I can't decide which question about "Addicted to Food," the OWN show that premieres tomorrow night at 10 Eastern, is more interesting or important to me: Is it realistic? Or, Is it good television?

But the answer is yes, based on the review copy of Episode 1 I received from the network.

Since I purport to be offering you a TV review, I have to answer the latter question, but since making food-addiction treatment more available to the millions of Americans who are food addicts (my conservative estimate: 15 million, minimum) is central to my mission, I am drawn to the former.

As my frequent readers know, I spent 9 weeks in the eating disorders unit of a rehab hospital in 1991, and it was a key turn on my path to recovery. It was insurance-supported then but is far less so today, and until that support returns, far less food-addiction rehab is available.

The show brings together eight problem eaters who were chosen from a pool of thousands who applied for the chance. The site is Shades of Hope treatment center in Buffalo Gap, Texas, a family-run center founded by Tennie McCarty, one of the show's stars.

I met McCarty and Karen, one of her daughters who also is in the show, at the third annual Food Addiction Professionals conference in Houston at the end of January. In her presentation, she said that to protect the privacy of non-show participants, SoH built redundant facilities across the road.

Some demographics of those who were chosen: Six are from west of the Mississippi, and a Marylander is as northerly as the group gets. Also: one man, two African-Americans, two bulimics.

In the first episode, one of the bulimics is suspected of purging her first meal on site. The woman, Elizabeth, is an addictions counselor who soon rankles the others by acting more like a counselor than a patient. (it's not uncommon for recovering addicts to go into treatment as a profession; nor is it uncommon for the stress of treatment to lead these "two-hats" (counselors who have the disease) back into active addiction. We don't learn from the episode whether either of these circumstances pertains to Elizabeth.)

The guy is Robby, a professional guitar player from Las Vegas who worries that advancing neuropathy, a consequence of diabetes, might take away his ability to play. He learns on his first day that he will definitely lose his ability to play while he's in Buffalo Gap — McCarty has it confiscated for the duration, assuring him that soon enough, he'll be too busy to notice its absence. Robby, whose visage answers the question "what would Al Franken look like if he got really fat?" is dumbstruck by the news.

Meanwhile, during the rehab equivalent of the shakedown search, one patient squeals with dismay when told she can't keep her nail polish, and another tells the camera in a "Top Chef" or "Project Runway" kind of aside that "I felt the room search was very weird. I felt like I was in jail."

I can relate to them both: I had brought eight hats and when I'd worn four of them before the first days were out (I was definitely trying to set myself apart, to be "special"), I was limited to wearing one, and then only out of doors. I was also barred from having a houseplant because the soil was a known hiding place of inmates, I mean patients.

Another participant is Dejuaii, a gospel singer from Georgia whom we hear — twice in the first 15 minutes — is a virgin at 45. And she discloses a bit more along that line before the episode is done.

All of the SoH approach I was able to see in one episode was very familiar to me, even though I did my treatment elsewhere, but a facet I particularly value is that patients are told from the start that "eating disorders are not about the food of the weight, they are only symptoms." Perhaps not for those who have only 5 or 10 pounds to lose, but for me, and probably for the octet who are in the show, absolutely. McCarty says, patients need to look for "the hole in the soul."

So, is it good TV? I'd say yes, and I think it will be successful on that level. I watched it with someone who has never needed rehab and who wasn't even paying much attention to the show, right up until its tension grabbed not only her attention but her viscera. when she noticed she was taking on the tension in the TV room, she said. But she soon noticed she was hooked, she said, reacting to the patients' reactions as they began to unpack their emotional baggage onscreen.

After one episode, I have high hopes for the show, as well as for the people in it. Unlike "I Used To Be Fat" and "Heavy," which lean on gym trainers and in-your-face harangues for results, these folks will be doing the real work, the deeper work, that's likely to yield solid dividends. And unlike when I went through it, they'll be doing it with cameras in the room.