Food Network, please stop making my ears vomit.

The tapping of a measuring cup on a bowl. The repeated scraping of a fork as it smooshes up a banana. Eggs cracking. Silverware jingling. Everything pouring and clanking and smacking and scraping and oh my heavens, I'm going to be sick.

Crap, someone's whisking another egg. Clankclankclankclankclank squishsquishsquishsquish.

And that's just the food. We haven't yet gotten into the audio assault that is Giada's (absolutely necessary I'm sure) Italian pronunciation of every third ingredient. "This dish is traditionally made with Moh-thaaaa-RRRRRRRRRRRRellia, but I think I'm going to substitute the wah wah wah cheese for an extra kick of wah wah waaaah....", Or of course the Barefoot Contessa's constant attempts to convince the world of her Guinness book worthy collection of Gay Friends. Oh, they just love to stop in with a glass of wine and help out. Aaaaaaaawwwwww.

Which of course brings us to the Food Tasting. The horrible horrible Food Tasting. Please zoom in on my mouth while I masticate through the dish I just prepared myself, and listen while I give Meg Ryan's "I'll have what she's having" performance a real run for it's money. YES! YES! YES!

Then please let me describe what I'm eating while chewing directly into a lapel mic, crunching, smacking, mmmming, and (not a joke) occasionally snorting, all for your listening pleasure.

Now, I get that you're using a visual/audio medium to sell a product that's not primarily meant to be consumed in that way, but FOR FRICKS SAKE, we know you think it's good. Trust me here, nobody needs to have a faux-gasm for us to believe you think your cooking is delicious. Besides, what else WOULD you say on a televised tasting of your own cooking? "Holy mother of pearl, what is this steaming pile of horse manure and who allowed me access to a stocked pantry and allowed me to inflict this upon the world and myself?!"  No. You're going to smile and moan and collapse onto the counter and convince me that I won't feel so lonely in the night times if I have your spinach and Prrrroh-CHOOO-to laced grilled cheese MASTERPEICE.

On the other hand, thanks a ton, Food Network, since I'm supposed to be on a diet, and you may have just put me off the whole concept of food forever.