Each of us needs something - food, liquor, pot, whatever - to help us survive. Dracula needs blood.

And on a Canadian set, everybody is equal. You get paid the same. You live together in barracks. You have a communal kitchen. You buy and cook your own food.

I came literally to the table with a wealth of knowledge by simply understanding how food should taste.

I have an amazing relationship with food.

Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.