Very close race between the Telluride and Palisaide.
2nd Place: Hyundai Palisade
Highs: Everything you ever wanted, plus a few USB ports you didn't know you needed.
Lows: Could use an exterior design consult.
Verdict: If it's a spacious space fish you seek, Hyundai is probably running a good deal right now.
If you had heard the staff climbing into the Palisade the first time, you would've thought it was one of those obnoxious "real people, not actors" Chevrolet commercials. "Oh, man, check out the action on this seat-folding mechanism!" "Whoa. I've got three cupholders!" "If we were on a road trip, is that where you'd have your seat? I've got so much legroom!" Upon their exit from the vehicle, we checked everyone's pockets for fresh Benjamins. We're clean; the enthusiasm is genuine.
Clearly, we get excited about great packaging, such as the USB ports in the front seatbacks and the little mesh phone holsters below them. And for all the extras Hyundai packs into the Palisade—did we mention that the second-row seats are ventilated and that there's wireless phone charging, lane-keeping assist, dual sunroofs, an all-wheel-drive lock button, and on and on—everything is easy to operate. Tingwall noted: "I love the usability of a Hyundai/Kia interior. I had never been in a Palisade, but there's no learning curve."
Familiar and accessible don't mean cheap or unimaginative, though. A couple editors wondered why the quilted leather in the door panels needed to be perforated, but no one could deny the thought and care that went into every facet of the Palisade's interior. Even the mouse-fur headliner appears to be only the finest mouse fur. Corinthian mouse fur.
The Hyundai doesn't quite match the verve of the Mazda, but it comes close enough for something with three big rows. Body control is tight. It's luxuriously supple over scarred roads. The steering is sharp and light, if numb. We won't call it lifeless, though. There was life on Earth for billions of years before we came along; Hyundai's steering has a simple, single-cell sort of feel to it.
The same sort of inoffensive sufficiency is under the hood. The 3.8-liter V-6 isn't turbocharged, and the transmission isn't co-developed with a rival. What we have here is just a V-6—kind of a big one—and an eight-speed automatic. It's not trying to be clever or exciting. It purrs under full throttle and is pretty smooth all the time. It won't goad you into lawlessness, but neither will it disturb your morning introspection.
That serenity inspired one of our logbook scribblers to dub the Palisade the "S-class of the segment." Someone else asked, "Shouldn't this be a Genesis?"
[Spotlights illuminate a previously unseen Palisade.] "Wait. You're telling me this is a Hyundai?"
2nd Place: Hyundai Palisade
Highs: Everything you ever wanted, plus a few USB ports you didn't know you needed.
Lows: Could use an exterior design consult.
Verdict: If it's a spacious space fish you seek, Hyundai is probably running a good deal right now.
If you had heard the staff climbing into the Palisade the first time, you would've thought it was one of those obnoxious "real people, not actors" Chevrolet commercials. "Oh, man, check out the action on this seat-folding mechanism!" "Whoa. I've got three cupholders!" "If we were on a road trip, is that where you'd have your seat? I've got so much legroom!" Upon their exit from the vehicle, we checked everyone's pockets for fresh Benjamins. We're clean; the enthusiasm is genuine.
Clearly, we get excited about great packaging, such as the USB ports in the front seatbacks and the little mesh phone holsters below them. And for all the extras Hyundai packs into the Palisade—did we mention that the second-row seats are ventilated and that there's wireless phone charging, lane-keeping assist, dual sunroofs, an all-wheel-drive lock button, and on and on—everything is easy to operate. Tingwall noted: "I love the usability of a Hyundai/Kia interior. I had never been in a Palisade, but there's no learning curve."
Familiar and accessible don't mean cheap or unimaginative, though. A couple editors wondered why the quilted leather in the door panels needed to be perforated, but no one could deny the thought and care that went into every facet of the Palisade's interior. Even the mouse-fur headliner appears to be only the finest mouse fur. Corinthian mouse fur.
The Hyundai doesn't quite match the verve of the Mazda, but it comes close enough for something with three big rows. Body control is tight. It's luxuriously supple over scarred roads. The steering is sharp and light, if numb. We won't call it lifeless, though. There was life on Earth for billions of years before we came along; Hyundai's steering has a simple, single-cell sort of feel to it.
The same sort of inoffensive sufficiency is under the hood. The 3.8-liter V-6 isn't turbocharged, and the transmission isn't co-developed with a rival. What we have here is just a V-6—kind of a big one—and an eight-speed automatic. It's not trying to be clever or exciting. It purrs under full throttle and is pretty smooth all the time. It won't goad you into lawlessness, but neither will it disturb your morning introspection.
That serenity inspired one of our logbook scribblers to dub the Palisade the "S-class of the segment." Someone else asked, "Shouldn't this be a Genesis?"
[Spotlights illuminate a previously unseen Palisade.] "Wait. You're telling me this is a Hyundai?"
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