It’s a cold and rainy day in the Ubaye Valley, so I thought it was time to stop procrastinating and start writing before I forget how to do it. Yikes, I’m oh-for-two-plus months, for cripes sakes, although, for the record, I did spend 10 splendid days covering the U.S. Clay Courts tennis at River Oaks. I’m terribly backed up both on wine touts – never mind that, oh yes, I’ve found plenty of time to consume wine – and timely sports takes. It feels like the Rockets’ disjointed, ultimately disappointing season has been over for the weeks and the Astros’ thus-far lamentable season would already be over if the American League wasn’t chock full of so many mediocre teams, the local lads included.

Losing Carlos Corea for the year to a torn Achilles tendon was a tough lick, an injury added to myriad insults, most of them pitching-related. So is having to watch, albeit from afar here in Victor Wembanyama’s homeland, as the 7-4 French phenom completes an MVP-worthy season for San Antonio. In the pre-draft-lottery world, Wemby would have been a Rocket, the second coming of Hakeem Olajuwon. But no. Now, behind Wemby, whose Game 3 heroics against the Timberwolves will be discussed for years (as might his Game 4 ejection, which proved pivotal in Minnesota’s tying the series at 2-all), the Spurs seem certain to add to their collection of five NBA titles.

Until he’s done – no telling how many years down the road – the Rockets won’t even be the best team in Texas. While the Texans might be able to claim same in the football world given the Dallas Cowboys’ entrenched Jerry Jones-induced ineptitude, that’s not saying much, is it? Their latest draft seemed to go well, but when you take a guard with your first-round pick coming off another shortfall season, you can’t expect folks to go dancing in the streets.

I will point out, however, that the last two guards drafted in the first round by an NFL team in Houston are in the Hall of Fame today. That would be Oilers Bruce Matthews (1983) and Mike Munchak (1982), of course. A tough act to follow for the latest, Keylan Rutledge, to be sure. But I must also point out that neither Matthews nor Munchak helped the Oilers get even as far as the AFC Championship Game, never mind the eternally elusive Super Bowl.     

Anyway, thinking about all of the above makes me want a drink, meaning this seems the proper juncture to turn our attention to wine, a much happier, more uplifting topic.      

A pair of early spring tastings at AOC Selections introduced me to two excellent small producers that previously weren’t even on my radar screen, Paul Déthune in Champagne and Agricola Brandini in Italy’s Langhe. In both cases, the presenters were excellent, exceedingly knowledgable communicators, Sophie Déthune for the former and Giovanna Bagnasco for the latter. More importantly, the family wines they were in Houston to sell were eminently worthy of being praised to the heavens.

The Déthune Brut, made by Sophie’s husband Paul from their Grand Cru fruit in Ambonnay – Krug is a neighbor – had won a double gold medal in the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo’s International Wine Competition, and she was more than ready to milk same for all it was worth, arriving at the tasting in a Stetson and a Texas-sized belt buckle. She even gave us a rousing “yee-haw!”

I decided right then Debbie and I would be detouring from Paris through Ambonnay en route to our little Alpine hideway, and 19 Déthune bottles came south with us. These are killer bubbles across the board – the rosé is the best I’ve tasted in a very long time – and they can be found at AOC as well as at Six Twists, the worth-a-trip champagne bar in the heart of Fredericksburg.

Interestingly, they don’t distribute in France save for what’s sold at the winery. With only 50,000 bottles produced annually, Déthune’s focus is global. However, they do ship to private customers who visit the winery. That was very good news for the Robertsons because our door-to-door journey exceeded eight hours and cost me $225 in tolls and gas, which now costs more than $12 per gallon here . . . thanks to you know who.

Brandini, in turn, is now in the Houston market thanks the efforts of AOC’s Master Sommelier Brandon Kerne, who, bless him, is as crazy about Piemontese wines as I am.  

Giovanna was as reserved as Sophie was out there, but she, too, knows her stuff. Although Brandini was launched by her father back in 2007 when she and her sister Serena were still in high school, today it’s their show all the way. They offer a full lineup of whites, reds and bubbles from the Alta Langa, and, as with Déthune, the quality/value ratio could not be better.

One difference, though, is significant. The Grand Cru Ambonnay dirt is crazy expensive to acquire. Brandini, however, is located in what used to be considered the Langhe’s low-rent district on the “wrong” western side of La Morra – too high and often too cold with blustery winds blowing in off the Alps, which on a clear day provide a glorious backdrop. Thirty years ago, the property seemed better suited for a housing development (one had, in fact, been planned nearby) than for planting grapes. But because of climate change, the terroir is well nigh perfect for nebbiolo, barbera, et. al.

Brandini’s mantra? To quote from their website: “We have always believed that organic is a way of life rather than a method of production. We believe in the importance of this philosophy in order to leave the ground in better conditions than we found it. Our grapes are grown in full respect of the wonderful land that hosts us, of the people who work there and of the consumer who choose us. Sometimes, to follow an ideal, one must have the courage to face more difficult paths.”

Dad may not have been a winemaker, but he was a visionary and he had complete faith in his daughters, who didn’t disappoint him. Today, the Brandini complex includes a lovely boutique hotel and a stylish restaurant called Coltivare. (The herb garden is pictured above.) Yep, same spelling as the one in Houston’s Heights.

Speaking of restaurants, less than 15 minutes away is an extraordinary new spot from the Ceretto family, whose Piazza Duomo in Alba has three Michelin stars. Nestled in the middle of one of the Barolo’s most heralded vineyards, Le Brunate lifts brunch into a whole new stratum. I say brunch because the resto is only open from 11:30 a.m. to 7 p.m., hence day drinking is required.

Full disclosure: Debbie and I have been friends with Roberta Ceretto, her dad Bruno and her siblings for more than 30 years so total objectivity isn’t possible, but . . . wow. Just wow. Superb food – and wine, of course – in the most breathtaking wine-country setting imaginable. And you enter between two original Francesco Clemente sculptures, shown at the top. What could possibly go wrong?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

My next missive will speak specifically about the wines from the aforementioned producers and others that have tantalized my taste buds this spring.