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The average American consumes

55 pounds of beef per year.

And then there's Texas,

where we can knock that
off in a couple of months.

Maybe faster, if we're
talking about smoked brisket...

curiously, the one cut of beef

that Texans and Jews agree upon.

This is really good, Meemaw.

Really good?

You're spitting the
best brisket in Texas

all over the damn table.

Close your mouth when you eat.

Or aim your face the other way.

Connie, one of these days,
you got to give me the recipe.

You bet. For sure.

- One of these days.
- Oh, come on.

You can't hold on to it forever.

Mean that much to you?

Mary and I were dating about a month

when she brought me home for dinner.

I took one bite of this brisket,

and I knew I loved your daughter.

Gee, thanks.

Kind of like Sleeping Beauty,
except Dad kissed meat.

I tell you what.

You go get a...

piece of paper and a pencil,

I'll write it down for you.

Okay. It's happening...

That's the fastest I've seen him run.

It's the only time I've seen him run.

There you go.

Okay.

I might make it this weekend.

Or you could try a vegetable.

Vegetable? That's funny.

Okay.

Now, this is for your eyes only.

You're not to share it with anybody.

I never... I would never.

_

You're a horrible person.

What'd it say?

I want to know what it said.

- Me, too.
- Just eat.

Can I read it?

You are a horrible person.

Ain't I?

All right, that's
enough about the brisket.

You kids excited for the
church picnic tomorrow?

- Not really.
- I don't know.

Oh, come on.

You all saw the flier. The three "F"s:

food, fun and fellowship.

And I'm bringing

a big slab of my brisket.

That's it.

15 years in this family, and
all the time I've been nothing

but a good, supportive son-in-law.

I always treated your daughter right,

I gave you three
beautiful grandchildren.

Only thing I ever asked in
return was that damn recipe.

You're right.

Get another piece of
paper. I'll write it down.

Don't mess with me, Connie.

Get the paper before I change my mind.

You're gonna do it to
him again, aren't you?

I kind of have to.

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George, she was just fooling with you.

No, no, she's mean.

She got a black heart.

She does not.

Why do you always side with her?

Well, she is my mother.

And there it is.

There's the problem.

You should be siding with me.

- Over brisket?
- It's not just brisket.

It's the way she's been
treating me since day one.

Like I'm some kind of
loser, a booby prize.

- "Booby prize."
- What was that?

Georgie, you mind your own business.

What did I do?

What's going on?

Mom and Dad are fighting.

What about?

Brisket.

If they get a divorce, who do you think

you'll pick to live with?

Well, Mom, of course.

I want Mom. Pick again.

I thought Dad was coming.

No, he had work to do.

- What kind of work?
- I don't know. Coaching stuff.

Can't he do it after the picnic?

- No, Missy, he cannot.
- Why not?

Enough.

How come Georgie's not going?

He's grounded for eavesdropping
on me and your father.

Well, I hope he learned his lesson.

Is this about the recipe?

I bet he's mad 'cause you
always side with Meemaw.

And how would you know that?

Georgie told me.

Are you and Dad getting a divorce?

'Course not.

Well, if you do, I
want to live with you.

Sheldon, no one's getting a divorce.

But thank you, honey.

You know this all goes away

if you just give him your
recipe for the brisket.

I know.

And?

I guess it's not going away.

And I wasn't eavesdropping.

Don't worry about it.

I just don't see why I got grounded.

What are you complaining about?

You didn't want to go
to church picnic anyway.

I like complaining. I'm good at it.

I'll be right back.

Mind if I have a sip of your beer?

You mind if I dip your
head in the compost heap?

You could have just said no.

What are you doing?

Nothing! Get out of here.

You're looking for her brisket recipe.

All of a sudden you got smart?

I said get out of here.

I won't tell, I swear.

All right, help me look.

- Ooh.
- Found it?

No, this is her French toast.

You're not looking for French toast.

She does make it good, though.

Did you know she puts vanilla extract

in her whipped cream?

I did not.

Quarter teaspoon.

- Georgie?
- Yeah?

We're looking for brisket!

Cranky.

We're home.

Be cool.

I'm cool. You be cool.

Real cool.

He thought I wrote it down.

What a dope.

Seltzer...

- hair tonic.
- Hair tonic.

Need help putting the kids down?

No, thank you, I've been
taking care of them all day.

I think I can finish the job.

Oh, come on, don't do that.

Don't do what?

Never mind.

Just so you know, Sheldon and Missy won

the three-legged race
because she told him

a bee was chasing
them, and you missed it.

I'm sorry, I-I just needed
a break from your mother.

Yeah, well, you took a
break from your family.

How long is this feud
between you two gonna go on?

That's up to her.

You are both such...

stubborn... donkey butts!

Missy!

Go to bed.

You don't know it's me.

Hey.

What do you want?

Don't be that way.

I brought you a cold one.

Thanks.

I still don't like you.

Would this change your feelings?

Is that it?

The Holy Grail.

What changed your mind?

You not going to the picnic today,

that hurt Mary and the twins.

I cannot have that on my heart.

- Is that so?
- Absolutely.

Look me in the eye and tell me

this is the actual recipe.

George, what you have in your hand

is the exact step-by-step instructions

on how to make my brisket.

I have never written it
down until tonight because...

I was afraid someone might steal it.

But I'm entrusting this to you,

and I hope that someday,
when the time is right,

you will see fit to share
it with one of your children.

Connie, I don't know what to say.

Don't call me Connie.

Call me Mom.

Thanks, Mom.

You're welcome, son.

Mmm.

What a dope.

The next morning, my dad embarked

on a doomed quest to
make the perfect brisket.

Can I help you?

Matter of fact, you can.

I need 12 pounds of prime
Angus with a medium deckle,

ideally slaughtered in the
spring, no later than mid-June.

For the spice rub,

Meemaw had him drive to New Orleans

to buy ground coffee
from Caf� Du Monde,

and seven ounces of something
called "holy ghost root"

from a voodoo woman named Madam Laveau.

Could you grind my root for me?

I-I'm-a... I'm-a rub it on brisket.

Then back home, he applied the spice rub

with such erotic tenderness,

it made my mother a little jealous.

Finally, the cooking began.

14 hours of cooking.

And basting.

And spritzing.

And tending to the fire.

Until it was finally
time to let the meat rest.

Oh...

Rest, my darling.

Rest.

Mmm. This Caf� Du Monde
coffee is very good.

They make it with chicory.

And what does it do to the brisket?

Oh, I have no idea.

Then why did you send George
all the way to New Orleans?

Well, they don't sell this around here.

Mmm.

Here we go.

15 years and 14 hours later.

Best brisket in Texas.

Connie, you evil bitch!

It's smoother than regular coffee.

That wasn't the recipe.

You looked me in the
eye, and you lied to me.

Oh, Mom.

You broke into my home
and tried to steal it.

Oh, George.

You told her we went over there?

Oh, George Jr.

I didn't say nothing. I was cool.

I am loving this.

I don't want this woman
in my house anymore.

- She is my mother.
- She is the devil.

And what if the kids want to see her?

Fine.

Schedule it for when I'm not here.

Or when I'm dead.

And quit drinking my coffee.

Turn off your train, we've got to talk.

About what?

Mom is so upset about Dad and Meemaw,

she might want a divorce.

No one's getting divorced.

How do you know?

Great, now I have to throw that out.

Mother-in-laws are always held
in low regard by the father.

It rarely leads to a
breakup of the family.

He's right.

Fred and Wilma are
still happily married.

I think if we can figure out

a way for Dad to get
Meemaw's brisket recipe,

this all goes away.

I don't see how we can accomplish that.

Put that down.

That's not a toy.

Sure it is.

Choo choo.

Choo choo...

Choo choo.

Open wide, Moonpie.

Here comes the choo choo train.

Choo choo.

Mmm. Isn't that good?

That's Meemaw's famous brisket.

Would you like the secret recipe?

You promise not to tell anybody?

Of course you're not gonna tell anybody.

I start with a tablespoon of cumin,

and then a cup of brown sugar, and...

I know the recipe.

What?

She told it to me.

When?

February 14, 1982.

I was 23 months old,
it was Valentine's Day,

and Mom and Dad went out for dinner.

You were there. Don't you remember?

I got nothing.

You can really remember
when you were that little?

Uh-huh. You were there, too.

You were still struggling
with potty training.

I don't think so.

Oh, yes. Meemaw used to
call you Mr. Soggy Pants.

Nuh-uh.

Mr. Soggy Pants.

Quit it. This is serious.

Sheldon, you've got to
tell Dad that recipe.

But Meemaw told me it was a secret.

If you don't, and Mom and Dad
get a divorce, it's your fault.

All right.

Fine.

Good job, Soggy Pants.

Dad, could you please
come into the living room?

What for?

My brain did something impressive

and I'd like to share it with you.

Hmm.

What are you doing here?

Same as you.

I want to see what his brain did.

Please have a seat.

All right.

Well?

I know Meemaw's brisket recipe.

What?

No, you don't.

Yes, I do.

And in order to bring
peace to this family,

I'm prepared to make it public.

You're bluffing.

One tablespoon of cumin,

one cup of brown sugar,

two tablespoons of smoked paprika...

Okay, okay, stop.

No, no, no. Keep going.

How do you know the recipe, Shelly?

Meemaw told it to me on
Valentine's Day, 1982.

You were out with Dad
seeing Cannonball Run

at the dollar theater.

That's impossible, you
weren't even two years old.

Three tablespoons of dried mustard,

one cup of Lone Star beer...

Okay.

Okay.

Go ahead.

Give it to your father.

I can write it down for you.

That's okay, I don't want it.

You have got to be kidding me.

Connie, you've had every opportunity

to give me that recipe
and you never did,

because you've always
treated me like an outsider.

No, she has not.

Oh, of course I have.

See? She admits it.

Damn right, I do.

Never thought you were
good enough for my daughter.

There you were, riding around
on that dumb motorcycle,

knocking her up.

Why don't you kids go in the kitchen

and fix yourselves some ice cream?

I'm not going anywhere.

Hey. I get it.

I have a daughter.

I wouldn't want her bringing
home someone like that.

But I've come a hell of
a long way since then.

Okay, you're right.

George.

I'm sorry.

That means more to me than any recipe.

Come here.

Don't let the hug fool you.

The minute she went home, he
made me give him the recipe.

Here we go, maiden voyage.

Mmm, mmm.

Hot damn.

Hot damn.

Hot damn!

George! Language.

Sheldon.

Want some?

Uh, no, thank you. I'm not hungry.

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