Frasier: So, Niles, Maris at it again?
Niles: Oh, worse. It's so depressing I can barely talk about it. My gourmet club is holding elections to see who will win this year's Golden Apron.
Roz: Wait. I can see I'm gonna need a hanky for this.
Niles: [to waiter] Latte, please, to go. Normally, the finalists compete by giving lectures. I'd written mine, a waggish look at food fads of yesteryear entitled "Fondue: What Were We Thinking?" Suddenly last night, disaster. Someone proposed that instead of giving lectures, this year's finalists compete by hosting dinner parties in their homes.
Roz: So? Why don't you invite 'em all over and cook 'em a meal?
Niles: At the Shangri-La? I can't tell the cream of Seattle's gourmet set that I've moved out of the Montana and into that gulag with a game room.