ALL'S NOT ALWAYS at its best: there come times when one's grateful for what arrives. Today, for example, when we arrived in Modane an hour later than planned, thanks to not getting to a train exit door in time, only to find all restaurants closed but one: a decidedly workingclass bar with dinner option.
But you know? Sorry, Alice, it"s my kind of place. The entrées were serve-yourself from a coldcase buffet, and I shamelessly pigged out on tomatoes, radishes, deliciously dressed tuna with potatoes, a perfectly hard-cooked egg, and Russian salad, a mainstay of this region. If the brochette d'agneau that followed was inexpertly cooked and perhaps a bit meager a serving, still it was flavorful local lamb. And the pear cake was honest, in an honest pastry cream. No real complaints.
White and red of the house
• Hotel de la Gare, 73 Modane
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