You bring the possibility of smores and bananas-stuffed-with-yummy-things-grilled-in-tin-foil for dessert. In short, you are awesome.
And although I have cited reason enough to adore you, my love for you is based largely on one fabulous fact: If you are fired up, someone else is cooking. In fact, I'm probably not even allowed near you. You are his territory, his smokin' hot baby- and if I play my cards right and act like the nights we use you are a bit of an inconvenience to me, when I relent with a little sigh he feels triumphant and loves you all the more. As do I.