few cars can take you anywhere for so little money. It’s not flashy; it’s not meant to be. The interior is cheap but functional. The dashboard has what you need and nothing more (unless you spring for the navigation system, which sorta defeats the purpose of “getting lost” off-road). It’s not a car you’d take to the opera, but to an amphitheater ten miles from the nearest road.

There’s plenty of cargo room. Plenty. Fit and finish are less than stellar. The steering wheel wasn’t on straight. The passenger door wouldn’t close without slamming. It drove well enough, but the stick shook in my hand under acceleration off the line. Speaking of which, the Unlimited wanted more gas from a standing start than my right foot wanted to give. I’m ashamed to admit I stalled it twice. I had to rev it well above two-k to get it going. Yeah, not gonna happen on a daily basis with EPA estimates of 15 city/19 highway.

It doesn’t have door springs, but straps that keep it from going too far. Full frame doors, half frame doors; ragtop, hardtop; steel wheels or...chrome? Seriously? Jeep has tried to civilize the restless native in their midst, forgetting that every other model in their lineup serves that need.

And to further this process, they added over twenty inches to the wheelbase and a set of doors for the rear passengers, creating the Unlimited model. Must mean the back seat has First Class legroom, right? Business Class? Economy? Two inches, are you effing kidding me? That’s the kind of math that’s gotten the Big Three into a financial mess from which they may never recover.

And on the road, the extra length makes itself known. Even their literature admits that the turning radius goes from 34.9 feet to 41.2. Six feet! All for two inches of legroom in a cramped rear seat that could have used most of that twenty?

And they want how much for that? $23,815?! That’s over two grand more than a standard Wrangler.

Jeep has, in an effort to expand the brand, lost their way. If the rumors are true and Fiat wants to join Chrysler’s band of merry men, maybe they can start by showing the Jeep kids some basic math, followed by some lessons in packaging efficiency (see the Fiat 500).

D-


The Generalissimo should have been in his element. The Wrangler Unlimited was Jeep’s version of his beloved LM002. We didn’t have a chance to take her off-road, so we stuck to city streets.

“It feels...heavy,” he said. He wasn’t yelling, which was never a good sign.

“It is heavy,” I said. Forty-two hundred pounds or so, give or take passenger weight.

“Can you move the seat up, dude?” Zak the Intern asked. I complied. “Thanks.”

“Better?”

“Not really.”

The Generalissimo stood on the brakes. I heard Zak’s skull conk into the speaker housing set in the roll bar behind my head.

“Good brakes,” I said. I made a note of it in my log.

“They’re...fine,” the Generalissimo said.

I could smell the melancholy. “Trouble at home?” I ventured.

“It’s...it’s nothing.”

“Okay.” He took a turn at a reasonable rate of speed. “I’m told I’m a good listener.” I’m told no such thing.

“It’s my counterpart, the Generalissima. She’s...she’s displeased.”

Ah, crap. “If this is about what I said regarding her hair, I only meant—”

“She does not care about your opinions. No, she found out that I’d ruined her favorite ball gag when I used it to beat that fake Nigerian prince unconscious.”

“Uh...” The things I don’t need to know about...

He pulled to the side of the road. “I cannot continue. The intern may drive.”

“Yes!” Zak yelled. He got out.

“Oh hell no.” I chased him down and pinned him to the spare tire bolted to the tailgate. The last time he drove, he tried to play chicken with a line of full trashcans. Needless to say, they won after he flinched too late. ARDVARC’s insurance adjuster was les than amused.

I dragged Zak to the front passenger seat and stuffed him in the Jeep. The Generalissimo got in the back, between the front seats. Riding the hump we used to call it. I got in the driver’s seat and started the Jeep.

“I said I was sorry, dude,” Zak said to me.

“Sorry won’t replace the front end of an eighty thousand dollar Audi.” I adjusted the mirrors. The Generalissimo sighed. “Sir, would you like to stop on the way back?”

“Stop? No, I’m fine.” Another sigh.

“There’s a new bakery downtown...”

“A new...indeed?”

“Indubitably.”

He smiled. “Then stop lollygagging! Let us commence! Ha ha!”

I pulled out, then made a quick left.

“And if we could stop at the adult entertainment store on the way, the Generalissima would be most pleased!”

Wal-Mart cheese Danish twist

If you’re looking for an inexpensive way to feed a small family, then this is the way to go. If you’re looking for a refined taste experience, keep walking...

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the Generalissimo barked in my ear.

I hadn’t heard him come in. No big surprise there. “So you liked it?”

“Not really!”

Didn’t think so. It’s not that it’s a bad Danish; it’s not. It’s just not a good one. The bread is okay. The texture is less traditionally flaky, but still pretty good. In fact, I’d say it’s the highlight of this Danish. The taste was bland. The moisture was there, but not in quantities to overcome the lack of flavor.

The frosting was frosting. It could have come out of a plastic container on aisle 12 for all I know. What I do know is that they should have splurged and gotten one with flavor. Any flavor would have been nice.

Which brings us to the cheese—

“Tell them about the cheese!”

“I am!”

“That’s the spirit!”

The cheese was in smaller than average quantities, which was good, because it wasn’t. They tried to overcome the bland with extra sugar, which might work on a five-year-old, but not me. And certainly not the Generalissimo. It also gave me heartburn, and not the good kind.

“I give it three poorly trimmed mustaches!”

He’s being generous.

C-