Martin: Would you just pick your steak?
Niles: I'd like a petit fillet mignon very lean, but not so lean that it lacks flavor. But not so fatty that it leaves drippings on the plate. And I don't want it cooked, just lightly seared on either side. Pink in the middle. Not true pink, but not a mauve either. Something in between, bearing in mind the slightest error either way, and it's ruined.
Waitress: OK.

Martin: What's wrong?
Frasier: Well, I don't mean to complain-
Martin: Then don't. For your information, these steaks come from prize beef raised at- What the hell are you doing?
Niles: Something seems to have fallen in my potato.
Martin: Those are bacon bits.
Niles: But I didn't ask for them.
Martin: I ordered all the fixings. You got all the fixings.
Niles: But I don't eat bacon because of the nitrates.
Martin: No problem. They're artificial. They're made out of soy.
Frasier: They really look out for your health here, don't they?

Niles: I don't know. Dad's so set in his ways.
Frasier: We all are at some point in our life. Remember when you used to think the 1812 Overture was a great piece of classical music.
Niles: Was I ever that young?

Waitress: I see we have a couple of first-timers here. Let me tell you how it works. Every entrée comes with soup or a trip to the salad bar. One trip only, please. Also included is our famous garlic cheese bread. And now, if you're ready, you can claim your steaks.
Niles: "Claim our steaks"?
Martin: You get to pick the cut you want off the beef trolley.
Frasier: How much extra would I have to pay to get one from the refrigerator?

Martin: Everybody in this restaurant is enjoying the dinner. Can't you guys do the same?
Frasier: Niles? Is Maris organizing the Arts Council benefit again this year?
Niles: As a matter of fact, she is.
Frasier: Where are they holding it?
Niles: Well, they haven't picked a spot yet. Perhaps I should tell them about this place. I'd like to be a fly on the wall that night.
Frasier: You wouldn't be the only one.

Frasier: Dad, wait.
Martin: No, I'm going to Duke's for a nightcap.
Frasier: Well, at least let us take you there.
Martin: I'll take a cab. I've had enough of you two for one night. Leave the waitress a good tip. She deserves it.
Frasier: Niles, say something.
Niles: Dad, wait. The mud pie is coming!

Frasier: The mud pie is coming? I feel terrible.
Niles: So do I.
Frasier: The sad thing is, he's right about us.
Niles: Have we really become such snobs?
Frasier: You don't see anyone else driving their father out into the street to drink, do you?
[The waitress gives them an evil look]
Frasier: We've got to apologize to Dad.
Niles: You're right.
Frasier: We'll give him a couple of hours to cool down over at Duke's. And when he gets home, we'll settle this.
Niles: Absolutely. We've been just horrid. Frasier, do you think we've lost the ability to appreciate the simple things - steak, potatoes, fixings?
Frasier: I'm afraid so. The thing is, this is good food. It's not too fancy but it's good, wholesome American fare.
Niles: You know, as a tribute to Dad, I think we should sit here until we've cleaned our plates.
Frasier: Well, I'm game if you are. We're going to prove we are not snobs.
Niles: Absolutely. Frasier, look who's here. [Niles tries to hide his baked potato]
Frasier: Eat your food.

Frasier: I just don't think it's very smart to make rude gestures at other drivers.
Martin: He cut you off.
Frasier: That doesn't matter. You do not antagonize a man whose bumper sticker says "If you're close enough to read this, I'll kill you."
Martin: Big talk from a Volvo.

Frasier: Daphne, what are you doing?
Daphne: Fluffing your knickers. If you don't mind my saying so, you're losing some of your elasticity.
Frasier: I appreciate everything you're doing, Daphne, but a man's knickers are certainly- Ooh! How do you get them so soft?
Daphne: Fabric softener and twice through the fluff cycle.
Frasier: Keep up the good work.

Martin: Look, I appreciate offer, but I wouldn't like it.
Frasier: Well, Dad, how do you know if you don't try it?
Martin: Well, I didn't have to get shot in the hip with a .38 to know I wouldn't like that.