The Goldbergs (2013–…): Season 7, Episode 9 - The Beverly Goldberg Cookbook: Part 2 - full transcript

Back in the '80s, America got in shape,

and that meant getting fit
and eating right.

So every chef started
becoming health-conscious,

except Chef Beverly Goldberg.

For my growing schmoopaloo,
my famous lasagna burger bomb.

Wow! I can't believe
no one's ever thought

to use lasagna as a bun before.

She was always inventing
new caloric cuisine.

For Pops, my triple-meat ziti surprise.

And the surprise is,

the lamb really brings out
the beef and chicken.



But that was nothing compared
to what she made my dad.

And for my handsome man of the house,

salad made just the way you like it...

A deli tray of cold cuts
and cheeses, zero veggies,

served in a bowl of buttermilk ranch.

You see? Salads don't have to be boring.

That is, by definition, not a salad.
Words have meaning!

Yeah, my mom's cookbook
chronicled some of

the least-healthy recipes known to man.

Strangely, no publishers wanted it.

These rejection letters
are so hurtful and specific.

"A dietary Vietnam"? "Pure poison"?

"A culinary kick to the crotch!"

On the bright side, getting mail is fun.



And these are from the crappy,
independent publishers

that make nonsense like textbooks

and Bibles for children.

Still, all those "no" s
didn't diminish her love of cooking.

Or our love of eating.

And save room for dessert,
'cause Mama made her signature

upside-down chocolate
peanut butter cheesecake.

There's no top or bottom to it,

so I'm just going right for the middle.

You know, Dave Kim's family

all go for a walk after dinner.

If you can walk afterwards,
you're doing it wrong.

Talk fast,

I got a flip-flopped cake coming my way.

Cookbook publisher?

We don't need any books!
We're a TV household!

No, no, no, no, no, no,
no, no, no, no, no.

Hi. It's Beverly Goldberg.

Harrison Whitby
of Whitby and Sons Publishing.

No relation.

I'm calling about your cookbook.

Everybody shut up right now.

But nobody's saying anything.

I will drown you in that damn cake

if you don't shut your dumb, fat mouth!

How can I help you, Mr. Whitby?

I think I can help you.

You see, every cookbook
that comes across my desk

is low-fat this, no-sugar that.

But yours...

Yours is not concerned
with health in any way.

Well, that's because I disregard

the most basic dietary guidelines.

And that's exactly why
I want to publish it.

Holy [bleep],
Holy [bleep], Holy [bleep].

That's nice news.

I just need a little rewrite.

You want me to add more lard,
butter, and salt to the recipes?

Uh, it'll kill people, but I'll do it.

No. I just need the stories
behind the recipes.

Tell me where they came from.
Make it personal.

Oh, I can do that.

People are always telling me,

"I know way too much about you!"

Beautiful. No rush.

Just get it to me in 48 hours.

- Bevy, who was that?
- Destiny.

How the hell did she get this number?

They're gonna publish my cookbook!

Oh, how about that?

Anything is possible!

I deserve everything
that's coming to me.

You really do, Bevy.

I'll make sure to save a spot
on my bookshelf.

Ooh, that's a good idea.
I need to make some room, too.

I'm an author!

♪ I'm twisted up inside ♪

♪ But nonetheless,
I feel the need to say ♪

Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx
www.addic7ed.com

♪ I don't know the future ♪

♪ But the past keeps getting
clearer every day ♪

It was December 4th, 1980-something.

Barry and Erica were college roommates,

and it was amazing...

How little they got along.

You are an idiot!
And I'm talking medically.

How dare you? I'm pre-med.

I'd be the first to know
if I was an idiot.

Then where are the car keys?

'Cause they're supposed to be
on that hook right there.

Oh, you mean my back-scratchin' hook?

Works better when the keys
don't rip up my shoulder meat.

There you go.

You did it, Hooky. You did it.

Yep, they'd lived
together their whole lives,

but sharing a dorm room
was a whole different story.

Did you eat my ramen?

Yeah. I didn't want to walk to the caf,

so I snagged one of your
hot and spicy beefs.

But that's my feast from the East!

And you should probably know that I also

drained your last Mountain Dew.

My morning Dew?

That's how I rev up for the day!

Do you have any respect
for society's norms?

Somehow they'd managed to keep
it civil the whole semester...

Until one fateful night.

Oh, my God, Big Tasty!

You're destroying the world
record in 110-meter hurdles!

He's the Carl Lewis of
pressing red and blue buttons

- with his feet!
- It's happening!

Big Tasty's gonna finally
take the gol... No!

Oopsy, was this thing connected to that?

My bad. Get out.

- Yeah, okay.
- Sorry.

Whoa! JTP, you do not
have to listen to her.

Actually, Tasty, we do.

It's the law of older siblings...

They get the final say on everything.

That's not a law.

I would know.

- Could've been the son of a lawyer.
- It is.

Thanks to my older bro,
I'm always the one who dealt it,

regardless of who smelt it.

And my older sister
decided to take my room.

So now I sleep on the couch.

Why not take her old room?

And have her take it back?

No. I'm not jumping on that carousel.

My sister gets priority on all
my mom's love and affection.

No one cares about your tragic
home life, Matt Bradley.

I want to run on a plastic mat!

Well, we all have stories.

I'll get the door for you.

JTP, I demand you stay.

- Sorry, Tasty.
- Big sis rules.

Behind this smile is pain.

Don't worry, Bar. I'm staying.

A man of courage.

Oh, you misread that.
I-I'm not here for you.

I-I get to stay because
it's Erica's will.

This is not fair!

We're both freshmen!

We're technically equals!

He does have a point, angelface.

Whoa, whoa, whose side
are you on, Schwartz?

Sorry, Big Tasty. Erica's threatening
tone was new information.

Geoffrey "Mad Man" Schwartz,

how many times have I saved your life?

- None?
- I would've if you weren't

so boring and risk-averse.

I'm not comfortable being
in the middle of this.

You will be in the middle of this.
It's decided.

As a neutral third party,
you will establish

a system of rules to stop
our petty squabbling.

That sounds like a nightmare!

I'm good with it. But just
remember who hugs and kisses you.

Oh, well, there's plenty
of that to go around.

Come on!

Get in there. Come on.

Doing all the work. Come on. My guy.

As Geoff was caught
in the middle of Barry and Erica,

my mom was at the end
of her big rewrite.

Schmoo, feast your delicious boy eyes

on 400 pages of scrumptious
family history.

Wow, this has...

So many words.

Most not about food.

And who is that sturdy fella?

That's your great-aunt Esther.

Why two eye patches?

This is a funny story.

Uh, she was dragged by a
horse through the town.

That is funny.

Until the reins finally got stuck

in a tree branch, and the
horse fell on top of her.

So, of course, they shot it.

And why would you put that
in a book about food?

Because the next day, she
made a delicious horse stew.

I changed it to lamb because
some people can be stuffy.

And she must've had to make
a lot since she had 14 kids.

No, no. As I indicated here
next to the ingredients,

uh, only six of them lived.

Disease, war, winter, famine.

Seven of them were just
stomped to death.

And you put that right here
in a book about food.

So, you clearly know what you're doing.

Would you mind reading the whole thing,

and telling me what you think
before I send it in?

I think I get it.

A horse drags a lady,

pancake dippers, a cousin gets stomped.

You got yourself a winner, lady.

This is the only publisher
who's shown any interest,

and if he doesn't like it,
I don't know what I'll do.

I guess I could...

Thank you.

While I was dragged like Aunt Esther

into reading my mom's cookbook,

Geoff was pulled
between Barry and Erica.

Okay, so you're both holding the binders

that I stayed up all night creating

with the guidelines in order to
keep this room safe and fun.

These are so stupid.
And I want the blue one.

You'll find it details solutions
to all of your living issues.

Oh, so many words and tabs!

Just tell your loudmouth
girlfriend to stop being so bossy.

I will punch your head while you sleep.

Joke's on you. My skull is crazy-jacked.

Guys, no punching...
Asleep or otherwise.

In here, you'll find clear instructions
on how to share everything.

- Like the mini-fridge.
- No way.

I promised my perishables a safe haven.

You put your sheets in there.

You know I run hot!

It's the dead of winter, barfbag!

You should really get
your circulation checked.

Already did.

It's a trouble area, like you.

Enough. Consult your binders.
I'm not your referee.

Wait, that's it.

You're our referee... Our Geoff-er-ee.

It works 'cause it's your name
and also your new job.

I'm not staying here full-time
to mediate every fight,

conflict, or disagreement.

It would work better than
these crappy binders.

Yeah. Swing and a miss, hon.

You didn't even open them.

We've moved on from
your embarrassing binders.

- You should, too.
- You know us.

We can't be trusted to follow the rules.

And every moment
is touch-and-go with me.

And I'm no day at the beach, either.

I-I know I don't have a lot going on...

- Like nothing.
- I'm secretly worried.

Then it's settled.

Geoffrey will be the arbiter
of everything that happens

within these seven walls.

- Seven?
- And it starts now!

Excuse me while I clip my angry,
jagged toenails on Erica's bed.

Geoff-er-ee?

Bar, maybe that's a bathroom task?

Hmm. That's an interesting fix.

Thanks, Geoff-er-ee.

Wow. You are really making up
for that binder fiasco.

As Geoff was playing referee,

I was looking for some coaching

on how to deal with my mom's cookbook.

Dude, your mom's book is a horror show!

I know, Dave Kim.

So much tragedy has
befallen your people.

I can't un-read these things, man!
I'm different now.

I know, Dave Kim.

How are you gonna tell her
she can't submit this?

I don't know, Dave Kim!

I just need to find some way
to break it to her

so she doesn't hate me
when I destroy her dream!

Yep, I had no idea what I'd tell my mom,

until I saw Doc Katman give
a master class in bad news.

Johnny, I just want to say
Rush rules, and so do you.

True, and true.

You're a good dude, dude.

So are you, Johnny.

But that said, you haven't turned in

one assignment all semester, so...

You're going to flunk again.

Oh, no! The wind's out of my sails!

Luckily, you're a badass,
so you can take it.

Whoa. You just devastated
me with your words,

but I feel great about it!

Thanks, Doc Whoever-You-Are!

- Hmm.
- Doc, I don't get it.

You gave Johnny Atkins
life-destroying news,

and he thanked you for it. How?

It's all about the compliment sandwich.

Compliment sandwich?

You simply wedge your
criticism, AKA the meat,

in between two compliments,
AKA the bread.

Yes! That was the answer!

Now, I just had to make my
mom a compliment sandwich.

- There he is!
- Gah!

Were you just waiting
for me at the door?

Well, yes, but only for hours.

Now, tell me, tell me, tell me
how much you loved it.

I'll start you off.

"It was perfect."

I-I hear people saying that...
Like you, right now.

And I also want to add...
You did it, girl.

Yeah, well, what
about my writing, my stories?

Were they everything
you thought, and more?

Oh, so much more.

- You did it, girl!
- You said that already. Get to it.

Well, I had given
her the top slice of bread.

I guess it was time for the meat.

I hated it hard. Change every word.

Excuse me?

But wait, before you get upset...

You did it, girl.

What are you saying to me?

Oh, balls! My sandwich sucked!

I cooked you in my lady kitchen.

You were my greatest dish,
and this is how you treat me?

I wasn't really thinking
about your lady kitchen

when I was reading your lousy book.

Gasp of gasps!

I have clearly failed as a mother!

And as a cookbook author.

I just want you to know
that what you have done to me

is worse than any horse stomp.

Because I still have eyes to see

how my beautiful boy betrayed me.

She hated the sandwich,

so I tried one more slice of bread.

But... you did it, girl?

Barry and Erica had a new tool
to help them coexist.

Moron, where are the car keys?

And that tool was Geoff.

They're right here.
Erica, I made you your own set.

And, Barry, I attached your keys
to this cumbersome hunk of wood

that I painted in Flyers colors.

Sick!

It's like an orange nunchuck
that starts my car.

Whoa. You're killing it, Geoff-er-ee.

Yep, having a
Geoff-er-ee fixed everything...

Until three hours later.

- Ooh!
- Oh!

- What the hell?
- Yeah.

Why are they here?

'Cause our Geoff-er-ee ruled
that it was my JTP night.

But why did he allow you to throw
deadly lawn darts in the wall?

The lawn darts
were actually a compromise.

We started with a fireman's axe.

There's one on every floor.

Whatever. Everyone leave.
It's after midnight.

Nuh-uh! Night only starts when I sleep.

Geoff-er-ee, you're
supposed to be preventing

this kind of stupidity.

Sure, it's my fault for not
clearly defining day and night.

Actually, I need to be
at the Gap early anyway

to add a new level to the jean wall.

And if I don't get 12 to 14 hours
of shut-eye, I am a wreck.

I think you're struggling with
seasonal depression, bro.

- For sure.
- Now everyone shut up.

You're not going anywhere
till you see Mr. Sun.

Fine. You want the room?
Then I get the car tomorrow.

What? It's my car day!

I was gonna do fishtails
in the ShopRite parking lot!

Geoff-er-ee, throw a flag.

Again, my fault for assuming
you two would demonstrate

the most basic courtesy to each other.

Fine! Take the car.

I'm taking the computer.

Uh-uh! I have a paper due tomorrow!

That you're gonna have to write by hand.

No! Geoff, do something.

Bar, the computer's supposed
to be for doing actual work,

not to hug vindictively

so as to prevent someone
else from using it.

Well, you never specified that.

He got me. I never explicitly
said "no computer cuddling."

Gah! I'll be at the stupid library!

She walked out, and you almost died.

It's probably good
we didn't use the axe.

While Barry and Erica
were pushing Geoff to his limits,

there was no limit to how pushy
my mom could be about her book.

Hey! We're watching The Equalizer.

Now we'll never know
if things were equalized!

After receiving mixed reviews
on my masterwork,

which I took graciously,
I am now seeking feedback

that's not the demented ramblings
of a jealous teenager.

Yeah, good stuff.

If you could just shimmy
to the left a little,

then the remote can do what it does.

I need you to read it
and tell me what you think.

Why us?

Well, you're my father,
and you'd never lie to me.

And Murray will give me
an honest opinion

'cause he lacks the filter
necessary for polite society.

You make a fair point.

We'll read your overwhelming book.

And read they did...

Page after page of dour tales

and unappetizing family history.

My mom couldn't wait to hear
what they had to say.

Stunned silence is always a good sign.

But I need to hear
how much you liked it.

I liked the part where it ended.

Oh, poo, you're just
being an old grump. Dad?

There's no place for an amputation story

in a chicken piccata recipe.

Oh, no. Was Adam right?

Maybe he's not a teenage butt stain.

That sounds right.

Now, if you just scooch to your left

and then crouch down really tiny,
we're back in business.

My mom finally got
that her cookbook wasn't great,

so she brought me an apology that was.

Schmoopy, I made your favorite...

Ooey-gooey marshmallow cookie bars.

Wait, you made me
cookie bars after I told you

your life's work
was a smelly garbage fire?

- You never said those words.
- Out loud.

Well, it has come to my
attention that you may be right.

My cookbook might be
a tad heavy on death,

despair, and religious persecution.

And there was more animal
violence than I expected.

It's just my publisher really wanted me

to lean into the history of my food,

but that history is pretty damn dark.

But this cookie doesn't have
a dark history to me.

Every time I felt down,

you'd make me a pan of these,
and I always felt better.

You did?

And I think that's what
your publisher wants...

Stories about this family.

And no matter what our day
is like, when you cook,

we always find happiness on
our plates and in our hearts.

Write that!

Write that. Write that.

Aah, write it!

No way! I wouldn't know the first
thing about writing a cookbook.

You're so good at putting emotion

into your movies. Just do that.

I suppose I do know how to tug at
the heartstrings in many mediums.

Do your thing. Tug away.

And it has to be done
by tomorrow at 8:00.

While I got roped
into being my mom's ghost writer,

Barry and Erica had written
some new rules of their own.

Whoa!

Behold, Geoffrey,
our elegant tape solution.

We had to take matters
into our own hands

because you failed miserably
as a Geoff-er-ee.

So, you split the room with masking
tape, like on I Love Lucy.

And super smart shows like
Brady Bunch and The Munsters.

One teeny problem...
The door's on Erica's side.

By choice, bro!

I'll use my ninja skills
to scale the building

and enter through a window.

And after he falls and dislocates
his head, the room will be mine.

See, Geoffrey, we didn't need
you or your pathetic binders.

We just needed a roll of this.

Check it. I'm Erica.

I will put that over your
mouth while you sleep.

Then my ghost will haunt you

by farting directly into your pillow,

much like I do in
the realm of the living.

What? I hate you!

She's hitting me, Geoff!

Stay over there! Do something!

- This is all your fault, Geoff!
- Enough!

- What is wrong with you?
- Me?

I get it. You're siblings.

You're not meant to be
college roommates.

But what's worse than
the way you treat each other

is how you treat me.

Let that stupid tape solve all
your problems from now on.

I'm done.

As Geoff laid down the law,

the verdict was in on my
draft of my mom's cookbook.

- I love it.
- Oh, I knew it!

Beverly Goldberg is gonna
be a household name.

Beverly Goldberg?

Oh, no, I'm reading the wrong book.

Oh, your book. Your book is crap.

What? But I took out all the
blood and historical tragedy!

I don't know what that means.

But this right here
feels like it was written

by a sappy, sheltered simpleton.

Ouch. Kind of harsh.

Okay, who are you?

Her hyper-sensitive son
who takes her setbacks personally.

What was wrong with it?

It's a schmaltz fest!

Every word is sappy and cloying.

And why do all the recipes
end with a hug?

'Cause it's the obvious emotional
resolution the audience is craving.

Damn it, why didn't I stay
with the ethnic-cleansing,

horse-stompings version?

Because that sounds God-awful, too?

Well, what am I supposed to do?

Do better! You've got 48 hours.

You want me to rewrite that whole thing?

And why 48 hours?

To whip you into a frenzy.

All the best work comes from terror.

Have fun, now.

Mama, I'm so sorry.

I guess I went a little
heavy on the hugs.

You were just trying to help.

I know 48 hours isn't long,

but Eddie Murphy and Nick Nolte

did a ton of damage in
that time, and so will we.

- Adam, it's over.
- Why?

I always say
"I could have been a lawyer.

"I could have been an author."

But now, I know for sure...

I'm nothing.

After Barry and Erica let

their rivalry go too far,

they set aside their differences

to put a very important
relationship back together.

If you're here to have me settle
another argument, it's not happening.

We're not. We came here
to say we're sorry.

You were right.

We spent the last 18
years living together,

and clearly that wasn't
meant to extend to college.

You were also right about
the way we treated you.

It wasn't great.

The only thing we can agree
on is that you're the best.

I appreciate that, but you
guys got to figure this out.

Oh, don't worry. I think we did.

I'm moving out of the dorm,

and into the Jenkintown
Posse's Jenkintown Pad.

JTP's JTP!

None of us were loving
our living situations.

And we hang out so much together anyway.

Now, we don't have that painful
goodbye at the end of each hang.

And this way, we don't
have a screechy lady

yelling at us to keep it down.

- You get it.
- Sort of.

And check out this sick hole.

You can see the wiring and the pipes.

And there's bars on the window

because these party animals
have to be caged.

But seriously, no one should
come and go after dark.

The floor's not level, either.

Look how this bullet we found rolls.

- I think it's gonna be great.
- For all of us.

You know, when you're not my roommate,

you're a pretty good brother.

Not too bad, yourself.

I'm not sure this is the safest...

Shh! Look how happy they are.

While Barry and
Erica had closed the book

on living together,
I was encouraging my mom

to keep writing her story
as a cookbook author.

Adam, I said I was done.

You can't be!

You've always told me
my dreams are possible,

so I'm here to tell you the same thing.

I know. But we tried it my way,

and we tried it your way,
and neither was good.

But there's another way.
We do it together.

You pull back on the horror stories,

and I pull back on the schmaltz,

and then, we meet
somewhere in the middle.

You think that would work?

I know it will.

I'll get the typewriter.

Sometimes, preserving a relationship

just means adjusting the ingredients.

Well, looks like you got this
place all to yourself now.

Yeah, I'm thinking about
getting a new roommate.

I have someone in mind,
but I treated him really crappy.

What are you saying?

I'm saying that,

if you can forgive me
for being such a jerk,

I would love if you
would move in with me.

Is this really happening?

If you say "yes."

Sometimes, the
answers to all our problems

are right in front of us the whole time.

This is amazing, Mom.

And who knows?

They may even be just a phone call away.

Hello.

Oh. Hi, Mr. Whitby.

You read the rewrite?

Oh.

Uh-huh. Okay. Okay.

- Well?
- Tell us.

I'm a [bleep] cookbook author!

In the end,

you never know what life's
gonna cook up for you.

One thing's for sure...
The sweetest moments

are even better
when the people around you

are there to serve up a hug,

even if it is the obvious
emotional resolution.

_

Wow. A lot of food to eat.

_

Cheggit. My mom sent me one of
her famous honey salt pies.

Ooh, smells delish.

Let me rip into a slice.

It's funny that you say "rip,"
because this recipe

actually comes from
my great-great-uncle Harold.

Every limb of his body was ripped off

by an amateur circus bear.

Oh, my God, what?

Yeah, but don't worry.
The bear didn't kill him.

He just left him as a stump and a head.

- And that's good?
- Well, not for what comes next.

He was on top of a hill,
and lost control of

his crude homemade body wagon,
and he was thrown 100 feet

into a nearby river,
and bobbed for six miles.

Luckily, another bear came
and finished him off.

Two bears? That's the most
horrible thing I've ever heard!

Yeah, it's not great.

But bears like honey,
so grab yourself a fork.

Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx
www.addic7ed.com