Destination: France : OFF TO OFF-SEASON FRANCE : Cozying up to the untrammeled delights of Alsace, where now is a surprisingly good time to enjoy its hearty food and comforting inns.

The Maurice Ravel is the lovely name of the Paris-Munich express, electrically humming along one of the platforms of the Gare de l’Est in Paris; and then it glides out from under the great iron and glass vaults of the station, gathering speed, and I am on my way to Strasbourg. That is only a four-hour rail trip from Paris. When you consider the journeying to and the waiting in the airports, it makes not much sense to fly.

In the winter twilight we pull into Strasbourg. There is the homey brightening of hundreds of windows, the music of the old shop signs chiming in the wind, coruscating garlands of lights, the commerce in the narrow streets. Everything seems close by. The view of the splendid Cathedrale Notre-Dame is ubiquitous because of its single high tower. It is lit up beautifully, and the scaffolding that covers its facade (because of the pollution, its soft sandstone must be constantly cleaned and repaired) is hidden in the shadows of the evening.

The proper thing now is to check into my hotel and immediately look for a place to dine--Strasbourg being not only the capital of the Alsace region but of its cuisine too--and preferably for a small place. And stepping over the oak threshold into one of these, I recognize suddenly that this is something different: not really a restaurant not really a bistro, not really a Gasthaus ; not something typically French, not something typically German. It is, well, Alsatian--like the architecture; medieval, yes, but also bourgeois. It is smoky and fuggy and rich--I mean the odors but then so are the tastes of the dishes, many with entirely unaccustomed names, neither French nor German. They are sui generis , as are the white wines of Alsace, tasting neither like Moselle nor like white Burgundy and surely not like compounds or mixes of both.

Alsace, in winter, is off every main tourist track, which of course is not the main reason to recommend it, though the advantages of such a condition should be obvious. The main reason is the charm and the comfort and the coziness of an extraordinary province, evident and palpable even under the grayest of western European winter skies. Comfort and coziness are attributes of domesticity; we associate them with the interiors of homes. But aren’t comfort and coziness worth seeking abroad? “The road is better than the inn,” said Cervantes; but that is not an unarguable truth. And the province of Alsace is like an inn in winter. Even when I am outside, on one of its hills or roads, I don’t sense that I am in the sodden or frozen clutches of nature; and then the presence of some inviting place beckons close enough, almost always.

A day after Strasbourg I start driving across Alsace. There are gray-blue hills and humpbacked mountains here and there with narrow tongues of snow. They are neither majestic nor forbidding; this is a land that is as lovable as it is uncategorizable. Willa Cather once wrote about the American West that it is a great land “still waiting to be made into a landscape.” Well, Alsace is a landscape. It has been made so for about 2,500 years, an ascertainable condition that has nothing to do with carbon dating but which is anchored in definite history and not in Navajo or Hopi archeology. By this I mean the unavoidable presence of human habitation, no matter how scattered, on the slopes and even on the stillest of these mountains. One can see such unaccustomed glimmers of light high on the mountainsides of Switzerland or the Tyrol. But this is different. These lights are not the slightly mysterious signs of the habitations of isolated people in the mountains. They are the more or less remote emanations of a village civilization to which the inhabitants still belong.

These villages are the essence of Alsace. Off the main highways (there is one superhighway, an autoroute , running north-south across Alsace), seldom more than three or four miles away, the villages cluster around their high-spired churches, like obedient poultry around a serious but not very stern mother hen. Even the churches are cozy here; they breathe none of the awesome spicy darkness of Catholic churches farther to the south; despite the chill of their stone walls in winter they are comfortable, indeed some of them are heated, a rarity in France.

The narrow streets of the villages curve right and left away from the central square, one half-timbered and steep-gabled house after the other. They do not have the medieval severity of their cousins (if that is what they are) in the towns of Germany, or the stout Tudor Englishness of half-timbered houses across the Channel.

The houses of Alsatian villages have been inhabited and repaired constantly--one result of which is the modern heating and plumbing in some of the oldest buildings, including the village inns. (Many of the heating and plumbing manufacturers of France are in Alsace.) There are few supermarkets and many shops, and in almost every village there is the sign of a winegrower with his solid house behind a high sandstone wall, the vines running up behind a wrought-iron gate, inviting rather than excluding samplers of his own nectar. When the sun breaks through, even the darkest and narrowest of alleys shine in contentment and there are flower-pots in many a window, in January, at that.

Darkness in the winter comes early in northwestern Europe; but after the last crimson touch of the westering sun fades on the walls and windows there is a golden-sparked brightness streaming out of the portals of these village houses and through the mullioned windows of what to American or English visitors might seem to be pubs.

They are not that, and they are not restaurants either. They are what the Alsatians call a Winstub, a wine tavern, full of the locals, with excellent food at reasonable prices. Sometimes a single dish will suffice, and I am not thinking of the cost but of the fact that the food of Alsace is filling. Filling, rather than heavy, despite that the ingredients are not very different from those of south German cooking, including vast varieties of porcine dishes and, of course, the superbly seasoned Alsatian choucroute or sauerkraut, champagne-colored and with the pointillism of caraway seed.

And Alsatian ham, and Alsatian foie gras, and Alsatian trout or perch, and Munster cheese (which to my surprise comes not from the great city of Munster in Germany but from a small village in Alsace), and an abundance of grandmotherly desserts. Before the bill comes, often presented by the patron himself, a portly Alsatian wearing his apron, I know it is propitious to order a glass of Alsatian eau-de-vie , the local plum or cherry or pear brandies that may be the best in the world. And then we amble--or stumble--homeward to the inn, to sleep under a tremendous downy comforter. In the morning we open the casement windows and look out at the higgledy-piggledy slate roofs of the village, no matter whether snowy or wet, and beyond them to the rolling hills, and greet le bel, le frais, le vivace aujourd’hui-- the lovely, fresh, vivacious new day.

Such are the here and there justly famous villages of Alsace: Eguisheim, Husseren, Rouffach, Guebwiller, Riquewihr, Colroy-la-Roche, Marlenheim, Ribeauville, Obernai--most of them along the Route du Vin; and Saverne, Haguenau, Bischwiller farther to the north. Nearly each of these villages has an inn:

But lo, the old inn and the lights, and the fire

And the fiddler’s old tune and the shuffling of feet;

Soon for us shall be quiet and rest and desire,

And to-morrow’s uprising to deeds shall be sweet.

--William Morris, 19th-Century

English poet

If not to deeds, to a little more driving along the routes of Alsace.

This is not a gastronomic article, but I am compelled to recount how, during a meal, a spark of recognition suddenly occurred in my mind, probably as I drank another swallow of a green-gold, fruity and sparkling Alsatian Riesling. Yes, this wine and this place are not French but not German either. They are Burgundian.

And by this I do not mean “Bourgogne,” the Burgundy part of France. I mean that accordion-like Burgundy (accordion-like, since its borders expanded and contracted during 600 years) to which Lorraine and Luxembourg and what is now eastern Belgium and southeastern Holland and some of the Rhineland and Alsace once belonged, before the seat of gravity of the French state moved westward and of the German-Roman Empire eastward and the separation of France and Germany along the Rhine occurred.

Alsace is a very old and wealthy province. The origin of its name is questionable; it may have Celtic or Germanic etymological roots. Like Burgundy, that is indicative of its situation in Europe; athwart the great routes and movements from west to east, from Gaul to beyond the Rhine. It flourished under the Roman Empire, when the foundations of its present cities were built, and there is evidence that its foods and wines were known and enjoyed by the Romans.

The Germanic tribes came to invade and inhabit Alsace afterward. But it was not until the division of Charlemagne’s empire that Alsace passed to those of his offspring who eventually became kings of Burgundy. But when Louis XIV conquered Alsace, pushing the frontier of France to the Rhine, that was no 20th-Century invasion or suppression. Louis XIV, who was supposed to have said, “ L’etat, c’est moi “ (translation: “I am the state . . . the state is me,” although it is questionable whether he ever said that), gave orders to leave the Alsatians alone, including their Protestants, at a time when he found it profitable to persecute other Protestants in France. There was a traditional and prosperous Jewish community in Alsace, unvexed by persecutions since the 14th Century. Alsace now belonged to the kingdom of France, even though its people spoke German. Goethe, Herder, Metternich studied in Strasbourg. The French Revolution did not change these elective affinities to France (the “Marseillaise” was composed and first played in Strasbourg). In 1871 Prussian Germany defeated France, and Alsace-Lorraine was attached to the Second German Empire. In 1918 the French reconquered it. In 1940 Hitler’s armies came to rule it again. In 1944--there were bitter battles around Colmar--the resurgent First French Army liberated it again; and after that has come a new era, that of “Europe,” for Alsace, where the Franco-German tug-of-war has altogether ended.

This old and wealthy province has little or none of a native aristocracy. The famous sons and daughters of Alsace have been, and still are, bourgeois (Burger), in the best sense of that once maligned, but nowadays more and more positive adjective. Some of the great French industrial families and their fortunes have come from Alsace, including many Alsatian Protestants; and many of the now old and established Jewish families of France have been Alsatians too, unreservedly loyal to French liberalism and republicanism.

The celebrated humanitarian doctor Albert Schweitzer was an Alsatian; so were two famous artists, one of the 19th and the other of the 20th Century, Gustave Dore and Jean Arp. There are two American connections. The sculptor (and the creator of the idea) of the Statue of Liberty, Frederic Auguste Bartholdi, was an Alsatian. Pastor Jean-Frederic Oberlin was a prophet and proponent of enlightened education, after whom Oberlin College in Ohio is named.

Bartholdi was born in Colmar. It is a picturesque town, its architecture a composite of half-timbered little houses, some impressive mansions of the richer merchants, and the neoclassical municipal edifices of the 19th Century. The city’s “Petite Venice” is a single row of pretty little dwellings on one side of the rivulet Lauch. Colmarians call their Musee d’Unterlinden the Petit Louvre, probably justly so; it is one of the finest museums of France. And now, after five or six days of bright winter days on the roads, of villages and inns and splendiferous toasty-warm evenings, eaux-de-vie and comforters included, it is twilight again, and I return to Strasbourg. It is not a long drive (nothing is very distant in Alsace) and perhaps the Auberge de l’Ill between Colmar and Strasbourg, is worth more than a detour, for two reasons: Illhaeusern is not really a detour and in the Auberge de l’Ill is one of the finest restaurants of the world, and one of France’s 10 or 12 three-star ones.

Advice, said Oscar Wilde, is always dangerous, and good advice may be positively fatal, but here I go: Whether you splurge at the Auberge de l’Ill or not, a Winstub in Strasbourg should do because the great restaurants of Strasbourg are very expensive. The reason for that is obvious. Strasbourg is the seat of the European Parliament and of the Council of Europe; and those parliamentarians and bureaucrats from 12 countries who attend their sessions are on expansive expense accounts.

However, there is much to see and to enjoy in Strasbourg; and even though Strasbourg is not, as some people had expected, the Capital of a United Europe, it is “Le Carrefour de l’Europe,” the Crossroads of Europe, as people are wont to say. For one thing, it is almost equidistant from Paris and--guess--Prague (but then that has been true for more than 1,000 years). For another thing, it is only two hours away from the famous German spa city of Baden-Baden, which offers hospitality in winter as well as summer to people from all over the world in search of such things as mud baths or reducing regimes, including, one may suppose, refugees from the cuisine of Alsace. But that may be going too far. Physical memories of Alsace should have nothing to do with any heaviness of the liver. Departing from Alsace leaves, instead, a most pleasant afterglow. Like the morning embers in the fireplace of an Alsatian inn.

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GUIDEBOOK: Alsace for the Goose

Getting there: From LAX to Paris, United and Air France fly nonstop; United, TWA and American have limited one-stops; United, TWA, American, Delta, Continental, Northwest, USAir, KLM and Lufthansa have connecting flights; lowest round-trip fare about $760.

One-way train tickets from Paris to Strasbourg are $93 first class, $63 second. For more information or reservations, call Rail Europe, (800) 848-7245.

Where to stay: Hostellerie du Pape, 10 Grand-Rue, Eguisheim; from the U.S., fax 011-33-8941-4121. A modern but nicely-furnished hotel, surrounded by vineyards in a noted wine town. Flavorful contemporary-accented cooking is served in the handsome restaurant. Rates: $120-$140; dinner for two (food only): $40-$120.

Hotel Beaucour, 5 Rue Bouchers, Strasbourg; tel. 011-33-8876-7200, fax 011-33-8876-7260. This is one of the most pleasant hotels in Strasbourg, installed in a complex of 18th-Century buildings, around a beautiful courtyard. Rates: $110-$180. Le Marechal, 5 Place Six-Montagnes-Noires, Colmar; tel. 011-33-8941-6032, fax 011-33-8923-6940. A charming small hotel in a 15th-Century building in the middle of Colmar’s old town. The restaurant serves good, hearty local cooking. Rates: $90-$240; dinner for two (food only): $80-$200.

Les Seigneurs de Ribeaupierre, 11 Rue Chateau, Ribeauville; fax. 011-33-8973-7031. A homey, comfortable 18th-Century Alsatian manor-turned-inn. Rates: $85-$100.

Where to eat: Auberge de l’Ill, Rue Collonges, Illhaeusern; tel. 011-33-8971-8323, fax 011-33-8971-8283 (reservations advised long in advance). One of the oldest and consistently finest three-star restaurants in France, beautifully situated on the banks of the River Ill. There is a small hotel attached, with rooms priced $200-$400. Dinner for two (food only): $260-$360. Hostellerie de la Cheneaudiere, Colroy-la-Roche; local tel. 8897-6164. This elegant restaurant, in a chalet-hotel in the midst of the Vosges forest, earns two stars from the Guide Michelin for such specialties as munster-filled ravioli with fried parsley and lobster fricassee with morel mushrooms. The hotel is equally elegant, with large, attractively furnished rooms. Dinner for two (food only): $160-$210; rates: $135-$440.

Auberge de Flammekueche Berg, 19 Rue Veaux, Strasbourg; tel. 8835-3585. An Alsatian twist on a pizzeria, serving the traditional tarte flambee or flammekueche. Dinner for two (food only): $25-$70.

Schillinger, 16 rue Stanislaus, Colmar; tel. 8941-4317. This expensive, highly rated temple of gastronomy serves excellent food that is both imaginative and unmistakably Alsatian. Dinner for two (food only) $180-$220.

S’Parisser Stewwele, 4 Place Jeanne-d’Arc, Colmar; tel. 8941-4233. Fried Munster cheese salad, oxtail confit, inexpensive Alsatian wines en carafe and a warm, welcoming dining room with stone walls and wood beams. Dinner for two (food only): $60-$100.