“As a kid my wildest dream wasn’t to become an astronaut or cowboy—no, sir! I was the oddball who fell head over heels for my neighbors’ Granada Gold ’67 Nova. Yep, while other kids were collecting baseball cards, I was drooling over a car that was the same color as my mom’s casserole dish.

“Every Wednesday, I’d employ my best ‘puppy-dog eyes’ to convince my mom to drive me to 7-Eleven so I could get my hands on the latest Auto Trader magazine, as I was on a quest, flipping pages seeking the Holy Grail: a ’66 or ’67 Nova that didn’t remind everyone of kitchenware.

“Fast-forward through an astonishing lack of success, and we hop to me spending 30 years Online, which wasn’t all devoted to finding the car, mind you. I had a life— there were hunting videos to watch, after all. But I searched for that Nova— the one with the ‘right look,’ which in hindsight might’ve just been ‘not casserole-colored.’

“Enter Patrick from Ultra Motorsports in Tacoma, Washington, a buddy who knew cars like I knew the disappointments of Online shopping. He’d warned me in his most serious movie-trailer voice, ‘Never bring me a car. They are a money pit.’ But hey, what’s a midlife crisis without digging a financial hole to China?

“On the brink of 45 and feeling saucy, I decided it’s now or never. I called Patrick announcing my imminent arrival like a proud General riding into battle. ‘I told you never to bring me a car,’ he grumbled. But I was unstoppable. Too late, buddy, prepare the red carpet and confetti. I’ll be there in 15.

“I brought him a car that was more jigsaw puzzle than automobile and boxes of parts that were practically modern art. ‘Here you go,’ I said with a flourish like I’d just handed him an Excalibur instead of a heap of potential tetanus.

“Building a restomod was new territory for me. I underestimated everything—the hours, the cost, and the amount of coffee one human could consume. But I was dead set on two non-negotiables: an LSX 454 crate engine and against all sane advice, it had to be Granada Gold.

“Yep, I chose a color that made my car look like a mustard jar. My wife said, ‘Why do you want a car that looks like Dijon mustard?’ To which I replied, ‘Because darling, when life gives you mustard, you make a hot dog.’ I knew then it was the right color—a tribute to the Nova of my childhood, and a perfect match for my sunny disposition.

“The build took 2½ years, during which my friends offered endless side-splitting commentary, and my wallet cried itself to sleep. But there it was, my mustard mobile—a beacon of persistence, a tribute to all things absurd and wonderful—a real-life caricature of childhood dreams. But none of this happens without Patrick. I enjoyed years of hearing his ruthless sarcasm, but most of all appreciate him for sticking with me and building such an amazing car.

“And you know what? It was worth every puzzled look and penny spent. After all, who needs a spaceship when you’ve got the world’s fastest mustard jar?”

Jeff Boggs is a prime example of allowing his childhood to escort him in building the car of his dreams. A car in his choice of color and style. Against the grain? Quite possibly, but the car you see in these pages is one of the most beautiful ’67 Novas we’ve featured in this magazine and are proud to do so.

All of a sudden I got a hankerin’ for a Wetzel’s pretzel. Pass the honey mustard, if you don’t mind.