Behind every great meal is a huge splatter

I find myself watching the Food Network more and more, mainly when I'm on the elliptical trainer.

As I watch Tyler Florence, Giada De Laurentiis, and even Paula Dean with her valve-closure-with-extra-gravy meals, I think to myself, "Ooh, I should try that," or, "Oh, that looks good -- I'll try making that one day."

That's the point of the Food Network, I suppose. By the time the credits roll, however, my motivation has boiled down to nothing.

You see, we're all being deceived by the Food Network. Although the meals are rarely as easy to prepare when you try cooking them on your own, that's not the deception I'm talking about.

I'm talking about what happens when the camera turns off. Tyler, Giada and Paula sashay off set, and someone comes in to clean up all the pots, pans, bowls, cups, spoons, spatulas, whisks, countertops, candy thermometers, bakeware, counters, floors, sinks, oven floors ... You get the picture. You can damn well bet that none of these chefs are sticking around after they've finished cooking and talking.

The idea of sandblasting a cement-like crust off from a pan, or figuring out how to remove solidified candy-apple coating from everything it touched, removes whatever joy I might have derived from preparing the meal. If I've spent hours cooking, the last thing I want to do is spend hours cleaning.

I'd say this guides my choice of meals when I decide to cook: What's not going to turn the kitchen into a disaster area?

This is my problem, I suppose, and not the Food Network's. But they're definitely selling some sort of fantasy.

*Note: Accompanying photo is not of the author's kitchen.