We had reserved a gîte (a modest rental apartment) in the village of Padern, about 40 km north-west of Perpignan. Our travel plan was to take an Icelandair flight from New York JFK to Luxembourg, followed by a leisurely drive south by a route chosen with more regard to gastronomy than to speed.

On the one-hour stopover at Reykjavik, Jean took advantage of a comfortable bench in the airport for extra sleep while I went to the restaurant for an open-faced sandwich topped with marinated salmon.

Perhaps because of these breaks from the monotony of air travel, upon our 12:30 pm arrival in Luxembourg we felt less groggy than usual after a transatlantic flight. Or perhaps our previous week’s regime to beat jet lag—getting up at 5 o’clock every morning—had paid off.

The airport at Luxembourg is small and not very crowded, so we had no trouble picking up our reserved hire car (a Peugeot 405 diesel) and driving to a nearby country restaurant in time for lunch.

Restaurant la Cheminée

1 rte de Remich, Moutfort, Luxembourg (35 87 67).

By 1:45 on this sunny, warm (23° C) afternoon we were sitting on an outdoor terrace under a colorful umbrella, sipping a Wormeldanger Woûsselt Moselle Luxembourgeoise Riesling 1990 and enjoying the sounds of birds in the surrounding woods.

Salade Dominique: Cubes of fried chicken, corn kernels and lardons on greens napped with a white vinaigrette.

Salade Gourmande: Foie gras, shrimp, smoked salmon—too many things jumbled together—on greens flooded with too much vinaigrette.

The total at la Cheminée was FL1480 (the exchange rate was probably about $1 = FL50). We lingered for a while in this pleasant if gastronomically undistinguished setting, then drove on to the hotel where we had a reservation for that night.

Hôtel Lorraine, Longuyon

The large, rectangular dining room, familiar to us from previous visits, was on this occasion empty but for one glumly subdued couple, and the one enlivening feature of the generally stolid decor of the place—a bar area with a thatched canopy in the style of a Caribbean beach hut—was dark. Where was everyone? The natural person to ask was Mme Tisserant, but that lean and acerbic personage was also absent. She had apparently relinquished charge of the dining room to a solitary waiter, an uncommunicative young man who would have been more congenially employed washing pots.

Tokay Sporen Dopff Irion 1989: Rich and strong with a great deal of both acid and fruit, this wine flirted with coarseness.

Amuse gueule: Green beans of the thin round kind, deep-fried in a light batter.

Flan d’asperges aux fèves et poivrons rouges: An asparagus-filled open tart served on an asparagus flavored sauce, surrounded by a ring of fava bean halves, and surmounted by strips of cooked red pepper. The flavor of the favas came through clearly against that of the asparagus sauce, but the red peppers added little beyond an attractive color accent.

Coq au vin gris consisted of tasty, solid-textured chunks of chicken, mushrooms that also had a solid consistency, and small crusty oven-browned potatoes. The potatoes had that wonderful flavor, strong and comforting, that is so often encountered in Europe. The light brown sauce, presumably made with pinot gris wine, was unassertive but had a satisfying cumulative effect.

Path not taken: Rognons de veau cuit entier en déclinaison d’oignons. What, we wondered, is a declension of onions? The waiter did not know.

Saumon sauvage d’Écosse aux pois gourmands: Scottish wild salmon filet served on a julienne of snow peas and a thin, lightly flavored butter sauce. We had enjoyed this dish on previous visits, but on this occasion we were disappointed to find the filet filmed with grayish fat of unattractive appearance and metallic flavor. Yes, the fish itself was acceptable, but…. Disenchanted by this time, we plodded on to the next course.

Mousse au café et au chocolat: A mousse cake, half dark chocolate and half light with a mocha flavor, on a light mocha sauce.

Soupe aux cérises et mignardises de gingembre: Poached cherries, pea-sized nubbins of ginger and a frothy ice cream in a chilled fruit soup tasting of nothing in particular. The cherry flavor may have been intended, but if there at all it was too subtle. And where were the ginger cookies referred to in the title? The waiter didn’t know, and he displayed a marked reluctance to venture into the kitchen in search of those missing mignardises de gingembre. We left the dining room mystified.

Generally, our first meal in France is memorable. This one was was also memorable, but for the wrong reasons.

The total at le Mas was F669.