The roomate's away, lets make some fish...

It's not that she is allergic or anything along those lines, she just doesn't like fish. So the minute she leaves town I head down to the market to buy some. My goal: Texas Gulf snapper, but no (in an embarrassingly drawn out fashion). They didn't have it, or at least the real Gulf snapper. They did have the thick marble-scaled red water breathers, though they were selling them under a false name! I know this because I have people on the inside (not inside the ocean) that know whats up. What's up? A terrifying over-fishing fiasco! My insiders (Grandmum and Grandpa) tell me that due to years of large limits and loose restrictions the red snapper has been banned, forbidden, unfishable! You get caught with snapper in your rig you get cuffed. A pretty decent reason for jail time in my opinion, but hey I also want to be proposed to in Whole Foods. So these contacts of mine, they live on the coast, a short yellow-jeep drive from the Island, my little Island, South Padre Island. Ever since my Grandpa, who later realised his monetary mistake, introduced me to snapper, flounder, shrimp and crabs, I have been quite particular about where my sea fodder is found.

...dream sequence...

I was walking back home the other day from Toy Joy, the kooky nostalgic toy store across from my house, when I paused at the light to wait for the cross-walk sign. There was a Texas-sized white truck in the front of the turn lane, patiently waiting for their arrow, and for some reason when it changed they lunged. Their mistake. As they turned the tell-tale ice chests started rolling out of the bed and toppling out of the truck, slashing their contents in the intersection. Now, some of you might understand my interest in these particular ice-chests. They are a certain breed that are only used when transporting fish, or perhaps the ones I was used to when my grandparents brought home bag after bag of fresh fillets. Focusing back on the mess interrupting traffic I had a mild panic attack, as did the woman who rushed out the doors of Toy Joy behind me who yelled "That's SNAPPER!" It was a voice that knew. She knew as did I, the value that lay in the filth of the upper drag, the stark red lips and tail of a raw snapper. Okay, I know its lame that for a few seconds I considered putting myself in danger to rescue the already dead fish. Before I threw myself into traffic I realised how pathetic I might seem and pictured the headline on tomorrow's newspaper: Hook, line and sink-her. Girl in critical care due to fish rescuing attempts. So I waited for the light to change and walked across the street and up to my apartment. Later I re-examined my actions and thought that it would have been a perfectly acceptable hospitalization, my father and grandparents might actually have been proud.


...end dream sequence...



So back in the market I had to settle for tilapia, my wallet couldn't fathom Chilean sea bass this month. With the roomie gone, the boyfriend and I made fish tacos with Havana style coke and lime, oh and garlic green beans. He saw them in the market and decided that fish tacos paired perfectly with my garlic green beans. I know he really loves me: true love=love of garlic green beans.

Baja style tacos:Grilled Tilapia with Lime, Scallions and Green Peppers