Dad was a produce man. He manned Smiths’ Food And Drug’s produce section, and so did his dad. If you needed someone to pick out your melons, they were your men. My earliest memory is going to the store and Dad giving me a date and then telling me I couldn’t have another.

I grew up until I was nine in a small house on the very edge of Las Vegas, with just desert out back. I had four older sisters and one older brother. Mom, so that she could be with us, looked after other peoples’ kids as a job, so there were kids everywhere. She’d prepare food for 10 of us while watching through the kitchen window as we made forts in the desert. A lot of hot dogs, and peanut butter and banana sandwiches, like Elvis. I remember helping Mom make Rice Krispie treats. Melt marshmallows and butter together, pour the solution onto the Krispies and that’s heaven right there.

There are a lot of funny stereotypical things about us Mormons, like that we love eating Jell-O. Such a lot of Jell-O. We also have funeral potatoes, which are served at our funerals and are so good – they’re to die for. We have a thing called The Word of Wisdom, which stipulates no alcohol, no drugs, no coffee, no tea. We’re encouraged to fast – including no water – for 24 hours each month and I’m terrible at it. It’s so hard to make it through, but I do put in the effort.

My parents converted when I was young. At some point drinking Coca Cola became an issue. It’s not doctrine but culturally frowned upon. Personally I can’t resist a can. I associate it with early bonding with my father. Some of my most precious memories are of being driven in his 46 Chevy truck or his giant 49 Buick to have Cokes.

When I was 15 I started working after school and at weekends at Taco Time, in Nephi, Utah. I worked counter, swept floor and cleaned the bathrooms. The most laborious and dangerous part was emptying grease and burrito sediments from the fryer at the end of the night. The fryer never seemed to cool down. I’d pour the grease and a mist would come up, which I couldn’t avoid. It felt like rubbing hot Mexi-Fries into my face. We’d be told horror stories of people falling onto the fryers and being severely burnt.

But there was always something calling me back to Vegas. On the on-ramp to the I15 in Nephi, there was a sign I’d see every day as a teenager: “Las Vegas, 6 Hours, 300 miles.” So, at 16, I went back and moved in with an aunt, a full-time single parent who didn’t have much time to prepare meals for us but would always make a big hamburger for herself, every single day. I loved and still miss her occasional upside-down cake.

I worked as a bus-boy at a fancy restaurant in Caesar’s Palace in Vegas, cleaning tables and pouring water, coffees and iced teas. The only way bus-boys were allowed out for a break was if they said, “I wanna go out for a smoke.” Say, “I wanna go and listen to Hunky Dory for five minutes” and they’d laugh. So I took up cigarettes, just to get smoke breaks.

It feels that food doesn’t really belong in rock’n’roll, somehow. The Cure had a song, Friday I’m in Love. which goes, “It’s such a gorgeous sight, to see you eat in the middle of the night.” And there’s Drops Of Jupiter by the band Train which has the line, “Can you imagine no love, pride or deep-fried chicken?” When I hear those songs I think, “Oh no, dude.”

I now have a big neon sign in my kitchen which says ‘Flowers’ and is modelled around a flamingo font, so it has a very specific swing to it. I’m decent at conjuring up French toast and scrambled eggs. Then I’ll have a Coke.

After the resurrection we think there might be food. I don’t have a definitive Mormon answer, but what we do know is that when Christ visited the apostles as a resurrected being he ate fish, I think. So I can’t imagine not having food after death, because food brings such joy to our lives.

The Killers’ Wonderful Wonderful is out now. They tour the UK from 6 November