There is a bit on one of Celine's early books where, as an antisocial little git, he gets packed off to a school in England for a term in the early 1900s. After a trip on the cross channel ferry where most of the passengers get seasick in the most spectacular vomiting scene in world literature he arrives at the school determined to hate every minute of it and not wanting to speak a word of English. But he does go for cheese on toast. Nothing in French food could compare with that combination of melty pungency and and carbonized crumbliness.