Those are the words my boyfriend’s nephew said at the Father’s Day barbecue we attended at my one day, hopefully, sister-in-law’s house.

Personally, I thought they were a bit too salty, but we’re always harsher critics of our own work.

That’s right, I was given the honor of being on the grill this weekend. I loved it. I’m far from unable to socialize, after all you have to be able to talk to anyone at any time to be a journalist, but the chance to put my focus into cooking instead of focusing too much of being someone they wouldn’t be embarrassed to watch their son, brother or uncle date was a welcome change from an event with his family.

I was happy enough to have something to do, but, despite few of them ever really eating my cooking, the belief that I’m a master chef seems to be stuck in their heads. Yeah, I know my way around a kitchen. I can follow a recipe or freestyle my way through turning leftovers into something new, but I’m no iron chef.

Nonetheless, when I heard those words I knew I had done a decent job. A job made even more difficult by the gluten free needs of the two of Doug’s sisters present. I know how serious their allergies can be and paying extra attention to keeping a gluten-free side of the grill split my focus more than expected.

I’m lucky to not have much in the way of allergies in my family. My sister is lactose intolerant, but the effects are minimal and rarely stop her from having a bowl of ice cream on occasion. I’m also pretty sure there’s no amount of allergic punishment that would keep her away from cheese, but I’m getting off track.

Aside from simply adding a touch of seasoning to the burgers – salt, pepper and onion powder – I just didn’t cook them until they were hockey pucks. Having done so little and the compliment feeling so genuine made me glad that I’d pulled out all the stops on the corn.

Knowing his family doesn’t always have the most expansive pallet, even if they absolutely kill it on every dish they’ve ever cooked for me, I decided to make a slightly altered version of Mexican street corn, or elote. Of course, by slightly modified I just mean that there was no cilantro. (Yes I’m one of those people who taste soap anytime I eat it)

The corn, while absolutely delicious to me and half the others was not that well received by the rest of the guest. Thankfully, I had been prepared and grilled all the corn on its own, only adding the crema, cotija cheese and cayenne pepper to order.

As far as I could tell everyone ended up happy, even if the hungry youngsters did manage to eat the whole first batch of burgers before Doug’s father even got a chance to get one. Happy Father’s Day, am I right?