Mind-numbing poker games soaking up programming on the Travel Channel. Cheesy re-enacted crime dramas played out on Court TV. And shows about the history of Play-Dough and the manufacturing of cheap Christmas decorations on the Discovery Channel. What has cable television come to?

Sadly, what used to be one of my favorite stations, the Food Network, has fallen into the dumpster of God-awful programs that serve up more hammy chefs than one can swallow. Add to the obnoxious arena of uninformative clutter a flood of oversold commercial timeslots, and you end up with disjointed recipes for bouillabaisse and stuffed eggplant that aren’t worth squat.

Yet before I puncture here some of the network’s watermelon-sized egos, I’d be remiss to not point out those shows that teach first and entertain second. Though dry-witted and suspiciously neurotic, host Sara Moulton, of “Sara’s Secrets,” spares audiences the zany antics and leads them through a no-nonsense, instructional format that gives viewers a firm grip on making that next green-chili-and-zucchini quiche.

I also like Rachel Ray’s “30 Minute Meals,” since this is truly the maximum amount of time most of us can spare these days for whipping up supper at the end of a workday. Straight men (and I’m sure a lot of lesbians, too) salivate over this throaty-voiced cook for non-culinary reasons that are beyond me, although her hormonal appeal has undoubtedly aided in bolstering her formidable popularity and ability to carry an average of four shows a day, including “Tasty Travels.”

Finally, there’s “Tyler’s Ultimate,” hosted by the amiable Tyler Florence, whose approach for making beloved American cuisine is folksy and accessible. The boy’s once-cute looks, however, have ballooned, perhaps from eating too many buttermilk salad dressings and fruit cobblers that he’s adept at whipping up with Midwest housewives while on the road.

I’m in the extreme minority when declaring to foodies that I can no longer stomach Emeril Lagasse or his show, “Emeril Live,” which dominated these airwaves until Rachel Ray’s rise to celebrity. Taped in front of a studio audience in New York City, the chef incites corny cheers and applause by simply adding into a salad a snip of tarragon. Or when he reaches for the garlic, chilies or his own concocted seasoning mix to “kick it up a notch,” the audience goes into wild fits of euphoria. Guest musicians, such as Billy Joel of all people, plus Lagasse’s ability to keep repeating himself, add to this high-nonsense circus.

Strong headache medicine is needed, I find, to weather through Alton Brown’s “Good Eats” show, which blends science, pop culture and history into the subject of food. The show is well researched, but Brown’s mercurial narration and dizzying camera angles are contrived to the point where his egomania steals from the show’s sometimes interesting content.

Less in your face, but reeking of passive-aggressive arrogance are chef-hosts Bobby Flay and the bullish Mario Batali, both of whom couldn’t break a smile even if you tickled their noses with a bay leaf. Flay, a veteran grill master who’s been rumored to get red in the neck when he loses competitions on “Iron Chef America,” reminds me of a bar-brawling, beer-guzzling womanizer who happens to flip steaks well. His latest show, “Boy Meets Girl,” duly affirms his propensity for mixing babes with barbecue sauce. As for Batali, he sweats too much while cooking and rarely gives precise measurements when demonstrating his tiresome litany of Italian recipes.

And then there’s Paula Deen, whose thick Georgian drawl and occasional bad English are like nails on a chalkboard to this non-Southerner. Her show, “Paula’s Home Cooking,” provides today’s diet-conscious home cooks with tips on making things like short ribs and red velvet cake with as much fat as possible. From what I’ve seen so far, this ain’t no debutante food.

I miss the early days of the Food Network, when the shows weren’t so overstated, and I could actually cook along with the hosts while keeping the television in eyeshot of my kitchen. But as the network has become more “ad supported” over the past several years, and as celebrity chefs started wielding their marketing savvy through books, merchandise and privately owned restaurants, it turned into nothing more than Disney stew.