Diane: Dr. Weinstein.
Sam: Uh-uh, uh-uh.
Diane: You swine. It's one thing to pretend to be somebody else on the phone, but convincing others that you're a sophisticated gourmet is a little bit more than you can handle. You're going to blow it, Sam. You're going to be embarrassed in front of some of the most important people in Boston. And then you're going to slink out of here with your curly little swine tail between your legs.
Sam: You don't think I can handle this? Well, just watch. Excuse me, we'd like to start off with Bouches Parmentier au Fromage, followed by a salade maison, and for our entre, we'll have Tourte Froide D'Anguille Rabelais. Thank you so much.
Diane: Good, Sam; that was your busboy.
Sam: I knew that. He's got lips. He can tell the waiter, can't he?
Diane: Bon appetit, Dr. Weinstein.

Diane: Dr. Weinstein? My date needs medical attention. Can you help?
Sam: My food just arrived.
Dr. Fisher: Well, I'm a doctor.
Diane: Sit down. I- I want the world-famous heart surgeon, Dr. Julian Weinstein.
Dr. Fisher: Well, of course; I bow to his greater skill.
Sam: Well, no, no, no, uh, why don't you go ahead there, Fisher, and give him a shot?
Diane: He's having chest pains, Doctor!
Sam: Oh, well, uh, why don't you time them and see how far apart they are?

Sam: Say, you know, Darlene and I can't make up our mind whether to have some chili or a hamburger. Maybe this Cafe joint sounds just like the ticket. Well, you got the number there? [Diane laughs] What? What's the number? What?
Diane: Pardonne mon laughteur, Sam. This is not the sort of place you just call and make a reservation. My dinner companion is a Brundage, and even with that pull, he had to wait three months for a table.
Sam: Ooh, geez, I wonder how long he had to wait for the chairs.
Diane: Look what I'm dealing with. You consider food as a fuel to be salted down heavily, covered with ketchup, stuffed in your mouth, and on a good day, chewed. What I'm trying to say is, Sam, you couldn't possibly get a reservation at this late hour.