“Boy, you could bottle and sell this salsa!” said my husband.

We were sitting on the deck eating dinner. The sun was shining, our kids were out playing in the yard and we were eating simple hand-held beef tacos topped with my savory and sweet summer salsas that force you to eat with your head tilted to the side so you don’t miss anything.

“Yeah, mom, this is the BEST thing you’ve ever made!” my daughter added.

Really? The BEST thing I’ve ever made? I felt my nose crinkle and mouth twist like the Church Lady from those old Saturday Night Live sketches

“Well isn’t that special?” I heard myself say in my head.

What about all the Thanksgiving extravaganzas? What about the pot roasts? The perfectly cooked Copper River Salmon? The amazing cookies and cakes I’ve lovingly baked? My stews and soups? What about…

In my mind, the list went on and on.

Out of all the things I’ve served and been proud of, this simple salsa was, well, too simple. It was too easy, too pedestrian. There was not a lot of technique. The food processor really deserved the bulk of the credit.

But every cook loves to make people happy. That’s what we say, right?

“I love to cook because I love to feed my family and friends and make people happy!” I hear myself saying all the time.

And so isn’t it ironic when people really gush over something simple you just “threw together” and barely a whisper of gratitude over a meal you’ve really poured your heart into?

What about that coconut cream pie I made down to the coconut flakes in the homemade dough?

But as I sat there quietly watching my family enjoy my tacos it was hard to deny the obvious. Why is it so hard to just graciously take the compliment?

If the point of cooking is to bring sustenance and joy to others through a delicious meal, why does it matter what it is? Why isn’t something simple worthy of being the best thing?

If the point of cooking is to bring joy to people through my food, then why do all those “not good enough” scenes from meals gone past that were slaved over haunt me like the “Ghost of Culinary Past” as the home cook quietly waits with baited breath (and, probably, flour on her flushed cheeks) for the long awaited, beautiful praise for the dishes she has meticulously perfected?

But I’ve learned that cooking for me is just as much about giving to others as it is learning about myself.

And watching my family devour and enjoy the savory and sweet salsa — a simple and fun way to add a complex depth of flavor, zing, and pizazz to other dishes — is a reminder of what’s important.

I understand we’re talking about salsa here, but really the lesson translates to anything.

Getting a million compliments on an outfit you just threw together and getting your nose bent out of shape for not getting a compliment on the “perfect” outfit you spent way too much money on.

There are always those reminders in cooking, as in life, that often times the simple is better than the over-processed, over-scheduled and over-glitzed. Simple just is. And if we look a little deeper, it has as much heart and value as the complex and expensive.

So I started thinking about my salsa making.

For one thing it has evolved over the past couple years. I was tentative at first, until I realized the forgiving nature of salsa: too much of any one ingredient means you up the ante on the others to find the right balance for your palate.

Which is where I discovered that salsa, like life, screams out for you to make it your own.

So I did. I started off making the traditional tomato-based salsa, infusing it with flavors I love, the herbaceous freshness of truckloads of cilantro, Vidalia sweet onions, white onions, enough squeezed sour limes to make your lips pucker, cumin, jalapeno and the addition of that spicy shrewd shallot that, shows up like a character actor ready to pack a punch to the rest of the ensemble cast. There’s also loads of minced garlic, garlic salt, a pinch of sugar to help balance the acid and the spice.

I had such a great time making my savory salsa that I had to work on a sweet version for grilled seafood, tacos, nachos and, well, everything: Precisely cut mangoes, sweet and sour apple, pineapple, cilantro, red onion, more limes, shallot, garlic and salt. Then, last summer, I decided to work some magic with a sweet salsa for grilled seafood.

Making salsa is a real practice in patience and knife skills.

These are basic ingredients, but when I pick them out, I smell the cilantro, I feel the mangoes for ripeness, I look for the garlic in the farmer’s market that still has the dirt on the strings, I choose the freshest and I do so with intention.

As I got “out of my head” and rejoined my family on the deck, it felt better than good to tilt my head and take a bite of my salsa-infused beef tacos, munching away the flavors popped, and so did the reminder that there are no greater lessons than the simple ones.

Give these a try, but don’t feel obligated to stick exactly to the recipes. Remember: make your salsa your own.

For Carolyn’s ‘Pippimamma’s Pineapple, Mango, Apple Salsa’ recipe, please visit www.rentonreporter.com.