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First Bentley SUV teased in video short

The Bentley SUV is coming and there's not a thing we can do to stop it. The latest indication that the wing-badged behemoth is on the way is this teaser video, which (thankfully?) doesn't show us a whole lot of the new vehicle, aside from its Continental GT-inspired headlights and its Mulsanne-inspired grille. Of course, we've seen this fascia before.
Via Bentley's associated press release, we now know that the SUV will head into production in 2016 with a range of engines that will expand to include a plug-in hybrid in 2017.
There are a few other details, such as the large, five-spoke wheels and side grilles. Whatever the new SUV is called, it should be wearing Continental-esque taillights and a rather aggressive rake to the roof behind the rear doors. That said, none of the other styling clues are as clear as our look at the SUV's face.

2020 Bentley Flying Spur First Edition Road Test | $280,000 worth of drama-free splash

After reading Brett Berk’s First Drive review of the Bentley Flying Spur, I was intrigued. Not by the authorÂ’s propensity for shedding clothing (though that sure is Â… something), but by some of the carÂ’s numbers and its drivetrain features. Figures such as 626 horsepower and 3.7 seconds to 60 piqued my interest, as did torque-vectoring all-wheel drive and four-wheel steering. Bentley says the Flying Spur offers “breathtaking performance.” BerkÂ’s first drive was in Monaco, where a car like this pairs well with the luxury yachts. My time with the Flying Spur would be much less of a pantsless extravaganza. Instead, IÂ’d be fleeing quarantine cabin fever with my family, schlepping through the rain to run errands, waving to confused-looking neighbors and hopefully experiencing performance that would, as advertised, take my breath away. The Flying Spur feels a bit like a boat. ItÂ’s big, with a long hood stretching out into oneÂ’s forward view like the bow of a cabin cruiser. Add the isolated feeling provided by the suspension, and I could easily imagine myself skimming across a calm bay. The materials lend themselves to the nautical whimsy as well, with plenty of quilted leather and horizontal swaths of metal-accented wood that reminded me of my uncleÂ’s Lake Erie runabout. My first outing was with the family, and it was mostly spent on the highway. My wife, Cat, who is prone to motion sickness, had no troubles in the Flying Spur. Apart from sneaking in a few hard launches — eliciting chuckles from Cat and admonishment from my son, Wollie — I kept my driving sane and smooth. I mostly kept the car in Comfort mode. Driven as such, even with the brief moments of right-foot indulgence, the Flying Spur felt a bit underwhelming. The carÂ’s size suggests the existence of the 6.0-liter W12 under the hood, but its 626 horsepower and 664 pound-feet of torque are experienced differently in this Bentley. Hardly any sound makes its way into the cabin. Its highway calmness belies its actual swiftness. This was all well and good for the comfort of my passengers, but it didnÂ’t do much to evoke any feeling beyond that of leisure. In fact, IÂ’d have almost rather have been a passenger for this sort of trip. That way I could better soak in the craftsmanship that surrounds you inside a Bentley.

The myth and mystery of The Bentley Cocktail

The other day, we were trying to find ways to delight a visiting relative who requested a cocktail made with apple brandy (don't ask), and after poring through Mr. Boston and The Playboy Bartender's Guide we were fortunate enough to come across a recipe. This particular concoction piqued our interest not just because it was a means to get rid of that bottle of Calvados that had been malingering on our bar cart, drawing fruit flies and quizzical scorn, since it was gifted to us at the launch of the Peugeot 407 in 2004. It was because of the automotive connection. (Duh.) The cocktail is called The Bentley, and it has a sexy, if probably apocryphal, origin story. According to the legend, the Bentley Boys – rich, Jazz Age, car-loving, British playboy racers – invented the drink after their first of five Le Mans victories, in 1924. Canadian-born WWI hero and Olympic swordsman John Duff and local English Bentley test driver and Bentley 3-Liter Super Sport owner Frank Clement were the only British team and vehicle in this second-ever endurance race, surrounded by more than three dozen French drivers and cars (and a couple of Germans). But despite typical British maladies ­– broken shocks, seized lug nuts, and a dysfunctional gearshift – and a slew of fires, punctures, and chassis-snapping wrecks amongst the field, they persevered. Arriving at their celebratory party at their club near their adjoining apartments in London's exclusive Mayfair neighborhood, they discovered that all of the alcohol had been consumed, with the exception of Calvados and Dubonnet. Mixing these together in equal parts, and adding some bitters, they allegedly invented a drink to settle their affluent nerves. Like most folkloric explanations for the existence of some gross cocktails – the wisecrack-inspired Tom Collins, the whole-cloth-concocted Seelbach – the tale seemed as compelling to us as it was ridiculous. Fortunately, among our friends are many with mastery in mixology, so we decided to put the mystery (and recipe) to them. "To be honest, I'd never even heard of the cocktail," said Tokyo-based international beverage expert Nick Coldicott, the most skeptical of our potation pundits. "And that story smells fishy to me. It seems unlikely that a party venue would have enough of a booze collection to have Calvados and Dubonnet, but not enough whisky or gin or champagne to see the party out.