Mercedes S 350 CDI BlueEfficiency
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/driving/jeremy_clarkson/article7059238.ece
I stayed for a couple of days recently at a rented house on Waiheke Island in New Zealand where there was also a rented cook. She was a lovely girl; very pretty and funny, but also a bit scatterbrained so that instead of bacon and egg for breakfast, we had bacon, then egg.
Then coffee. Then milk. Then sugar. Then lunch. Or sometimes she went straight from the bacon to supper, when we were offered cheese and cornflakes. Happily, we left before this linear approach to catering meant we were served a shepherd’s crumble, but my brief exposure to someone else’s woes in the kitchen did serve to reinforce a view I’ve held for some time: cooking is impossible.
I can make spaghetti, and I can make a pleasant enough bolognese sauce, but I can never make them ready at the same time. This is why, when I can be bothered to think about it, I’m always slightly amazed by a restaurant’s ability to provide not just one meal in the right order but 80.
How is this possible? Getting my fish, my sauce and my vegetables to be cooked correctly at precisely the right moment is a mathematical conundrum I wouldn’t want to think about. But getting them to be ready at the same time as one another while dealing with Michael Winner in the corner beggars belief. I never really understand why I don’t end up with a prawn béarnaise and a slice of black forest cheddar to finish.
Take roast potatoes as a classic case in point. I parboil the spuds, like you’re supposed to, I superheat the fat into which they will be plunged and I scrape them with a fork to get them nice and crispy. Then I pop them in the oven, where one of two things will happen. Either they will emerge looking like anaemic testicles or they will emerge looking like forensic evidence after a very serious house fire.
So how is it possible to have the greens and the beef ready when potatoes have a mind of their own? Simple answer: it isn’t, unless you are a witch.
So it goes with making cars. When they were designing the last Jaguar XJ, the stylists and the company’s traditionalists insisted that it should be low and sleek. But the management insisted that the rear-door opening should be larger than on a Mercedes S-class. The result: a roofline that looks like it belongs on a Bedford camper van.
You have the same problems between the designers and the engineers on the one hand and the fun-suckers from the European Union on the other who insist that the finished product must be able to hit a tree at 400mph without damaging the occupants. Or the tree.
It’s a constant juggling act between groups of people whose goals are mutually exclusive. Imagine if Ranulph Fiennes and Victoria Beckham were to be married. I know, but just imagine. Okay? Now, try to find a holiday destination that suits both of them. That’s what it’s like to make a car these days.
We can see the problem very clearly from behind the wheel of the new Mercedes S 350 CDI that I’ve been driving this past week. Because in the past, it wasn’t that hard to make a luxo-barge such as this. Just fit it with ooze-matic suspension and an engine that whispers. Now, though, such cars must have some eco-credentials as well and — ahem — Mercedes has proved that can’t really be done.
To be as economical as possible, and therefore produce a small amount of carbon dioxide from its tailpipe, the car I drove was wearing low rolling resistance tyres. Excellent. Along with a system that disengages the automatic gearbox when the car is stationary at the lights, this results in a combined mpg of one million and less carbon from the back than you get in a pencil.
But the problem with low rolling resistance tyres is that they feel like they’re made from treacle pudding. You turn the wheel and the car changes direction with all the vim and vigour of a teenage boy getting out of bed in a morning.
Of course, if you want to go down the green route, then there will always be sacrifices. If you buy a green house, you sacrifice the sensation of ever being warm. If you buy a Toyota Prius, you sacrifice the ability to stop. And I suppose, in the big scheme of things, woolly steering is a small price to pay for saving the life of a baby polar bear. In the same way that being served powdered mashed potato at the Wolseley restaurant in Piccadilly is a small price to pay if it means the bill is smaller.
Honestly, though, I think it is ridiculous to try to give the S-class green credentials. It’s like putting me in a CND hat. Nobody’s going to be fooled.
And why have the Germans decided that cars that nod in the general direction of the rainforest should be called “blue”? Volkswagen has the BlueMotion range and this Merc is part of the BlueEfficiency line-up. Blue is the colour of pornography. The colour they’re thinking of, surely, is green.
There’s another problem too. The 3-litre turbocharged engine simply isn’t big or powerful enough for a car this size. It wheezes and strains and actually sounds quite rough if you try to squeeze what little power there is to get up a hill. This is a car that was built to cruise, which is fine, but the cruising speed it likes most of all is about 50. And that makes progress on the motorway very dreary.
Happily, it is possible to keep yourself amused, but only if you’ve gone berserk with the options list. Which is exactly what someone had done with the car I was testing.
That’s why I was able to switch on a black-and-white infrared view of the road ahead. Useful for dogging, I should imagine. I was also able to while away several minutes wondering why the dash was showing a symbol of a cup of tea. Was there a Goblin in the boot as well? But mostly I was preoccupied with the bothersome business of driving a motor vehicle while trying to hold a can of zesty Diet Coke.
You may find this unbelievable in a car that can detect cross-winds and firm up the suspension to keep you travelling in the right direction, but there’s no cupholder. You can listen to your iPod, use the night-vision wizardry to see people making dogs in the dark, watch DVDs and use radar to keep your speed constant with the car in front.
The wipers come on when it rains. The lights dip when a car’s coming the other way. You are warned if you drift out of lane. And — this may have something to do with the cup of tea symbol — there is a host of sensors that detect when you’re tired and need a break. You can also choose from a menu of four different massages that can be delivered by little Thai fists in the front seats. But there is nowhere within reach of the driver to put a refreshing can of drink.
This new S-class, then, is bacon, then egg, then coffee, then milk, then sugar. It’s a join-the-dots puzzle that hasn’t been joined up. It is spacious, comfortable and well made, but, all things considered, if I were in the market for such a car, I think I’d hang on for a week or two to see if the new Jag XJ is any better.
THE CLARKOMETER
Clarkson’s verdict: It’s green like I’m a CND supporter
Mercedes S 350 CDI BlueEfficiency
Engine 2987cc, V6
Power 232 bhp @ 3600rpm
Torque398 lb ft @ 1600rpm
Transmission 7-speed automatic
Acceleration 0-62 mph: 7.8sec
Top Speed 155mph
Fuel / CO2 37.2mpg / 199g/km
Road Tax Band J (£215 for a year)
Price £57,103
On sale Now
