Daphne: You can come out now.
Frasier: You know, honestly, Daphne, if these interruptions don't stop, my signature sauce will be reduced to a monogram. I'm using humor to make a point.

Frasier: [on the phone] Daphne, you're never gonna get a caterer at this late hour, but don't worry. I think I can solve your little problem. I'll be right there. [hangs up] As usual, Frasier has to save the day.
Martin: As usual, Martin has to hear about it.

Niles: Frasier, Daphne and I are throwing the party.
Frasier: Daphne? Well. Fine, suit yourself. It's your painting. I suppose I could just whip up my signature dish.
Niles: Daphne's handling the food.
Frasier: Lovely. So you'll be serving those sad brown chunks that make their way from plate to napkin, bypassing mouth completely.
Niles: It's called "Piccadilly Beef", and I talked her out of it, thank God.