TYPE R HONDA INTEGRA

It's long been considered an iconic machine, but to discover the real magic of the Integra Type R you have to dig deep into its abilities

- HENRY CATCHPOLE

BECAUSE I'M MILDLY OBSESSIVE ABOUT THE way I get my caffeine, there are a few things that will immediately give me a good feeling when I walk into a coffee shop or approach a repurposed H Van. I couldn't give a fig about the decor or the music; Farrow & Ball with a hint of remixed Dua Lipa might be enough to tempt most, but they're not what's really important if you're the sort of weirdo who gets a kick out of some nice tigering on your crema. Equally, a scruffy set of stools and some Silverchair distorting from a single Bluetooth speaker is nothing to set your stall by.

No, what my eyes flick to and what plants the seed of hope in my espresso-craving soul is a good machine (La Marzocco, Eagle, Faema) on the counter, an even better grinder next to it, and packets of beans proudly on display. If you spot a WDT tool (it stands for Weiss Distribution Technique) being used in the workflow or see a V60 offered on the menu, then you can be pretty sure not certain, but odds on that you've hit the speciality jackpot.

If you ever get the chance to sit in a DC2 Integra Type R then you'll instantly get a similar sense of reassurance and excitement. You won't care about the obviously fake, big-weave carbonfibre that waterfalls down the centre console to the gearlever. The acres of shiny, brittle-looking black plastic will matter not a jot. Instead you'll first be focused on the feel of the Recaro SR2 seat as it applies gentle pressure in all the right places. The red bucket may have strangely little headrest above the harness slots and there might be a bit of flaccid fabric after years of entries and exits, but the way the seat's shape holds your hips and hugs your torso immediately gives you an encouraging sense of connection to the car. The bolsters bode well.