Vegetarian Fajitas

The week after the anniversary, and the air is lighter. Not because the grief is gone — the grief is a tenant that has signed a lifetime lease — but because the anniversary has passed and the passage of it feels like a door closing, gently, on the first room of grief and opening onto the second, which is wider and has more light and where the grief has learned to share space with other things: pride, purpose, the sound of Camila singing in the kitchen while I make dinner.

Camila's fifth birthday is October 8 and the planning has begun in earnest. She wants the singing party. She has a setlist — six songs, including "De Colores," "Cielito Lindo," and four songs from the radio that she has memorized phonetically and sings with more feeling than accuracy. She wants a stage (a table), a microphone (a wooden spoon), and an audience (the family, Carmen's grandchildren, Mrs. Rodriguez if she'll come). She has invited twenty-three people. She is five. She is producing a concert. I am her manager and her caterer and her biggest fan.

Luis Jr. brought home his senior portrait proofs. He is seventeen in November and the photographs show a young man I almost don't recognize — broad-shouldered, square-jawed, with eyes that are darker than they were a year ago, not in color but in depth. He looks like Luis at twenty. He looks like a soldier already. He chose the photo with the slight smile — not the big smile, the slight one, the one that says I know something you don't — and I ordered prints and thought: this is the face I will carry in my wallet when he is at Fort Bliss. This is the face I will look at when I miss him. This is the face of a boy who is almost a man, caught in the amber of a senior portrait, forever seventeen, forever smiling, forever mine.

I made cochinita pibil this week — the Yucatecan slow-roasted pork, marinated in achiote paste and sour orange and wrapped in banana leaves. This is the most geographically distant recipe I've made — Yucatán is as far from Chihuahua as Chihuahua is from El Paso, and the food is different the way the landscape is different: tropical, acidic, bright. But I made it because a woman at church named Doña Mercedes is from Mérida and she shared the recipe and sharing recipes is how Mexican women build bridges, not with concrete and steel (that's Diego's job) but with ingredients and instructions and the trust that says: here is something precious to me. I am giving it to you. Make it yours.

The recipe notebook has one hundred and seventeen entries. I added three this week: Rosa's Mexican hot chocolate, which I realized I had remembered but never written down; her recipe for salsa verde cruda, the raw tomatillo salsa she made with a molcajete; and Doña Mercedes's cochinita pibil, which is not Rosa's but which belongs in the notebook because the notebook is growing beyond Rosa now. It is becoming a collection of every woman who has ever handed me a recipe, every kitchen I have ever stood in, every hand that has ever guided mine. Rosa is the foundation. But the building is bigger than the foundation. The building has rooms I haven't entered yet.

Doña Mercedes’s cochinita pibil will stay in the notebook — earmarked, already beloved — but on a Tuesday night with Camila rehearsing her setlist in the next room and Luis Jr. at practice, I reached for something faster and just as colorful: vegetarian fajitas, bright with peppers and smoke and the kind of weeknight energy that keeps a household moving forward. There is something in the sizzle of a hot skillet that feels like momentum, and momentum is exactly what this week asked of me. The recipe notebook is growing, and so are we.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 yellow bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 green bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 large white onion, thinly sliced
1 zucchini, sliced into half-moons
1 cup sliced cremini mushrooms
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
Salt and black pepper to taste
Juice of 1 lime
8 small flour or corn tortillas, warmed
For serving: sour cream, salsa, guacamole, shredded cheese, fresh cilantro

Instructions

Season the vegetables. In a large bowl, toss the sliced bell peppers, onion, zucchini, and mushrooms with 1 tablespoon of olive oil, chili powder, cumin, smoked paprika, oregano, cayenne (if using), and a generous pinch of salt and pepper. Stir to coat evenly.
Heat the skillet. Heat a large cast-iron skillet or heavy-bottomed pan over medium-high heat until very hot. Add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil and let it shimmer.
Cook the vegetables. Add the seasoned vegetables to the skillet in a single layer (work in two batches if needed to avoid steaming). Cook undisturbed for 3—4 minutes until they begin to char at the edges, then stir and cook another 3—4 minutes until tender and caramelized.
Add garlic and finish. Push the vegetables to the edges of the pan, add the minced garlic to the center, and cook for 30 seconds until fragrant. Toss everything together and squeeze the lime juice over the top. Taste and adjust seasoning.
Warm the tortillas. Wrap tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave for 30—45 seconds, or warm them directly on a dry skillet for 30 seconds per side.
Serve. Pile the vegetables into warm tortillas and top with sour cream, salsa, guacamole, shredded cheese, and fresh cilantro as desired. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vegetarian Fajitas — The Recipe Notebook Has Room for Everyone