A valiant mascot shovels snow outside the Nissin Cup Noodles Museum in Yokohama.

All my life I ate noodles. Because my mother used to repair old lacework. And one thing about old lace is that odors stick to it forever. And you can’t deliver smelly lace! So what didn’t smell? Noodles. I’ve eaten basinfuls of noodles. My mother made noodles by the basinful. Boiled noodles, oh, yes, yes, all my youth, noodles and mush.

—Louis-Ferdinand Céline, the Art of Fiction No. 33