Fajadas

I don't cook on a regular basis.  Usually my roommate makes dinner for us and usually he does a darn good job.  He gets home earlier from work than I do, so it makes sense that he starts cooking when he's hungry and it's done shortly after I get home.  (I know, idyllic.)  More importantly, he enjoys the art of cooking.  Me, not quite there yet.

Tonight, however, we switched it up a bit.  He was busy working on a report for work and when I asked him what was for dinner, he walked me to the refrigerator.  There, ice-bitten, plastic-wrapped and highly marketed were meals with "Done in 5 Minutes!" and "Flash Frozen Vegetables" written proudly on them.  What does that even mean?

As he pondered which option sounded better, I interrupted his thoughts and asked him how much sodium was in package #1.  42% PER CUP.  Yikes.  There weren't many other options though.  I hate going to the grocery store and our regular weekly trip hadn't happened.  Hence, the frozen dinners that he picked up a few days ago.  I refused to eat those things though and poor roommate was a hungry man.  It was looking like a cereal-for-dinner kind of evening.  And then. . .

Vegetables!  We had vegetables.  Surely I could concoct something up.  I started cutting, threw them on the stove, and continued to brainstorm what the green peppers and onions would become.  After stepping outside for a minute I returned to a smell similar to fajitas.  Fajitas!  That's what they will become!  I went to the refrigerator.  Chicken, we have chicken!  Some tomatoes, those should do.  Tortillas, yes!  I went to work.  Two skillets were going, the cutting board was covered, and the roommate hollered that it was smelling good.

You can guess the general outcome of the story.  I cooked the veggies.  I cooked the chicken.  And then I (over) cooked the tortillas.  They were  crispy.  Oops.  Still, I prepared our plates.  When I apologized for the crispy tortillas, Mr. Roommate said he likes them like that.  "It's like a tostada."  Except these weren't tostadas.  They were fajitas.  Well, at least they were supposed to be.  And so fajadas were born.  I was pretty pleased with the outcome until he ruined it with, "It's amazing actually.  You're going to have to start cooking more often."  Blast.