One day I was waiting for a meeting at the Four Seasons [in Beverly Hills] and I noticed these beautiful ornate bottles in the mirrored cabinet behind the bar. I had my own Alice In Wonderland moment and asked, “What are they?” and the barman let me smell the special grappa in each. Now I have my own bottle kept there. It’s wonderfully potent – I love strong alcohol – but it’s something I can enjoy in a delicate little glass in the midday, when no professional wants to be seen pounding back alcohol. It gives me a lovely warm fuzzy feeling but looks classy and no one bats an eyelid.
As a girl I spent most of my time in a fantasy world and you don’t need to eat there. I enjoyed seeing all the candy in Willy Wonka, reading about the cakes and potions in Alice In Wonderland and the hunger of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. And I loved the rhymes in Dr Seuss’s Green Eggs And Ham. But actual food didn’t interest me.
I was an extremely slow eater. And because of my father’s ADHD, he was frustrated by my slow eating and very vocal about it. I sent him absolutely bananas. He was a food produce manager in a store.
We moved around a lot but the childhood kitchen I remember most is a carpeted one in our old home in Kelowna, British Columbia, with a table in the centre. My mother was a good cleaner but it’s very difficult to remove food dropped on a carpet and this one was covered with stains. Maybe we didn’t get rid of this disgusting carpet because we were poor. But I’m not squeamish. I’m the sort of person who’ll drop food on the floor and pick it up and eat it.
With puberty my appetite had finally exploded. I became extremely active and physical – soccer, weights, ice-skating, climbing. Dad would call me his Bacon Monster because I’d eat half a pound each Saturday.
At 18, I spent three weeks in the Philippines, trekking through the jungle. And I – the healthy American – wanted to eat everyone else’s food. We were being fed by people who had jungle subsistence living and would normally slaughter a boar to feed a whole community. But I wanted to eat and eat. It was the first and only time I’ve scoffed like a pig and I remember feeling a huge amount of shame. But ravenous hunger consumes you. I do find it odd when people say they wouldn’t eat human flesh if stranded. Of course they would.
Working on Lost, I had more disposable income than before and thought I’d spend it wisely and I committed to an organic diet. After a while the mental fog – how I’d describe depression – that I’d lived in since becoming an adult began to lift. I felt my emotions sharpen, I could see and taste more clearly and I correlated that most to the organic food.
My son, three and a half, is a fast and ravenous eater – unlike me – and has been since he came out of the womb, his mouth open, begging. We read together every day and when there’s a reference to food in a story his eyes light up, his body language comes alive and he’s completely attentive. He loves fish and nothing makes him happier than going fishing with his father or playing fishing, watching fish, watching videos and fish movies and eating fish. He’s obsessed by fish.
The Squickerwonkers by Evangeline Lilly is out now (Titan, RRP £12.95). Click here to buy a copy for £10.36 from the Guardian Bookshop
