2024 Ferrari Roma Spider Review: The Price Of Near-Perfection Isn't Just In Dollars

Amid the madness of Monterey Car Week, between bouncing from seven-figure restomod debuts to track sessions at Laguna Seca and the swankiest soirees known to man, I received a welcome respite one morning in the fashion of a Ferrari Roma Spider. Few cars fit into the aesthetic of Monterey better than a matte green convertible 'Rarri, and I spent the better part of my time with the Roma blasting around before the traffic picked up to ruin my fun.

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I still remember seeing my first Roma ever, at the Concours Club in Miami. That coupe pulled up in a scintillating silver, not quite a fully chromed-out Justin Bieber wrap, but reminding me more of Princess Amidala's sleek spaceship from Star Wars: Episode 1 – The Phantom Menace. Stunning in the South Florida sunshine, to say the least. And now, on a Monterey morning that started out misty and muggy but ended up sunny almost to the point of scorching, I finally got the chance to experience a Roma myself, albeit in open-top convertible form.

In a strange twist of fate, I only drove my very first modern Ferrari about six months prior, the 296 GTS that also added a droptop to the 296 GTB. Then, Ferrari took me out to the East Coast for a quick romp in the Purosangue (not-an)-SUV earlier this summer. But all three sported just about as dissimilar engines as possible, something of an indication as to how the current era treats the world's most recognizable brand.

The 296's hybridized and twin-turbocharged V6 absolutely blew my mind in sheer power from such minimal displacement, while the Purosangue's naturally aspirated V12 obviously stole the show. The Roma's twin-turbo V8 somehow splits the difference, but puts out the least power of the three. Yet the GT form factor most closely matches the Purosangue in sheer stylistic terms, thanks to the long hood and front-mounted engine.

The Roma also seats four, though as I packed my motorcycle gear—mandatory in Monterey—into the tiny trunk and slipped my helmet into the backseat, I knew immediately that the 2+2 designation barely applies here. My Alpinestars helmet, admittedly an extra large, barely even fit! But the so-called "capability" of a 2+ when time comes can lend those tiny seats a modicum of worth, even if I personally believe that a strict two-seater fits into the ethos better—especially for the Spider, since the convertible top eats into trunk space. (And maybe sticking with two seats only might allow for a larger trunk with a hardtop convertible, just saying.)

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Regardless, I plopped in and adjusted to fit my lanky limbs, which the Roma's front seat and dash design accepted with ease. A quick spin around 17-Mile Drive seemed apropos, to warm up the car and snap a few of the de rigueur foggy coastal pics. Immediately, at slow tourist pace, the Roma's steering impressed me first. The electrically assist system absolutely boggles the mind, as I remembered in the 296 from months prior. How can Ferrari nail EPS, when even my beloved Porsche struggles so hard?

On the gritty coastal pavement, the suspension absorbed some of the rougher segments, just on the firmer side of compliant in Comfort mode. Alright, points all around for the modern Italian grand tourer. But with a slight mist falling, I kept the convertible top up for a while, a hitch in the plans that I needed to remedy as soon as possible.

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To do so, I turned inland, fiddling with the infotainment on the 8.4-inch central touchscreen. That's on the small side for a dashboard display, no doubt — as is the letterbox-scaled passenger touchscreen — but a welcome inclusion after the absolutely baffling decision to skip such an important detail on the Purosangue. I got my music humming, cranked up the tunes, and then almost immediately cranked them back down again to keep an ear on that twin-turbo V8 as the roads of Carmel Valley started to open up.

Every Ferrari needs to deliver a specific aura via an unmistakable aural soundtrack, and the Roma never failed to nail this brief. Despite a rather compact 3.9 liters of displacement, the V8 can crank out 612 horsepower and 561 lb-ft of torque, with 80% of peak torque hitting by 1,900 RPM on the way to an 8,000-RPM redline. 

Later, I learned that the Roma's eight-speed dual-clutch gearbox programming pairs with torque-by-gear for the engine ECU, so in reality, max torque hits in seventh and eighth speed only. Yet the low-end grunt and smooth gearshifts on public roads nonetheless provided that sense of prodigious power just lurking beneath the surface that every grand tourer strives to inhabit.

Of course, as a convertible, the Roma adds a few extra pounds—185 to be exact—and now tips the scales at 3,430 pounds dry. Still light for a grand tourer, and right around 1,000 pounds less than a Mercedes-AMG SL 63, for example. That minimal weight showed up later, but first as I escaped the marine layer, I laid back the soft top and turned on the air scarf. Or, sorry, what Ferrari officially calls the "Neck warmer" in the hopes of avoiding any copyright infringement issues with Mercedes-Benz. Over the Laurales Grade I flew, dealing with a few moments of frustrating traffic but otherwise taking in the twin-turbos snarling and rasping, the exhaust grumbling, and the Roma Spider simply swinging through wider, longer sweepers in effortless smoothness.

But I needed to figure out where that curb weight rears up, even if I never knew the exact number at the time, so I dropped into my favorite secret canyon (or second favorite, after the private road up behind The Quail that leads up into the Santa Lucia Preserve). I can't share the exact location, but this tight little road winds up and out of the vineyards and into the canyon of a creek, then basks in the sunlight of sparse chaparral at the hilltops.

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The surface varies from smooth to choppy quite quickly, which makes testing supercars here less than ideal—luckily, that kind of blacktop proved perfect for exploring the Roma's limits. I popped the Manettino dial on the steering wheel into "Race" mode, but then pressed the button to soften the dampers in deference to maintaining at least a hint of mechanical sympathy (not to mention sympathy for my spine). The exhaust opened up, the revs rising until I pulled on the righthand paddle, as I stuck in second and third but occasionally dropped into first for a bit of extra gut-punch out of tight corners.

I never fully unleashed, though, due to a series of blind turns and in the hopes of avoiding any scrapes on that long nose (which some might call a beak). But the steering, so sublime! The kind of precision and light feedback that actually makes driving a joy, rather than a workout. Perhaps on the tarmac of a full racetrack, a bit more resistance might allow for better communication at the edge, but pushing in a grand tourer, top down and flinging the pops of liftoff overrun through the woods, I noticed every little pebble on, and undulation of, the asphalt.

By the time I reached the top of the hill and longer straights opened up, only a few cyclists joined me in the morning's reverie. An eye on those two-wheeled brethren helped to keep my speeds from eclipsing too far beyond the legal limits, yet the rear-wheel-drive Roma never lacked composure. The only few tire chirps I experienced came on the trip back down, because I spent too long enjoying myself and by the time I looked at a clock, my next meeting loomed large—cutting a Ferrari drive short to go do other work, typical automotive journalist behavior. But the road started to warm up, too, so I turned on the air conditioning rather than the air scarf, and braced for 15 minutes or so of more fun.

With more weight over the nose, and braking downhill fairly hard, the Roma exhibited just a hint of understeer. Nothing that some prudent stabs at the throttle struggled to overcome, with the rear tires now unloaded a bit. Mid-corner, too, onto the shoulders of those Pirelli P Zero tires, I noticed a hint more slideliness (not a word, just fine). And occasionally a touch of traction control intervention to prevent too much of my shenanigans from turning the fun time into any misfortune.

At the bottom of the hill, I merged with traffic and cruised back out toward the peninsula. The expected traffic never ruined the mood, though, and even in the thrum of Monterey Car Week, people still stopped to stare at this Ferrari. Maybe the stone-cold stunner of a matte green paint job helped—technically Verde Masoni Opaco in Ferrari parlance—and to my taste, a few bits and bobs of carbon-fiber match perfectly.

"Little do these poor souls know," I thought, "how comfortable I feet swaddled in such excellent seats, with 360 degrees of perfect visibility thanks to the retracted convertible top, not even stressing over the hilarious infotainment controls on the steering wheel." Even the CarPlay worked consistently! Such technological marvels as a 296 or Purosangue owner can only dream of, yet also a detail that set my mind to the competition.

Now I know why Aston went so hard on the DB12 Volante, exactly where Mercedes and AMG screwed up the SL and GT, plus how Lexus might workover the LC for a bit more punch. Of course, the Roma Spider's starting price of $272,970 renders such comparison exercises a bit unfair—even before considering more than half that again in options that make this specific car a $435,809 grand touring masterpiece.

Personally, I still prefer the coupe, both stylistically and for the added practicality of the bigger trunk. But in such variegated weather conditions, intimating at the idyllic lifestyle of Monterey and Carmel, I can admit the Spider conveys a specific set of lifestyle choices that fit the bill quite nicely. 

Have I found my favorite modern Ferrari yet? As hard as beating a mid-engine hybrid supercar sounds, the Roma's perfectly blend of performance and comfort, plus the fact that I never needed to worry about driveways or dips, kept me enthralled. Not to mention that on public roads, the lacking tenth of outright pace versus the mid-engine 296 requires deeper pockets than mine to actually explore. And without a doubt, even a front-engine Roma still left me agog at the real-world experience of utmost Ferrari panache.