Overcast with a threat of a storm in the air.

The petit déjeuner at Hôtel Voyageurs featured exceedingly buttery croissants. The combined total at Chez Bach and Voyageurs was F1005. A charge of F100 for five small bottles of mineral water was a slight off-note.

On our easy and pleasant drive across flat country towards Dijon and thence north to Longuyon, we saw farmers racing to bring in their crops—mainly wheat and sunflowers—before a predicted storm. Overnight, a freak, localized storm had struck in Jura: "As bad as when the Germans came," said one resident in describing the destruction on TV news.

But on our route the storm never amounted to more than a persistent drizzle. By late afternoon we arrived at:

Hôtel Lorraine, Longuyon

Upon settling into our usual room in the hotel, we turned on the television to Sport Europe in the hope of more Coupe Davis. But we were out of luck.

One of the less engaging characteristics of the French is their preference for bicycle racing over other sports such as tennis. On the occasion of an important race, French television sport channels offer hour upon hour of seemingly identical sequences of colorfully-attired youths laboriously grinding exceedingly skinny bikes up exceedingly steep mountainsides. This gloomy afternoon of our arrival in Longuyon was one such occasion—the Pyrénées leg of the Tour de France.

Mesmerized by images of spinning wheels and pumping thighs, Jean did the sensible thing and took a nap. For my part, I picked up my umbrella and set out on a walk around the village. But I found no respite from bicycle racing, for on the first street corner I came to I found myself one of a knot of spectators of the annual Tour de Longuyon.

The race was but a dim echo of the big one in the Pyrénées. The competitors seemed more concerned with avoiding a spill on the wet pavement than with speed, and the onlookers’ enthusiasm was correspondingly muted. Even the French were not enjoying the event. I was starting to feel depressed myself, when I remembered my discussion with Mme Tisserant about the chef’s special déclinaison d’oignons. Onions in their various forms suddenly seemed an ideal antidote to the blues, and the hour of the apéritif was approaching. Revitalized, I strode back to the Hôtel Lorraine.

***

We were relieved to find the dining room lit up and ready for business, with the flamboyantly-attired Mme Tisserant firmly in charge.

The amuse gueule on this occasion was gaspacho de moules, mussels poached in a broth with red peppers. One of the mussels was less than perfectly fresh, a lapse unexpected in a restaurant with a star in the Guide Michelin.

Tokay Maquisards 1987 (demi): Dry, very fruity, with advanced darkening and caramelization.

Gourmandise de homard et avocat: Chunks of lobster and fanned-out slices of avocado on a thin mayonnaise. Good, but what gave this dish pizzazz was a seasonal addition of succulent, barely-wilted, deep-green tétragone, New Zealand spinach, fresh from the restaurant’s garden.

Terrine de pigeoneau et sa petite salade au vinaigre de Xérès: A coarse pâté of squab with embedded whole garlic cloves, accompanied by a lettuce-frisée salad. The title led us to expect that the salad would be dressed with a vinaigrette made with sherry vinegar, but what we noticed was an exceptionally good olive oil.

With the main course we drank a thin-textured, light-red regional wine, Côtes de Toul Pinot Noir 1991.

Briochée de filet d’agneau à l’estragon: A fine-flavored lamb filet, shreddy of texture and oozing bright red at the center, served on a thin brown sauce. The lamb was wrapped in a thin, nutty-tasting pastry that was neither crisp nor soggy, just plain good. The accompaniments were a superbly piquant mousse of tarragon and oval-shaped potatoes browned to an agreeable crustiness.

Rognon de veau cuit entier en déclinaison d’oignon (friture, braisé, flan, purée): A whole veal kidney, cooked à point, with onions fried, braised, in a flan, and puréed. Crisp-fried onion delivered savors second to none, robust yet tantalizing. The other three preparations also came through with their individually pleasing taste shocks, each characteristic of onion yet different from the others. This thoughtful and original dish highlighted the many-faceted virtue of an ingredient so common as to be in danger of being taken for granted.

Though upstaged on this occasion by the humble onion, the veal kidney also had its charms. Cooked à point, each of its lobes retained at the center a bright red core offering resistance to the teeth and a burst of sharp, penetrating flavor. The dish was served with a strong, medium-thick brown sauce so clearly owing its richness to onion as to be counted as a fifth entry in the déclinaison.

The Côtes de Toul was a good match to the kidney and onion.

Chaud froid de Golden, crème de pistache: Thick slices of lightly-browned Golden Delicious apple arranged around a central blob of chocolate mousse, on a pale green pistachio-flavored sauce. The cooking of the apple was nicely judged to intensify the apple flavor while retaining the character of the fresh fruit.