That same kind of coffee is also responsible for this car existing — or at least for its colour.
A year back, Nicolas Falda was at the hospital.
Not racing, not resting. Waiting. His wife was upstairs in labour after a long night, and by eight in the morning, he’d given up on sleep.
He went down to the machine, pressed a button, and got one of those espressos that make you rethink your priorities.
Somewhere between the first sip and the second, he pulled out his phone and called André Caruso.
“André, I’m buying your 3.0 RSR.”
“Alright,” André said. “What colour?”
“If it’s a boy, blue. If it’s a girl, pink.”
A few hours later, his daughter was born.
And that’s how one of the most serious cars on the grid ended up pink.
No symbolism, no marketing — just a decision made on no sleep and bad coffee.
Respect where it’s due
Garage Caruso is what racing used to look like before everyone had a social media manager.
People who care about what they build, who keep their heads down, who let the cars speak for them.
Fast forward to Paul Ricard.
Caruso’s team built the car, prepped it, and ran it all weekend.
No noise, no drama — just quiet efficiency. The kind of crew that knows when not to talk.
Nicolas finished second in Race One and first in class in Race Two.
The sort of weekend that doesn’t need a headline just a nod.
They were there through the fog, through the rain, through the late sessions that ended in headlights and exhaust haze.
Checking, tightening, adjusting. No fuss.
There aren’t many like them left. And that’s precisely why they matter.
