Original subtitles

Sarah Boone's house finally sold.

It's so cute. I'm surprised it was on the market for so long.

I bet Sarah Boone's ghost is haunting the place.

She did die under mysterious circumstances.

She was 98.

Ripped from this world in her prime.

98 is no one's prime.

-Oh, look. -They're here!

Oh, what?

Who would tear down that beautiful old craftsman house?

-New York. -What?

Couple moving down from New York City.

-Whoa! -New York City?

Yes, yes, yes, yes!

Praying to Debbie Harry actually works. Yes!

I wonder what they're gonna build over there.

Probably something with a stoop.

New Yorkers love stoops.

I hope they don't build a skyscraper

that'll block our prime view of the water tower.

Will Sarah Boone's ghost even fit in that house?

We may have a Stuart Little scenario on our hands.

Let's go say hi to our new mouse neighbors.

Wait. We can't go now.

We don't have anything to take 'em.

-Damn it! -So?

Violet, you can't go over to meet new neighbors

without bringing a homemade dish.

It's the number-one rule of Southern hospitality.

Oh, grab those little fried pies I got at the gas station.

Gas station pies?

Take 'em out of the wrapper, put fork marks on the top,

throw 'em in a little basket,

and cover them with a cutesy towel.

They'll never know the difference.

I guess that would look nice.

Sorry, junk basket.

Oh, my Lord, that's so cute,

Joanna Gaines could sell it!

Virginia, Jackie, your order's up!

You want me to get it?

-Ugh. This place is gonna kill me.

Hub, I swear to God, I'm gonna shove that bell up your...

Sorry. I'm on edge.

Did you hear this place might be closing?

-What?! -No way.

This place is the best.

Is it 'cause of the sinkhole?

Yup. It's spreading, too.

I hope those people finish their dinner real quick.

If the owners can't raise money for the repairs,

they're gonna have to cut their losses and move in

with their adult son in Morehead City.

But, Meemaw, what about your job?

Oh, I'll find something.

Just got to find a place that'll put up

with me and your Uncle Tommy.

-Tommy! I told you,

-don't play near the sinkhole!

Meemaw is never gonna be able to find another job.

She's lucky this place will put up with her and Uncle Tommy.

I wish I could come up with the money to save this place.

Think, Wayne! Think!

You cannot let her lose this job.

Think! Think! Where will I get a bunch... of... cash?

Uh, Wayne.

Wait. This is a huge moment.

We are about to meet a couple of real live New Yorkers.

Oh. Do I open with a reference to Jean-Michel Basquiat

or lament the fact that CBGBs became an Anthropologie?

Quick. Can you tell I'm cool without caring?!

Vi, are you having a nervous toot?

I am not farting.

I'm visualizing what I want

from our fabulous New York neighbors.

She's a museum curator,

and he's a documentarian specializing in the synth-based

scores that broadened the appeal of '70s Italian horror.

They make a film about me that's wordless.

It's shown at her museum's annual gala to rave reviews

in the Daily News and tepid reviews in the New York Post.

Vi, that's an awful lot to expect

just 'cause they're from New York.

Besides, here's what's really gonna happen.

He's a renowned choreographer,

and she's a renowned choreographer.

They catch me doing a simple dance move,

and they are blown away. They open

a Fame school of the arts with me as their star pupil.

Fame? More like lame.

Here's what I'm picturing.

He's a mob kingpin and she's his hot-ass goomah.

I teach 'em how the game works in Greenpoint,

and let's just say they're very appreciative.

Soon they're paying me tribute.

And anyone who crosses me ends up in the bottom of the ocean

wearing a pair of cement Ug-gugs.

Hey, hey, hey. We're whittling.

Yes, we just took up whittling.

Oh... kay.

-Anyway, we just... Oh! Aah! My fingertip.

Wow. I'm worse at this than I remember.

How can we be this bad?

Yeah, I thought this game was for babies.

Oh.

I'm not trying to be rude.

I just actually thought this was one of those,

like, learning games for toddlers or something.

I mean, it's holes and beanbags.

How much skill does it take?

I shouldn't tell y'all this, but I know a legendary

cornhole guy can teach you.

But he gave up holing years ago,

and he's real reluctant to come out of retirement.

Wait. Is it you?

No.

He doesn't live far from here,

but I can't say anything else.

Don't make me.

Okay, we won't.

Are you deaf? I said he likes his privacy.

Here's his address.

It's walkable.

-But leave him alone!

Uh, you sure you don't want a Band-Aid?

Oh, no, we don't do anything single-use.

We only generate a third of a cup of garbage a day.

Well, now that we've found your fingertip, I'm Jenny,

and this is my mom Betty and my daughter Violet.

We just came by to say hi.

Oh, my God, that is so Southern. Sam, did you hear?

We just came by to say hi.

It is so precious.

Hi, you'ins.

Huh. Is that what I sound like?

Uh, you know, I think it's "y'all," not "you'ins,"

so wouldn't it be, um...

"I don't sou-yund like tha-yut, y'all"?

I don't sou-yund like tha-yut, y'all.

-I don't sou-yund like tha-yut. -You'ins. No.

-Y'all. Y'all. -Is it "y'all"?

-You know what? You place it in the jaw. Where do you

-keep your record collection? -She's been really excited

about New Yorkers moving in. We all have.

-We were done with New York. -So done.

Wh-Wh-Why?

-It's all so corporate. -Congested.

-Plastic. -Crate and Barrel.

Yes. That's good. Plastic. So sick of it.

Oh. I almost forgot, we brought you these.

Look at this. What are these... little...

pies? -They are. Oh, my God.

-Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. -Mmm. Mmm.

Sam, you know who would love these? Hadassah and Tony.

Oh, my God, yes. That's Hadassah Singh and Tony LaBianci,

our neighbors from 4G.

He's a documentarian, she's a museum curator.

Oh, come on.

And Trudie and Rodrick.

Trudie Hadid and Rodrick Feinstein.

They teach at the, uh, LaGuardia School.

You know, the Fame school?

They almost moved down here, too, to find new talent,

but we talked them out of it.

Oh, you're kidding me.

Oh, also, our friend Big Paulie.

He-He's in sanitation, but we all know what that means. Wink!

-Unbelievable. -Lucky you'ins.

Looks like y'all are stuck with us.

Oh, my finger just fell off. Sam?

Sam?!

Let's see what this cornhole Mr. Miyagi's all about.

Go away!

Uh, try knocking again.

Oh, for Pete's sake.

Fine! Since you refuse to leave,

I have no choice but to train you.

Hello. Leslie and Sam.

-Good Lord!

Hello?

Well, howdy, y'all.

Is the emphasis on the "yah" or the "all"?

-It's just one syllable less. Y'all. -Yah-all.

Y'all. Just... y'all.

We just wanted to stop by and thank you again for those pies.

We could taste generations of Southern tradition.

So authentic.

We want to send some to our friends back in New York.

Could we possibly maybe ask you to make a few more?

-Oh, gosh. I don't know. -I don't think so.

We would pay you, of course. How's 20 bucks for a pie?

Well, howdily doodily, and a possum on a length of rope.

We'd be much obliged, y'all!

Violet, hand me that old pie.

You guys, are we really doing this? Plagiarizing food?

Violet, hush. This is grown-up business.

-Oh, hell no! -Release that pie, virgin!

The game was perfect.

Jenny and I hit every gas station

from Greenpoint to Charlotte.

Word started to spread, and the money came rolling in.

And then we hit the jackpot.

Great news. Your pies have made us famous.

We convinced New York Times food critic Alan Thatt

to come here in person to do an entire spread about us

and you and your pies that we discovered.

This is huge.

Feel the bag, its character.

How it sags, how it spills over the side.

Cradle the bag.

Adjust the bag.

Become one with the bag.

That's excellent, Wayne.

N-N-Now, now hold Travis's bag.

How are your bags different?

-N-Now, Travis, hold Wayne's bag again. I'm sorry.

Is this gonna be all about cupping each other's bags?

When do we get to the holes?

There. A hole. May we proceed?

Um, Houston, we're gonna need a bigger hole.

You don't think that hole's big enough? Interesting.

♪ Cornhole ♪

♪ Get in the game, sink in that sack ♪

♪ If you fall down, then you climb right back ♪

♪ Eyes on the prize, get in the hole ♪

♪ Don't you back down till you reach that goal ♪

♪ 'Cause it's a cornhole journey ♪

♪ There's only winners and the losers on gurneys ♪

♪ Yeah, it's a cornhole journey ♪

♪ Don't mess around, 'cause that mess ain't furny ♪

♪ Yeah! ♪

-You. You. You're the man. -No, man, that's you, man, all you.

-No, no. You. You the man. -Stop, stop.

you never celebrate.

Victory goes to the humble.

Ad nu lapa crionis.

That's the most important rule.

Now we do it all again...

-but wetter.

Whoa.

Why does it look like a Cracker Barrel

exploded in our house?

Because we have to look the part, Vi.

Exactly. Jenny 'N Betty's Sweet-Hart Pies

are made by America's darlings, the Hart Sisters...

In their adorably cluttered Southern home,

where the old ways live on

and the younger, hotter sister Betty

often plays the banjo.

What the...? No way.

You're perpetuating the stereotype

of the dumb, simple Southerner. I'm out.

Shut up and put this on, or I'm gonna tan your hide.

Hey, y'all. Well, bless my stars, and I might die.

Come on in. Alan Thatt,

as I live and breathe.

And this here is my daughter Violet.

Violet, why don't you give these lovely folks a chin-wag?

-Howdy. -Oh!

Look-a-look who's here. Good night, I reckon.

♪ Well, lemme tell you a little story 'bout a gal named Betty ♪

♪ In case you haven't guessed ♪

-♪ That's me ♪

♪ Taught about bakin' from a little old lady ♪

♪ Yep, that was my grammy so sweet ♪

♪ But, of course, soon enough, some hookers got jealous ♪

♪ 'Cause I kept feeding all the hungry, hot fellas ♪

♪ They tried to take me down, but they couldn't compete ♪

♪ With my flaky hot pie and my juicy butt meats ♪

♪ Now here's a list of my ugly enemies ♪

-Mother, Mother, Mother! -♪ There's Crystalynn and Bobbie Nell ♪

♪ And Clara from Quiznos and Stephanie from Quiznos ♪

♪ And this lady at Kohl's who won't honor my coupons ♪

♪ I hope she dies of genital herpes. ♪

-Mother! -That was wonderful.

I am in awe. Thank you, Betty.

Hey, Alan,

I got a great idee while I was skipping frogs

out on yonder creek.

Y'all should get some photos of Ma and Gram actually making

them there pies.

I love that. We'll capture them

in their stupidly simple country kitchen.

-Hi. I'm Joe Buck

here with Erin Andrews,

and we are literally being forced to do this.

That's right, Joe. Well, the boards are waxed,

and the bags have been weighed.

Our teams today represent bars all over North Carolina.

We've got the team from It's Vine O'Clock Somewhere,

Mary Elizabeth Covington's Cigar Emporium,

Unz-Unz Nightclub,

and newcomers this year, playing to save their bar,

the team from Tipsy River.

I thought Tipsy River got eaten by a sinkhole.

Only most of it, Erin.

And I'm so sad that I know that.

And there's the dangerous indoor starting gun.

-You are unbeatable. All you, bro. -No, you are, bro.

You're a beast.

-Yeah! Yeah! -Yeah! Yeah!

-Yeah! -Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!

Remember, the humbler the warrior,

the greater the victory.

Don't let your confidence sink your chances

into the hole of hubris.

Est non libre don carta brevis.

Yeah, yeah, I got it.

Oh, my hand! My throwing hand.

Pride cometh before the fall.

Oh, and who was it that said, "Mark my words,

we'll never need medics at a cornhole tourney"?

Was that you, Joe Buck?

That was me, Erin.

I have no idea how to make a friggin' pie.

Who do I look like, P.F. Chang?

Yeah, and who am I? Gordon Ramses?

Well, okay, then. I guess we should...

-...start... -...with...

...a prayer.

Yes. Everyone, close your eyes.

Dear Lord,

way up high in the sky,

not even a speck to the naked eye,

show us

the miracle of pie.

And, Lord...

-Amen.

I'm just gonna look for a pie dish.

Thanks, Violet.

Ah, well, you know what?

I can't find my lucky rolling pin.

Here it is.

Thank you.

Oh, no. We're completely out of flour.

Mother, let's just do this. How hard can it be?

Perfect. Now we let it cool.

And once we break off the char, the inside pie

is gonna be a taste of heaven.

You know you got a good pie when you got to get through

a big ole chunk of char.

Guys, just fess up.

Okay, Vi. You're right.

Here's the truth. The God's honest truth.

And the truth is...

We're blind.

Mother, we don't have to pretend no more.

You are so brave for saying it.

Let me feel your perfect smile.

Just tell them.

Fine! We buy these pies at a gas station.

-What am I, a debutante?

At home eating bonbons while my husband works on Wall Street?

We don't have all the time in the world

to learn how to make pies.

Y'all got so much time, you even write

about other people making pies.

What kind of New York crap is that?

You fed us pies from a gas station?

-But you liked 'em. -Yeah, we saw it. You liked 'em.

You dragged me down to this humid dog patch of a town

so that I could eat mass-produced gas station pies?

You're gonna make me look like a fraud.

As they say in New York,

hey, I'm crying here.

You country-ass bastards.

Guys, wait. Hang on.

Look, I'm sorry, okay?

You two are just a couple big old tubs of Country Crock,

y'all.

Yeah, we thought you were real Southerners

like in the documentary Steel Magnolias.

That's not a documentary.

-You're frauds, "yawl."

You're not saying it right.

Well, apparently, you're not saying it right, either, "yawl."

-It's "y'all." -"Yawl."

-"Y'all"! Just "y'all"!

"Yawl." I know how to say it. "Yawl."

-No, you don't, y'all. -"Yawl."

-"Y'all!" -"Yawl."

"Y'all."

My mom was a single working mother.

We didn't have time to make pies.

I grew up on boxed macaroni and cheese

and French bread pizzas.

Can I tell you something? I love a French bread pizza.

I used to put boxed macaroni and cheese

on the French bread pizza.

Don't tell Alan Thatt.

I can't let Meemaw down.

Give me a bag.

I'll throw goofy-handed.

Wayne,

you've shown your mettle.

I want you to use my bags

for your final throw.

I've never let another man handle my bag.

Wayne Edwards throwing lefty now for the final hole,

the famed Hole of Glory.

Let the hole swallow the bag.

Do you believe in miracles?

That's been used, Erin.

But I don't believe what I just saw.

That's my grandson.

Thank you, baby. Tipsy River's saved!

I can keep working until I die of old age.

Mmm, yum, yum!

What is that?! Mmm.

Is this his first time eating food?

This restaurant will receive my highest rating.

The Last Supper is...

All Thatt.

It's a sticker for your front window.

I love it.

Sam, Leslie, all of New York is gonna know

-about your special find. -Thanks...

-y'all? -You got it right.

-♪ Well ♪ -♪ Well ♪

♪ Lemme tell you a li'l story 'bout a gal named Betty ♪

-♪ In case you haven't guessed, that's me ♪ -♪ That's her ♪

♪ She was taught about baking from a little old lady ♪

-♪ Yes, it was my grammy so sweet ♪ -♪ So sweet. ♪

♪ But, of course, soon enough, some hookers got jealous ♪

♪ 'Cause I kept feeding all the hungry, hot fellas ♪

♪ They tried to take you down, but they couldn't compete ♪

♪ With your flaky hot pie and your juicy butt meats ♪

♪ Now let me tell ya about some real dummies who suck ♪

♪ They're just bitter, they're saggy dump trucks ♪

♪ There's Crystalynn, who's dry as the Sahara ♪

♪ And Bobbie Nell and this bitch named Clara. ♪

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH