To tell the truth, I hate kitchen gadgets. To me, everything beyond sharp knives, tongs, whisk, spatula, and wooden spoon seems suspect. I tease my wife for her Crock-Pot and Veg-O-Matic obsessions and believe firmly in the dignity of seat-of-the-pants grillwork.
Then along comes the sous vide. Its name means “under vacuum,” and, for years now, it just felt ludicrous. The whole process seemed more the realm of effete molecular chefs, those Dadaists who make foams, emulsions, and gasses from foodstuff.
The sous vide was expensive and complicated, too. You need a vessel to hold warmed water, a wand to heat said water to a preset temp, and another machine to seal the to-be-cooked item airtight in a plastic bag. Then that goes in the water warmed with calculations only subatomic scientists understood, thereby quarking the meat, fish, or veg super slow and melting that connective tissue, tendons, and gristle. The Crock-Pot of the bourgeoisie — though, I admit, with succulent results.