Maserati MC20 - long-term review

Most supercars are destined to spend their lives cowering under a tailored cashmere cover, only popping out to be auctioned off to the next slumber party host. So, on behalf of all those wasted supercars dwelling in bunkers, TG’s MC20 took on the damp, dark, dank British winter. And it didn't enjoy it especially.

First thing to be aware of: it steamed up a lot. In the gallery you’ll see a view out of the windscreen. Or lack thereof. I’d set off on an early morning office run, made it a few hundred yards then had to pull over, because the MC20 seemed to think I’d boiled a kettle or was hanging up laundry inside. It took a good five minutes for the blower to make a safe hole in the fog to continue the journey.

Second: even once you can see where you’re going, you can’t really see where you’ve been. Usually I’m not a fan of ‘virtual mirror’ rear-view cameras but it’s essential in the MC20 because it sports two back windows. One letterbox-shaped one between the cabin and the engine bay, then the slatted engine bay window itself. In dark conditions with spray being thrown up, it’s not easy to judge what’s behind you. You’ll be depending on the door mirrors, which are from a Ferrari F8, apparently.

Third: the heater was feeble. Once you’ve made the effort to find the sub-sub-subbity-sub-menu where the touchscreen hides the controls, your reward is a tepid breeze, not furnace firepower. Something to consider if you’re in the market for the folding roof MC20 Cielo, that. Brrrr.

Fourth: I’m afraid the heated seats weren't much better. Leave them on max setting for a good half an hour and you might just be able to detect a faint defrosting sensation in the buttock area. Given the heated seats are an optional extra, we’d say don’t bother. Buy more carbon fibre instead.

Five: The aero vent in the front of the door seems to have been crafted to chuck as much crud as possible up the door. Perhaps that’s aero in action. Either way, it’s ending up on your hands once you’ve thoughtlessly reached out to push the butterfly door closed when departing the car. MC20 essential accessory: wet-wipes and hand sanitiser.

But you know what? Minor details. Forget any sniping about Italian unreliability. When it’s five below zero, the doors didn't get frozen shut, like pillarless Teslas or Audis. The gearbox was occasionally a bit dopey when cold, but so was the one in the TG Garage Mini Cooper S.

The headlights pierced the gloom but didn't summon angry flashes from oncoming traffic. There was no squealing from stone-cold ceramic brakes. And the washer fluid didn't freeze once. We don’t usually test that when we get to drive a supercar, but it’s handy to know this stuff, right?

Another helpful detail: some supercars roast your luggage. Anything you dump in the luggage compartment of a Honda NSX right behind its twin-turbo V6 is extremely well-done by the time you arrive home. It’s literally impossible to transport ice cream in the saddle-bag boots of a Pagani Zonda. Or a GMA T.50. And Bugattis have a sticker in the nose compartment warning owners not to put anything that can’t withstand 50 Celsius in that area.

No such worries in the MC20. Has anyone ever commented on the thermal efficiency of a supercar’s luggage bay? Well, now they have. And not a spec of gold insulating foil in sight.

All told, the MC20 was pretty bulletproof. So it should be, for the money asked. But there’s sometimes a suspicion with highly strung exotica that it’s only been developed on, and for, sunny Sundays. That, to use the old footie commentary cliché, it won’t be able to perform on a cold Tuesday night away to Stoke.

Besides the niggles above mostly attributable to a weak heater, we’ve no complaints, and driving what’s already among the comfiest supercars on squidgy winter tyres unlocked new levels of suppleness. The Maser retained its agility and flightiness, but summoned pretty sensational amounts of grip from roads it has no right to. And the traction on hand despite the rabid boost of the V6 was astounding. It was so friendly, but never boring.

So, the handling can still give you sweaty palms – just what the doctor ordered when there’s no heated steering wheel.