"I want a malt," she said.
Of course, she said it right in the middle of a sentence I was forming myself, a feat I generally think is worth seeing through on the part of a spectator. My thought may have even been interesting—something about the ride quality of the Jaguar or, perhaps, a little tidbit about its GPS receiver. But, no.
"Malt. Malt. Malt. Malt," she repeated her mantra. I turned the Jag around.
She'd been pointing at Filling Station, a relatively new establishment at 4 Depot Square in Sparkill, New York. There, on the first gorgeous autumn day of the year, we alighted our steed and entered the high-concept roadside burger stand. She got her malt, while I ordered a root beer float. Joe, the proprietor, oversaw all with a happy-guy grin
Mere miles down the road, through her malt mustache, Ms. D. startled me again. "Oh!" she cried, pointing. "Thrift shop!"
I broke to a halt, hit the flasher, and performed another well-executed U-turn.
The 2002 Jaguar X-type is a fascinating cat—it's a Jag that's aimed directly at Generation X, which makes the name perhaps less than coincidence. (Gen Xers, by the way, love it when that happens. Just love it.)
I coax out of her that she likes the signature Jaguar hood ornament and appreciates the front fascia styling (just enough Jag styling to keep people glancing from the sidewalks), even if the car looks remarkably similar to other Ford models.
It's similar under the hood, as well. The X-Type's 2.5-liter V6 is derived from the Ford Duratec, which is in such cars as the Taurus; stomping its 195 horses around the city is certainly pleasing, but not overwhelming. (A 3.0-liter, 231-horsepower version is available.) The four-speed automatic easily slips into a semi-automatic mode, which allowed me to pick my gears while hiking around the curvy back highways of Westchester and Ulster counties.
In the luxuries department, the X-Type is well detailed, with our test car (just less than $40,000), outfitted with the requisite wood inlays and smooth leather seating of the premium package. I found the driver's seat and control placement excellent for a car that seems a bit larger than your standard European sports sedan, you feel completely and comfortably in control.
The Wild Rose is a homey, fragrant Victorian with comfortable furnishings, Buddha books on every shelf, a whirlpool bath in every room, and a snifter of brandy every night. But Marti Ladd, proprietress, informed me that there wasn't room at the inn. Instead, she recommemded a spa up Highway 24 she felt was comparable. We ended up with emergency digs that Saturday......