Kramer: Come on, Frank, I need you. I mean the war was fifty years ago.
Frank Costanza: In my mind, there's a war still going on.
Kramer: All right, what happened, Frank? What is it that you can't get over?
[Frank pours a shot of whiskey and drinks it]
Frank Costanza: Inchon, Korea, 1950. I was the best cook Uncle Sam ever saw. Slinging hash for the fighting 103rd. As we marched north, our supply lines were getting thin. One day, a couple of GIs found a crate. Inside were six hundred pounds of prime Texas steer. At least, it once was prime. The use date was three weeks
past. But I was arrogant. I was brash. I thought if I used just the right spices, cooked it long enough...
Kramer: What happened?
Frank Costanza: I went too far. I over seasoned it. Men were keeling over all around me. I can still hear the retching, the screaming. I sent sixteen of my own men to the latrines that night. They were just boys.
Kramer: Frank, you were a boy too. And it was war. It was a crazy time for everyone.
Frank Costanza: Tell that to Bobby Colby. All that kid wanted to do was go home. Well, he went home, all right. With a crater in his colon the size of a cutlet. Had to sit him on a cork the eighteen-hour flight home!
Kramer: Frank, now listen to me. Two hundred Jewish singles need you. This is your chance to make it all right again.
Frank Costanza: No. No, I'll never cook again! Never! Now get out of my house! Get out. Go.