Kramer: You know, these latkes are going like hotcakes.
Frank Costanza: Where's the powdered sugar?
Kramer: You know, Frank, you could take a break.
Frank Costanza: No breaks. I feel reborn. I'm like a phoenix rising from Arizona.

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.

Estelle Costanza: Here's your omelet.
Frank Costanza: It's dry.
Estelle Costanza: That's the way I always make it.
Frank Costanza: Well, it sucks.
Estelle Costanza: What did you say?
Frank Costanza: Your meatloaf is mushy, your salmon croquettes are oily and your eggplant parmesan is a disgrace to this house!
Estelle Costanza: Well, that's too bad, because I'm the only one who cooks around here!
Frank Costanza: Not any more! Gimme that spatula! [cracks egg] I'm back, baby!

George: Listen, I gotta get some reading done. You mind if I do this here? I can't concentrate in my apartment.
Jerry: [looks at George's book] "Risk Management"?
George: Yeah. Steinbrenner wants everyone in the front office to give a lecture in their area of business expertise.
Jerry: Well, what makes them think you're a risk management expert?
George: I guess it's on my resume.

Jerry: Oh, this is awful.
Kramer: Jerry, it's kreplach. It's an acquired taste, yeah. [bites into one, spits out into the bowl]
Jerry: Did you follow the recipe?
Kramer: The recipe was for four to six people. I had to multiply for a hundred and eighty-three people. I guess I got confused.
Jerry: It tastes like dirt.
Kramer: Well, I also dropped it on the way over. Jerry, I'm in trouble, I got no skills. I can't peel, I can't chop, I can't grate. I can't mince! I got no sense of flavor, obviously.

Elaine: At the Knights of Columbus?
Kramer: Yeah, Frank Costanza, he's getting me a room at his lodge. So, Jerry, you know I'm really counting on you to come to this.
Jerry: Kramer, you know, I--
Kramer: No, Jerry, I'm cooking all the food myself.
Elaine: "A tempting schmear of authentic Jewish delicacies."
Kramer: Do you like tsimmis?

George: I still don't understand this. Abby has a mentor?
Jerry: Yes. And the mentor advises the protege.
George: Is there any money involved?
Jerry: No.
George: So what's in it for the mentor?
Jerry: Respect, admiration, prestige.
George: [scoffs] Would the protege pick up stuff for the mentor?
Jerry: I suppose if it was on the protege's way to the mentor, they might.
George: Laundry? Dry cleaning?
Jerry: It's not a valet, it's a protege.

Kramer: Yowza yowza. Check it out.
Jerry: "Jewish singles night"?
Kramer: I expect you both to be there.
Elaine: I'm not Jewish.
Kramer: Well, neither am I.
Jerry: Well, why are you going?
Kramer: I'm not. I'm running it.
Jerry: What are you talking about?
Kramer: Well, Lomez, he usually runs it but he's in the Everglades.
Jerry: Lomez is Jewish?
Kramer: Oh, yeah, yeah. Orthodox, Jerry. Old school.

George: Dad.
Frank Costanza: What are you wearing, an athletic sweat suit?
George: What are you doing here?
Kramer: Well, he came by to pick up his check for the banquet hall. You know, I got 183 responses? It's gonna be a rager.
Jerry: Kramer, how are you gonna cook Jewish delicacies for a hundred and eighty-three people?
Kramer: You're right. That's a lot of pupkitz. Hey, Frank, you know anybody who can help me cook?
Frank Costanza: Cook? No, I don't know any cooks. I don't know anything about cooking!

Kramer: What's the matter with him?
George: My dad was a cook during the Korean War. Something very bad happened. Ever since, you can't get him near a kitchen.
Kramer: Shell-shocked?
George: Oh, yeah. But that has nothing to do with it.