Marie: Hi. Raymond, I saw the car. Are you hungry?
Debra: Oh, Marie, I already made him some lemon chicken.
Marie: Yeah, but you know how he loves my spaghetti and meatballs.
Debra: Ray, go ahead. If you want spaghetti and meatballs, go ahead.
Ray: No, the lemon chicken. I'm eating the lemon chicken.
Debra: Look, you could just eat whatever you want, 'cause I can wrap this up for later.
Ray: What, nobody cares, right? Give me the meatballs.
Marie: There.
Ray: Great, great, great.
Marie: Well, Debra, sit down, there's plenty. Here, let me get rid of that for you.

Debra: God, why didn't you just come out and say it? You hate my cooking.
Ray: No, I don't. Come on, you're very... Hey, since when do you care so much about cooking?
Debra: I don't. I don't. My mother cares about cooking. I don't care about it.
Ray: Okay, all right. Then why are we talking about it?
Debra: Because I care about it, okay? I don't want to care about it. It's just... Ugh, it's the one thing that I'm sensitive about.
Ray: The one thing?
Debra: All right, the big thing. Look, all I'm saying is that given everything that I do around here, why do I care so much that I can't make spaghetti and meatballs for my husband as good as his mother?
Ray: Because you're a good wife.
Debra: Don't you ever, ever call me that again.

Marie: Frank, what are you doing putting back an empty thing?
Frank: That's not empty. There's some left there.
Marie: Two drops? Who's going to drink two drops of juice?
Frank: I am.
Marie: All right. Let me pour you a nice glass of juice. Say when.
Frank: Right there's perfect! [drinks] Ah, that was good. I think I'll save the rest for later.

Ray: How's it going on Mt. Everest? Anybody die yet?
Debra: Just go watch your sports, okay?
Ray: Why, what did I do? What?
Debra: You... You picked your mom's spaghetti and meatballs over my lemon chicken.
Ray: Wait a minute. You said, "Have whatever you want."
Debra: I know. It's just... I don't know. Oh, forget it. It's stupid. Just forget it, okay? [Ray turns the TV on] What the hell is wrong with my lemon chicken? [Ray turns the TV off]

Ray: Let me ask you something. How do you make those meatballs?
Marie: What do you mean?
Ray: I mean, you know, I know there's meat and there's balling... But what do you put in it? ls there like a recipe or something?
Marie: I stopped using a recipe years ago. I cook from here. [points to heart]
Frank: And you nag from here. [points to mouth] Hey, how about a sandwich for me?
Marie: [rips off a scrap of bread] Here. You can wash it down with that.

Ray: Really, what do you do? Do you put oregano in it?
Frank: All of a sudden, you want to know how to cook. What's wrong with you?
Ray: It's not for me. I want to get the recipe for Debra.
Marie: What are you saying, Raymond that Debra wants to learn my way of cooking spaghetti and meatballs for you?
Ray: I think, yeah.
Marie: Oh. That's wonderful.
Ray: All right. So give me the recipe, then.
Marie: Oh, no, no, she can't learn from a recipe. I'll have to go over there and show her.
Ray: No! No show. No showing. Come on. Just give me the recipe. I'll give it to her.
Marie: That's nonsense. I'd love to show her. You go tell her that we're gonna spend the whole afternoon together.
Ray: Today?
Marie: Yeah, of course.
Frank: Good. That'll give me time to finish my sandwich.

Ray: Hey, Baby Bop. You know, listen, I was thinking about what you said last night. What if we just asked my mother to come over and show you how to make those meatballs? Whatever. That way, you would feel better because you know how to do it and, you know, that's better, right? What if she just comes over and just shows you how to do it, huh? What do you think about that?
Marie: That would be horrible.
Ray: Oh, boy.
Debra: What?
Marie: [enters] Hi, dear. I'm so glad you want help.
Ray: [to Debra] I'm a good person. Really, I am.

Robert: Debra. Were you really here just for the spoon? 'Cause, you know, I've dealt with my fair share of break-ins and I have to tell you, it's never the spoon.
Debra: Well, all right. Um, actually, I just wanted to take a look at your mom's meatball recipe 'cause I tried to make them and...
Robert: Yeah, I heard your meatballs stink.
Debra: No, they don't stink.
Robert: Well, that's not the word on the street.
Debra: I just want to make them perfect. Did you ever want to get something just perfect?
Robert: Sure, like when you wash your car keys.
Debra: Yeah.
Robert: You ever smell your keys?

Robert: This is the box. This is where she keeps her stuff for when she, you know... [clicks tongue]
Debra: Oh, my God. It's recipes. Stuffed shells. Steak Pizzaiola.
Robert: Yeah, Ray loves the pizzaiola.
Debra: And Eggplant Parmesan. Meatballs.
Robert: There you go.
Debra: Okay. Let's see. Oh, no.
Robert: What?
Debra: It's exactly the same. This is exactly what she told me.
Robert: Well, that's good, isn't it?
Debra: Yeah, it's great. The only thing different is me.
Robert: Come on, Deb. You just need some practice, that's all. Hey, it took me a long time to get my keys to smell right.

Debra: I snuck over there. I saw the hatbox, I found the recipe, and they're exactly the same.
Ray: You went over there?
Debra: Yes.
Ray: Tonight?
Debra: Yes! And now I know that I can't cook, so I'm giving up. 'Cause I don't have the love.
Ray: You snuck over there? You went through her things? I got to tell you something, okay? Say what you want about my mother. "Oh, your mother!" Yeah, my mother. My mother came over here and spent the whole day showing you how to make the meatballs. That's my mother.