Tilapia Stew, Small Sea Adventure

September 16th I'm finally back on the cooking wagon (not sure what wagon that is)! Sorry for the delay folks, work has relegated me to frozen meals and sandwiches, but now I am ready to don my apron and get back to doing what I do. Tonight I have made a Tilapia Stew, a recipe I spotted in a Rachel Ray magazine. It seemed the perfect choice for someone that found his kitchen utensils a little rusty (I don't mean that literally, I oil and polish my utensils nightly). It is quite easy and very good - believe me, I just had some. Here are the list of ingredients (I am changing up the format a little, better to have all of this stuff ready right off the bat than scramble while you are cooking). 2 TBS of Veggie oil 1 onion - finely chopped 1 green bell pepper - chopped 1 TBS of tomato paste 1 TSP of Cayenne pepper 1 14.5 OZ can of crushed tomatoes 1.5 LBS of tilapia filets 1 baguette of crusty bread (a necessary dipping apparatus) Take a good-sized dutch oven and heat the veggie oil on low heat. If you don't have a dutch oven just use a big sauce pan, you will need room for the tilapia. Once the oil starts to shimmer, add the onions and green pepper and cook for about 10 minutes, stirring often (keep the heat on low). While they are sizzling away add some salt and pepper for flavor. Once the time is up, add the tomato paste and stir for about 1 minute, then add the cayenne pepper and stir for another 30 seconds. Now it's time for some liquids - add the crushed tomatoes and 1 cup of water and increase the heat to medium. This will simmer for about 5 minutes until the mixture is heated through. For the tilapia - I cut the filets into chunks, but you can put whole filets in there if you want - as it cooks, it breaks apart. Add the tilapia and let simmer in the stew for 10 minutes until the fish is flaky and falling apart. Ladle some of that fishy goodness in a bowl and top with some chopped flat-leaf parsley (cilantro works just as well). With a little crusty bread to sop up the sauce, you got yourself a hearty stew. You are probably wondering what the small sea adventure is all about. I figured my side story should have something to do with the ocean (or the gulf), so I took this little nugget from my past and decided to put it to blog. This is a story of 5 dumb college males who went on a boat, totally unprepared, and found themselves in a bit of a predicament. I would like to think I was not one of these idiots, but alas, I was. I've mentioned before that I was a fresh-faced college student at St. Leo University before I came to UF. If you have never been to St. Leo, it is perched in the middle of Pasco County about 30 minutes or so from Tampa. This sleepy little college had (at the time) one bar, a golf course and a gas station. So, when one of your dorm buddies with a car says, "Would you like to go to St. Petersburg and take a ride on my boat," you said, "Hell yeah!" So the five of us pile into a car and take a road trip to the gulf beaches. We get to the marina, jump into the boat, and away we go . . . to nowhere. Most people of the nautical persuasion would take the time to check such things as gas levels, flares, and whether five 200 pound men should be on such a small boat. But no, we just jumped on like Gilligan wannabes and decided to set sail. The first couple of hours were fun - the weather was fine, the sea breeze blew all around us, and the beer tasted quite yummy. In the distance, however, trouble was brewing in a storm that was nothing like what George Clooney experienced in "The Perfect Storm." It was, however, big enough to cause a little boat some trouble. We decided to head back to port as the thunderheads approached only to find that we were out of gas, i.e. screwed. For the last few hours of daylight we tried to hail any boat we could find. It soon became apparent that we were going to have to ride this one out, and pray. Let's just say that the tiny ship was tossed, but the fearless crew was scared shitless. We had no idea what to do, and we knew there was nobody out there in the Gulf to help us. Was there a radio? Yes, it was deader than the engine. We did find some flares and a gun to shoot them off with, and it was a miracle we didn't blow a hole in the bottom of the boat. The "captain" of our so-called cruise knew just what to do, so he loaded the gun, pointed it in the air and - THUNK, pause, splash, dud. This continued for five more flares, all duds, just like our engine. Somewhere along the line, someone had enough smarts to drop the anchor, therefore stopping our eventual impromptu cruise to Cuba. Other than that, we were stuck, and all we could do was wait. As the time passed, the storm started to get a little rougher, and all of us definately thought we might be visiting Davey Jones and his infamous locker. The boat was too small for all of us to below deck, so we had to take turns sitting outside. This was akin to riding a roller coaster that only goes left to right, and at any moment, tips, killing you. WEEEEeeeee!! I would be lying if I told you that I thought everything was going to be just fine. I was scared. My time outside the boat was not spent like Gary Sinise in Forrest Gump, but rather like Brian Ferguson, pissing himself. A wave would hit us broadside and the boat would tip to the point that my head came close to slamming into the water. I have to say that this was a much better option than being below deck with four other guys in a tiny cabin smelling like sweat and fear. This went on all night until dawn. At this point, the storm had subsided a bit. But as the sun came up, we had no idea where we were and how far offshore we drifted. There were no boats around, but we did see a sliver of land. We made a makeshift sail out of the canves top and rode the wind, praying we were going in the right direction. We were. The wind was still pretty strong and it guided us towards shore - beautiful, awesome, sand. We did end up about 25 miles from where we started (I couldn't tell you where, I was too busy eating sand), and safe. The boat ended up sinking, which left the "captain" in a bit of trouble, but his parents were very kind and very happy to see us alive. The moral of the story? Easy, just think. Something I do a lot more now at 40, than I did when I was 20. Gilligan, I have a renewed respect for you, next time the skipper pounds you with his hat just say "Hey! This is your fault fat-ass, your the captain!" Got some more recipes going, with another cauliflower concoction that sure to make you say, "Cauliflower, again?!" Happy eats and wear a life vest.