Sealed With a Hiss

I have a fabulous new hobby that requires I spend much of my previously free time vacuuming everything in sight.

I do not mean the sort of vacuuming I accomplish with my Dyson, even though I do experience immense satisfaction when floors previously covered with dust bunnies, Airsoft BBs, and orange maple-leaf skeletons (they always cling so maddeningly to one's work boots at this time of year!) are miraculously made clean by means of patented Cyclone technology. Although hoovering admittedly provides a certain frisson of instant gratification, I would not go so far as to say it is sufficiently pleasurable to qualify as a hobby.

Nor do I refer to the sort of vacuuming that involves fresh produce, pectin, and Ball jars - and to which I contentedly dedicate so many a happy Sunday afternoon. I have been jamming up a storm since February, which in gluten-free years is a very long time. So even though I count home preserving as a hobby, it isn't exactly new.

No, my latest mania involves a fabulous new piece of kitchen equipment without which I am hard pressed to explain how I have lived so long. Ungrammatical, but true.

I speak of my incredible vacuum sealer.

I first became aware of my overwhelming need for such a device during my last visit to see dear Toad, who extolled the virtues of her own appliance with convincing enthusiasm. Quite apart from its efficacy - indeed, necessity - for so many sous vide preparations (never mind that I am still without an immersion circulator to call my own), it can be used for subdividing 15 lb. bags of rice from Mitsuwa (there's always a run on the smaller, more practical bags when the new-season kome appears in October); storing leftover cornbread wedges in the refrigerator for all eternity (I'm the only one in the family who will eat it, you may recall); and securing jars of homemade jam for gift-giving purposes when travelling abroad (we don't want them exploding in our suitcases, now, do we?).

Recently, I have come to see a whole new functionality in my invaluable new kitchen companion: the preservation of homemade cheese at its peak of perfection.

It started with some tasty and highly-successful new creations of my own devising, two Alpine numbers inspired by the Vacha Toscano developed by Jim Wallace, my mentor in all things curd-related. When we sliced into the first of the cheeses at the weekend, we were gratified by its mild, grassy taste and slight tang - reminiscent of a young Gruyere, with the same springy texture and wholesome buttercup hue. The problem was that I didn't want the second specimen to get any funkier with further aging, but (people's schedules being what they are) was unable at that precise moment to recruit sufficient numbers of victims to consume it all. What to do, what to do?

Salvation was at hand, provided by my cunning culinary contrivance. It was the work of a moment to pop the cheese between two sheets of food-safe plastic; heat-seal one end; suck all the air out with a roar of machinery and a gassy exhalation like a deflating balloon; heat-seal the other end and - hey presto - cheese that can sit forever and forever unto Doomsday, the little bugs starved of air and unable to do unwanted damage. My Alpine Kleine was subsequently moved back into the cave until a suitable tasting can be organized.

Emboldened by our success, we also dared cut into the cheddar that I had made back in April and was saving for Christmas. Can you imagine the disappointment if we'd first sampled the cheese publicly at a gala holiday bash, only to find out it was dreadful-tasting, foul-smelling, or moldy? No fear - we sliced the thankfully-triumphant cheese into four pieces, ate/gave away three of them, and vacuumed the final quarter for eventual Yuletide enjoyment. I know I could have rewaxed the last bit (a procedure that would have allowed the cheese to continue aging), but it's so much more fun to play with my splendiferous new gadget.

I can't vacuum seal all my cheese, of course. My soft and mold-ripened wonders (so many coming into their own now, the darling things!) will have to be eaten quickly and on their schedules, not mine. My whole waxed and brined truckles are safe just the way they are - until I start to dissect them, that is. Then, they will require the Full Mechanical Treatment.

I don't mind. They'll be mightily enjoyable even if they've got no atmosphere.