For you size queens, this thing is bigger than an Escalade.

The S5 Sportback has no gas gauge. It will tell you how many more miles you can drive until the tank is empty, but it takes a number of button presses to get the traditional E-to-F meter to appear. 

Five cylinders of fantastic fury.

I did with it what I typically do while visiting LA: drove it hard on some mountain and canyon twisties, ferried friends to dinners and museums and oyster bars, and basked in the refracted glow of compliments from valets and passersby whenever I stopped.

Be cautious with checking the option boxes, and it will definitely remind you of the great German cars of the past.

(Also, a full-line review of the A3/S3 siblings)

If a driver can’t see through the windshield, perhaps they shouldn’t be driving?

Like a brilliant colleague who isn’t afraid to get drunk and don a garbage bag dress and perform Shakespearian soliloquies in the clucking voice of a chicken, the Trofeo is happy to remind a driver that driving is meant to be joyous, and an occasion.

The perfect addition to your hollowed-out volcanic lair.

Like a benevolent, self-generating replicant bent on constant improvement, a new Honda Civic has hatched, on average, once every four and a half years since 1973. This is the eleventh version of the nameplate.

Beauty that’s only skin deep.