I decided not to eat the skin on my baked chicken. I know in my head that the skin is not good for me, but in my heart, I love skin. I even like the crispy skin on grilled fish. It was a real hardship not to eat that skin. But I prevailed. I won't tell
you that when I went back to the kitchen, I licked the herbs off of that skin. That was enough to make me not feel deprived. I do love fat. Now that I think about it, so did my father. Give me a steak with a border of fat and I will show you a happy eater.
You will never see a border of fat left on my plate. It must be in my genes.Like father, like daughter. I don't think that I passed this on to my children. They don't know what they are missing.