Sam: Boy, I'd sure love to waltz into that joint tonight just so I could see the look on her face.
Frasier: Well, if it's that important to you, Sam, give me the phone. If Julian Weinstein, my good friend, can't get you in, nobody can.
Cliff: Ooh, the heart transplant wizard?
Frasier: Oh, one and the same, yeah. We went to prep school together. He's a well-known gourmet.
Sam: Yeah, well, wh- Why would he want to do this for me, though?
Frasier: He'd love to do me a favor. See, we dissected our first frog together. [on the phone] Hello, Julian. Julian, hi. Frasier Crane. How are you? Crane. C-R-A-N-E. Yes, yes, Dr. Frasier Crane. All right, fine. Uh, listen, I was wondering what you know about, uh... No, it's A-N-E! Oh, skip it! [hangs up] I'll tell you, you know, you open a few thoraxes, you forget who your friends are.

Diane: I don't believe it.
Jordan: Oh, neither do l. I was this close to Dr. Julian Weinstein.
Diane: That's not Julian Weinstein. That's the man who stole our reservation. [to the Maitre D':] That's not Julian Weinstein. That's an imposter. Ask him for his l.D. Ask him to spell l.D.

Dr. Fisher: Excuse me, uh, you aren't, uh, Dr. Julian Weinstein, are you?
Sam: Uh, yes.
Dr. Fisher: [chuckles softly] Well, this is really an honor. I'm- I'm Dr. Peter Fisher.
Sam: Oh. Uh, nice to meet you.
Dr. Fisher: Yeah. You know, I had no idea you were so young.
Sam: Well, l, uh, skipped a few grades in med school. [laughs] You got to have a sense of humor in this line of work.
Dr. Fisher: Say, if you'll indulge in a little shop talk, uh, where did you come up with that concept of combining antithymocyte globulin with, uh, cyclosporin A to combat tissue rejection?
Sam: On the beach.
Dr. Fisher: [uncomfortable chuckle] Nice meeting you.

Maitre D': Our chef Claude would like to say hello. He met you while he was a chef at La Ronde. Do you mind?
Sam: Oh, uh well, actu- Actually... Maybe, uh...
Maitre D': It won't take but a moment.
Sam: [to Darlene] Grab your purse. We've got to get-
Chef: Dr. Weinstein, so good- You're not Dr. Weinstein.
Sam: Yes, I am. Perhaps you hadn't heard about my accident.
Chef: Why, no, I didn't.
Sam: Oh, yes, yes, uh... terribly disfigured. Uh, thank God for plastic surgery.
Chef: Oh, I'm so sorry. But they've done a wonderful job.
Sam: Hmm.
Chef: You look much better. And taller.
Sam: Traction. It, uh...
Chef: Well, nice to see you again.
Sam: You, too.

Maitre D': Telephone for Dr. Weinstein.
Sam: Oh, um...
Maitre D': It's a Dr. Woody. He's in the middle of surgery, and he says he needs your opinion.
Sam: Thank you. [answers the phone] Hello? Wha- What? You're out of them? No, look, just, just check in the box right next to the scotch... Uh, tape. The scotch tape. We, uh... Sometimes we run out of stitches and have to improvise. Thank you, Dr. Woody.

Sam: What are you doing? You're ruining my dinner.
Diane: Ruining your dinner? Ruining your dinner?!
Sam: Everybody, now...
Diane: Sam, this is the cruelest thing you've ever done!
Sam: Yeah, what about the crummy thing you did to me earlier today, making me feel like a big nobody?
Diane: I apologize. I spoke irrationally. You're not a nobody. [sighs] Now, will you and your date kindly leave so that Jordan and I can have our rightful meal, and the two of you can sashay over to the Colonel's across the street?
Sam: Will you excuse me? My meal is getting cold.
Diane: Now... Well, we may have a long wait ahead of us, but we are going to stay until we get seated.
Jordan: No, you're going to stay until you get seated. Right about now a bucket of extra crispy doesn't sound half bad.

Woody: Okay, Dr. Crane, just drink up.
Frasier: Woody, please, you promised you'd stop after the rum and trail mix.
Woody: That wasn't a drink. That was just something to cleanse your palate. Now come on, here.
Frasier: My God, Woody!
Woody: That bad, huh?
Frasier: No, no, it's terrific. Here, try this. I've never had anything like it.
Norm: All right!
Woody: Oh!
Carla: Oh, yeah! This one gets you in the cocktail hall of fame!
Frasier: So, what's in it, Wood?
Carla: Yeah, what's the secret recipe?
Woody: Well, it's, uh, two parts... [crying]

Maitre D': Would you like to hear our menu?
Diane: Thank you, no. I've memorized it. I'll have the Tournedos Rossini.
Maitre D': I'm sorry, we're all out of that.
Diane: Uh, then I'll have the Jambon Farci et Braise.
Maitre D': Once again, I'm sorry.
Diane: Let's attack this from another direction. You tell me what you have left.
Maitre D': Fricadelles de veau a la Nicoise.
Diane: Great, I'm in a Fricadelle mood.

Sam: Say, uh, I seem to be running a little short on cash.
Diane: You know, Sam, I think it was a really good idea you had about us going Dutch. See, this way, we don't feel that we owe each other anything.
Sam: This is not funny. This could be very embarrassing for both of us. Please.
Diane: Why? I've already paid for my meal, and I'm leaving. Good night, Dr. Weinstein. See you in surgery.
Sam: Hey, I'm serious. Hey, come on, don't do this!

Maitre D': Is there a problem, Doctor?
Sam: No, no, no problem at all. Um I'll just use my credit card here.
Maitre D': Mm, very well. Uh, Dr. Weinstein, this appears to be the credit card of a Mr. Sam Malone.
Sam: Let me see that. Well, I'll be darned. You know, I must have, uh, switched wallets with this Malone character. You know, I bet it happened at the club. Yes, it did; I remember him now. A baseball player. Malone. You, uh, you ever heard of him?
Maitre D': No.
Sam: Oh, well, why don't you, uh, put it on this credit card anyway, and I'll take this Malone guy out to dinner some other time, hmm?
Maitre D': I'm afraid not.
Sam: Well, all right, I don't suppose you take a personal check, do you?
Maitre D': And whose name would be on that?
Sam: Okay, well, uh, why don't we try this, then? Oh, my God, look at the size of that cat! [runs away]
Maitre D': Hey, you, come back here!