I'm a third-generation grocer. My wife was urging me to get myself a treat, because I work all the time. I haven't had a fast car since I plowed my old BMW 530i under a truck in 1981. So a few weeks ago, I went to the Jaguar showroom on 11th Avenue.
I've always loved the old Jaguars in British racing green. And they had an F-Type S in that color—the midlevel engine size in the roadster launched this year. [It's the first Jaguar two-seat sports car since the E-Type of the 1960s.] My wife and I have three young kids, so I texted her: "The car I'm looking at only has two seats." She wrote back, "Great. One for you and one for me!"
The experience of driving the car is that intense voluptuousness that omnivores seek, whether in a food or an automobile. If I had to compare the car to a cheese, it'd have to be British. The car drives as smooth as a Stinking Bishop, one of my favorite English cheeses. It's as reliable as a raw-milk Cheddar, as tangy as a Cotswold and as assertive as a good Stilton.
My kids love to play with all the bells and whistles. They call it "Daddy's roadster." I still don't know what half the buttons do. For me, out near the farm we own in New Jersey, the most wonderful thing is to drive my wife around a curve at 60 miles an hour instead of 25—and hope we don't hit a deer.
Rob Kaufelt, owner of New York-based Murray's Cheese shops, discusses British cars and Stilton, as told to A.J. Baime.