Cellar in Burgundy

In 1940, France fell to the Nazis. The takeover was as swift as it was sudden. Within two weeks of the invasion, German troops were in Paris marching down the Champs-Elysees, and a campaign of pillaging what the French hold dear—their wine—began. Like the French Resistance, winemakers mobilized to oppose their occupiers, erecting fake walls in their cellars to hide their wines or burying them in the ground. Some joined the Resistance and attacked trains transporting stolen wine back to Germany.

Until Wine & War was written, the tale of their extraordinary efforts remained largely unknown. It has since become a classic, an international best-seller published in two 25 countries and 12 languages with sales of about 300,000 copies worldwide.

When we first began our research, some warned we were wasting our time, that no one would talk to us. One person snapped, "Let the dead rest in peace, let the living live in peace!" before hanging up the phone. On his mind was an issue still sensitive in France, that of collaboration. Charles de Gaulle sought to portray France as a nation of resisters but that was myth. Thousands of French collaborated with the Germans in order to survive. One of our chapters, in fact, is titled The Collaborator in which we profile a major figure who cozied up to the Germans in order to keep his wine business going … and paid dearly for it. When the war ended, he was arrested and thrown into prison after being found guilty of economic collaboration.

Researching Wine & War took nearly three years. Contrary to warnings that no one would speak to us, most of the people we approached were more than willing to share their stories. They were both surprised and even touched that we were eager to hear what they went through.

By rooting our narrative in five winemaking families from France's key wine regions, we explained how men and women risked their lives for a cause that meant saving the heart and soul of France as much as protecting its economy. It was an extraordinary partnership involving everyone from the owners of Paris's famed restaurant La Tour d'Argent who rushed to build a wall to conceal their most precious 20,000 bottles, to French soldiers who triumphantly reclaimed Hitler's enormous cache of stolen wines at the conclusion of the war.

Some, however, suffered terribly before it was over. In one chapter, I Came Home Not Young Anymore, we tell the story of Claude Fourmon, an official from Champagne who was arrested and tortured in a concentration camp. We spent most of a morning interviewing him, but it wasn't until several years later, after Claude had passed away, that we realized how fortunate we were in having been able to talk with him. We'd been at a tasting and luncheon for vignerons when a fellow at a nearby table got up and came over to Petie. "I just want to thank you," he said. "Claude was my uncle, but in all the years since the war he never said anything about it, not one word. My family and I had no idea what he went through until we read your book. Thank you for writing it."

Of all the reviews of Wine & War, that is the one we treasure most.

Among the others:

"This book tells the intriguing story of how the French devoted the same tenacity to saving their great wines from the Nazis as they did to safeguarding the treasures of the Louvre. An incredible tale." — Dominque Lapierre, coauthor of Is Paris Burning?

"A gem for wine aficionados and history buffs." — Boston Herald

"Assured, detailed, highly readable … does honor to all those who labored to keep French wines from barbarous hands. An engrossing addition to the popular literature of WWII." — Kirkus Reviews