What To Serve with Fajitas

Tax season. The words that make every self-employed American want to crawl under the bed and not come out until May. Rita sat across from me at the counter — her counter now, really, she's there every other Monday with her laptop and her reading glasses and her "we have work to do" energy — and she walked me through the numbers. The 2025 tax year. My first full year as a business owner. The number I owe: $14,200 in federal and state taxes. Fourteen thousand two hundred dollars. The number that proves I made money. The number that means the government agrees that Sarah's Table is real. The number is: terrifying and validating at the same time.

I have the money. The quarterly estimates Rita set up in January mean I've been setting aside 25% of profit every quarter, and the account has $16,000 in it. Enough. More than enough. The surplus — $1,800 — goes into the emergency fund, which is now at $5,600. FIVE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED. Kevin's $5,000 goal: exceeded. I called him. I said: "The emergency fund hit $5,600." He said: "Now make it $10,000." Now make it $10,000. The Mitchell goal-setting method: celebrate for one sentence, then raise the bar. The bar is always rising. The rising is: the point.

Rita said something that I keep turning over in my head. She said: "Your business grew 34% from 2024 to 2025. That's not luck. That's not location. That's you." That's you. The cornbread is Earline's. The recipes are Lorraine's. The talent is Chloe's. The photography is Chloe's. The brisket is James's. But the 34% growth — the expansion, the dinner service, the catering, the hiring, the pricing (the improved pricing, the stop-apologizing pricing) — that's me. Sarah. The woman who decided. The woman who said yes. The woman who opened the door and the door stayed open and the people came through and the people keep coming and the coming is: 34% growth. The coming is: me.

At home: Chloe is studying for end-of-year exams. Eighth grade exams. The last exams of middle school. She studies at the kitchen table with her textbooks spread out like a battlefield and her earbuds in and her concentration so intense that I could detonate a bomb in the kitchen and she wouldn't notice. She's going to ace them. I know this. She knows this. The studying is: thoroughness, not desperation. The girl is thorough. The girl is Earline with a DSLR and a recipe journal and a GPA that will get her into any high school program she wants.

Jayden is reading "The Outsiders" — finally, months after he got it for Christmas. He read it in three days and then read it again. The book about outsiders, about boys who don't belong, about families that are chosen, not given. I asked him what he thought. He said: "It's about people who take care of each other when nobody else does." People who take care of each other. The boy understood. The boy, at eleven, who lives in a house where the mother takes care of everyone and the father is gone and the family is: chosen — the boy read a book about chosen family and he understood. He said: "We're like that, Mama. We take care of each other." We take care of each other. Yes, baby. We do. That's the whole thing. That's the table. That's the chili. That's the cornbread. We take care of each other. Always.

Dinner: taco night. The April standard. Because taxes are stressful and tacos are the antidote. Ground beef, seasoned with the packet (yes, the PACKET — I use the packet for tacos because the packet is efficient and I have spent the day doing taxes and I deserve a shortcut and the shortcut tastes like Tuesday night and childhood and the specific joy of a taco shell breaking in your hand and not caring). Tacos. The food of tax survival. Amen.

Taco night is non-negotiable in this house, especially in April, especially after a day of staring at tax documents and saying the number $14,200 out loud until it stopped feeling like a verdict and started feeling like proof. The ground beef got seasoned with the packet — yes, the packet, and I will not apologize — but the real question on a fajita-and-taco night is always what goes alongside it. These are the sides I reach for when the table needs to feel full, warm, and like everything is going to be okay.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 15 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

8 small flour or corn tortillas, warmed
1 lb ground beef or sliced chicken thighs
1 packet (1 oz) fajita or taco seasoning
1 red bell pepper, sliced
1 green bell pepper, sliced
1 medium yellow onion, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 can (15 oz) refried beans, warmed
1 cup cooked white or Mexican rice
1/2 cup sour cream
1/2 cup shredded cheddar or Mexican blend cheese
1/4 cup fresh salsa or pico de gallo
1/4 cup guacamole
1 lime, cut into wedges
Fresh cilantro, for garnish (optional)

Instructions

Cook the peppers and onion. Heat 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add sliced bell peppers and onion. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened and lightly charred at the edges. Transfer to a plate and set aside.
Cook the protein. Add the remaining tablespoon of olive oil to the same skillet. Add ground beef (or chicken) and cook over medium-high heat, breaking it apart, until browned and cooked through, about 6–8 minutes. Drain any excess fat.
Season. Sprinkle the fajita seasoning packet over the meat, add 1/4 cup water, and stir to combine. Simmer for 2 minutes until the liquid is mostly absorbed. Return the peppers and onions to the skillet and toss everything together.
Warm the sides. While the meat finishes, warm the refried beans in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally. Heat the rice according to package directions or reheat in the microwave.
Warm the tortillas. Wrap tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave for 30–45 seconds, or warm them one at a time directly over a gas burner for 15 seconds per side.
Set the table. Arrange the fajita filling, refried beans, rice, sour cream, cheese, salsa, and guacamole in separate bowls. Set out lime wedges and cilantro. Let everyone build their own.

Nutrition (per serving)

What To Serve with Fajitas — Because Tacos Survived Tax Season and So Did We