Flavorful Chicken Fajitas

Summer. The pandemic is still here but life has adjusted around it the way a river adjusts around a rock — the water keeps moving, the rock stays, and the shape of everything downstream is different but the direction is the same. I go to work in a mask. Connie goes to work in a mask. Clay goes to therapy without a mask because the VA waiting room requires one but the therapist's office is one-on-one and the masks come off because you can't do trauma therapy with half your face covered. The face is part of the conversation. The mouth, the jaw, the way a man holds his teeth when he talks about the things that broke him — the therapist needs to see all of it.

The Fourth of July is this weekend. I'm smoking ribs. Annual tradition. Clay is helping — he's managing the second smoker now, running his own rack alongside mine. Two smokers, two racks, father and son tending parallel fires. The metaphor writes itself and I'm not going to touch it because the metaphor is too perfect and perfection makes me suspicious.

His ribs are improving. Last Fourth of July — a year ago, when he was deployed — I smoked alone and thought about him. This year he's next to me, in the backyard, with tongs and a spray bottle and the focused expression of a man who has found something to do with his hands that isn't destruction. The ribs are construction. The smoke is patience. The fire is manageable. Everything about smoking meat is the opposite of war: slow, controllable, nourishing, and the end result feeds people instead of killing them. I don't say this to Clay. I don't need to. He's standing at the smoker and his shoulders are down and his breathing is steady and the expression on his face is the closest thing to peace I've seen since before Afghanistan. The ribs are doing what the VA is doing, what the group is doing, what the kitchen has been doing since March: healing him. One rack at a time.

Travis and Jolene came for the Fourth. We ate ribs and corn and slaw and the evening was warm and the fireworks were the Keeneland show and Clay watched them without flinching. Without flinching. Last year — a year ago, in Afghanistan — the sounds of fireworks would have sent him diving. This year he watched. He stood on the patio with his head back and watched the sky explode and didn't move. Connie noticed. I noticed. Travis noticed. Nobody said anything because saying something would have made it a thing and Clay doesn't want it to be a thing. He wants it to be normal. He wants watching fireworks without flinching to be normal. It is. It is now.

That evening — with Travis and Jolene around the table, Clay standing still under a sky full of fireworks — I knew we’d be spending a lot more time outside with fire and food from here on out. Not every night calls for a twelve-hour smoke, but that same backyard spirit, the heat, the seasoning, the gathering of people you love around something hot off the grill, translates perfectly into a fast weeknight meal. These chicken fajitas have all of it: the char, the smoke, the kind of flavor that makes a plate disappear before anyone starts a second conversation. Clay’s already asked me to make them again.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4–6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, sliced into 1/2-inch strips
2 bell peppers (1 red, 1 green), cored and sliced into strips
1 large yellow onion, halved and sliced
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 teaspoons chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Juice of 1 lime, plus wedges for serving
8 medium flour tortillas, warmed
Sour cream, salsa, shredded cheese, and guacamole for topping

Instructions

Mix the seasoning. In a small bowl, combine the chili powder, cumin, garlic powder, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Stir until evenly blended.
Marinate the chicken. Place the sliced chicken in a large bowl. Drizzle with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and the lime juice, then sprinkle on the seasoning blend. Toss well to coat every strip. Let sit at room temperature for at least 10 minutes while your pan or grill heats up.
Cook the vegetables. Heat a large cast-iron skillet or grill pan over medium-high heat. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Add the sliced peppers and onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened and lightly charred at the edges. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Sear the chicken. In the same hot skillet, add the seasoned chicken strips in a single layer (work in batches if needed to avoid crowding). Cook for 3–4 minutes per side until cooked through and nicely browned. An instant-read thermometer should read 165°F at the thickest piece.
Combine and finish. Return the peppers and onion to the skillet with the chicken. Toss everything together over the heat for 1–2 minutes. Squeeze a little extra lime juice over the top.
Serve. Pile the filling into warm tortillas and top with sour cream, salsa, shredded cheese, or guacamole. Set extra lime wedges on the table and let everyone build their own.

Nutrition (per serving)

Flavorful Chicken Fajitas — Two Smokers, One Backyard, and the Summer Clay Came Home