One Pot Chicken Fajita Pasta

The second week of April and I am learning things about myself that I did not know at fifty-four — learning, for instance, that I can work twelve hours in a mask without removing it, that my face has a shape now when I come home (the mask lines, the indentations around the nose and cheeks that take an hour to fade), that I can stand at a serving line and feed three hundred people and feel the fear like a hum in my teeth and still serve, still smile behind the mask, still say, Here, eat, it's good, because the words are not just words, the words are medicine, and my medicine is food.

Jenny is six months pregnant and I cannot touch her. I cannot put my hand on her belly and feel the baby kick. I cannot bring her containers of arroz con pollo and sit in her kitchen and watch her eat. I leave the containers on the porch in West Hartford and wave from the driveway and drive home and the distance between the driveway and the kitchen where my daughter-in-law is carrying my grandchild is approximately thirty feet and it might as well be the Atlantic.

Miguel Jr. calls every other day. He is working from home — IT at The Hartford, everything remote now — and he sounds the way people sound when they have been inside too long: compressed, slightly blurred, like a photograph left in sunlight. He says Jenny is fine. The baby is fine. Everything is fine. Fine is the word we all use now, the pandemic fine, the fine that means I am alive and I am trying and I do not have the energy to be more specific.

I made sofrito on Sunday. The big batch. Sixteen ice cube trays. The culantro I bought at the bodega on Park Street, which is still open — thank God, the bodegas are still open, the small Puerto Rican grocery stores where the owner knows my name and my order and bags the ají dulce without being asked. The bodega is a lifeline. The bodega has always been a lifeline for the diaspora, the place where you can find the ingredients that the Stop & Shop doesn't carry and that your recipes require and that your body requires the way it requires oxygen — not a preference but a need.

The sofrito I made on Sunday — the sixteen ice cube trays lined up on my counter like small savings accounts — it is not just a recipe, it is a plan, a promise to myself that the week ahead will have flavor no matter what it costs me. On the Tuesday after a long shift, two cubes from the freezer into a hot pan, and this one-pot chicken fajita pasta came together in less time than it takes the mask lines to fade from my face. I make it with whatever peppers the bodega has. I make it for myself, and I make it knowing that a version of it is going to end up on Jenny’s porch, labeled, with a note that says eat this, it’s good, because the words are not just words.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breast or thighs, sliced into thin strips
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 tablespoons sofrito (fresh or frozen cubes, thawed) — or substitute 2 cloves garlic minced with 1/4 cup diced green pepper
1 medium yellow onion, halved and thinly sliced
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 green bell pepper, thinly sliced
2 teaspoons fajita or taco seasoning, divided
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
8 oz penne or rotini pasta (uncooked)
1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes, with juices
2 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
3 oz cream cheese, cut into cubes
1/2 cup shredded Monterey Jack or Mexican blend cheese
Juice of 1 lime
Fresh cilantro, for serving

Instructions

Season the chicken. Toss the chicken strips with 1 teaspoon fajita seasoning and a pinch of salt until evenly coated.
Sear the chicken. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large, deep skillet or wide pot over medium-high heat. Add the chicken in a single layer and cook, undisturbed, for 3–4 minutes until golden. Flip and cook another 2 minutes. Transfer to a plate — it will finish cooking in the pot.
Build the sofrito base. Reduce heat to medium and add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil. Add the sofrito (or garlic and green pepper) and cook for 1 minute, stirring, until fragrant. Add the sliced onion and bell peppers with the remaining fajita seasoning, smoked paprika, and cumin. Cook for 4–5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until peppers begin to soften.
Add pasta and liquid. Pour in the diced tomatoes and chicken broth. Stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Nestle the dry pasta into the liquid and bring to a boil.
Cook the pasta. Return the chicken and any accumulated juices to the pot. Reduce heat to a steady simmer, cover loosely, and cook for 12–14 minutes, stirring every few minutes, until the pasta is al dente and has absorbed most of the liquid.
Finish the sauce. Drop in the cream cheese cubes and stir over low heat until fully melted into a creamy sauce, about 1–2 minutes. Squeeze in the lime juice and taste for salt and seasoning.
Serve. Divide into bowls, top with shredded cheese and fresh cilantro, and serve immediately. Pass additional lime wedges at the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

One Pot Chicken Fajita Pasta — The Sofrito Was Already Made, So I Had Time for This