Ferrari Amalfi Spider review

Unbelievably friendly. Which is a mad thing to say about a car that generates almost as much power as an Enzo. But then this is the Bambi of the Italian firm’s range – safely cocooned in the sportscar bubble and a far more domesticated pet than any of the 12Cilindri Spider, 296 GTS or 849 Testarossa Spider. N’aw. Remember, an Amalfi’s not just for Christmas.

Seriously though, driving it involves so little stress it’s unreal. It’s not so wide that you wince every time the road gets narrow; the ride (on the optional adaptive suspension) is firm but forgiving, so potholes don’t make you sweat buckets over the thought of a massive repair bill; the steering is lightning quick and even tight hairpins can be dispatched with crossed hands, but it’s not hugely talkative and there’s also a softness to the rack just off centre that calms things down on the open road. Another lesson learned from the Roma.

Select ‘Comfort’ on the Manettino and the Amalfi is like an MX-5 that’s emerged from several million years of evolution with opposable thumbs. Mess up your braking and it won’t punish you from having a second bite at it – the pedal travel is shorter than in the Roma, but the brake-by-wire system gives you ultra-fine adjustment over your stopping power and repeatability to go with it. Magic.

The front end isn’t skittish, but it’s still darty and agile and rewards precise inputs. You can slide the rear around if no-one’s looking, but treat it sensibly and there’s a sense of togetherness between front and back axles rather than one end of the chassis dominating the other.

What happens if I dial it up to ‘Sport’ or ‘Race’ or ‘ESC Off’?

It’ll remind you that it’s not a toy. Cycling through the modes turns the wick up on the stability control, brakes, suspension and transmission. The difference isn’t transformative, other than the throttle becoming noticeably sharper at the top end. But like a slow-cooked lobster, you won’t realise you’re in trouble until it’s too late. One bump is all it takes for the grip to disappear, and suddenly all four wheels are sliding and you’re either bound for the nearest ditch or destined for new trousers. Or both. Press the Manettino to engage ‘Bumpy Road’ mode and save yourself a trip to the cleaners.

In short, there’s more than enough here for advanced drivers to get their teeth into without natural selection wiping out everyone else.

How’s the gearbox?

Terrific. Left in auto you’ll forget there was ever a time that DCTs had a mind of their own, but Ferrari has so much data to work with now this eight-speed transmission knows exactly what you want and when you want it.

In manual the ratios are prompt but not racecar quick – they arrive after the paddle action, not during. Another reminder that you’re driving a drop-top, not a GT3. And better the carbon finish tested here than anything metallic – you don’t want them cooking in the sun while you enjoy your Michelin star lunch.

And the engine?

Wonderful at full chat. Only when you drop through the gears on a twisty road does everything finally make sense. Second, third, fourth; put the pedal to the floor and the V8 hauls, growling like a caged bear that’s finally been let out of captivity. It’s ferocious.

But it's a pity that you need to be near the 7,600rpm redline to reveal that side of the Amalfi’s character: it means there’s very little reward in normal driving. Oh sure, you could blast through towns in first and second gear, but you just know bystanders will end up talking less about the Ferrari they saw that day and more about the knob who was driving it.