TDWT Chow Time: The Fajita Bowl

It's alright, I'm doing fine.

No, really.

I don't feel deprived at all.

In fact, as I continue to improve my cooking skills, it's becoming easier and easier all the time.  To be able to cook your own delicious meals is satisfying in itself, but to be able to eat like a king whilst knowing that you've taken yourself one step closer to becoming a chiseled Adonis, well, that's just icing on the cake (figuratively speaking, of course).

Goodbye, McDonald's.

Hell, I don't even need Chipotle anymore.  Sure, Chipotle, while high in calories, is probably your best bet when you're craving fast food but don't want to fill your body with body composition-wrecking balls of poisonous shit, but I've got something better for you.  A food that you can eat every day without feeling guilty.  A pile of scrumptious ambrosia that's fit for a god.  Not one of those fat, lazy gods either.  I'm talking Hercules-friendly chow here.

Now before you start with the whole "but, like, he was only half-god, bro" stuff, I'm just going to go ahead and jump right to the recipe.  This makes two servings, but you can double or triple the recipe if you're looking to have lunch/dinner for a few days.

Kittoe's Fajita Bowl of Awesomeness

Get this:

Boneless, skinless chicken breast
Poblano pepper (green peppers will work if you can't find them)
Onion
Canned chipotle peppers in adobo sauce (should be in the Mexican section of the grocery store)
Fajita marinade
Lettuce (those bags of pre-shredded will work)
Salsa (I use Mrs. Renfro's chipotle corn salsa)
Low-fat or fat free sour cream
Reduced fat or fat free shredded Mexican blend or cheddar cheese
Canned pinto beans (or bean of your choice)

Do this:
 
1.  Slice the chicken breast into bite-sized cubes.  Toss in a large Ziploc bag with the fajita marinade.  I don't really measure how much I use; I just make sure to use enough to get decent coverage of the chicken.  Throw into the fridge and let it marinate for up to 2 hours.

2.  After you've let the chicken soak up all the deliciousness of the marinade, grab the pepper and slice it into strips.  Do the same with the onion.  If it's a large onion, use from a third to about half of the onion; if it's small, use from a half to three quarters of it.

3.  Depending on how much you can tolerate spicy foods, grab 1-3 of the chipotle peppers out of the can and chop them into a fine mush.  These bad boys are hot as all hell, so be careful.

4.  Heat a bit of oil in a wok or skillet with medium-high heat for a minute or so.  Empty the bag of chicken into the pan.  Then dump the peppers, onions, chipotle pepper mush and about a 1/2 cup of beans intot he pan, mixing it all together with a wooden spoon.

5.  Let it cook for about 15 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through, stirring and tossing often.  Personally, I enjoy using my wok and tossing the food into the air;  it makes me feel like I'm in an episode of Iron Chef.

6.  When it's done, divide it into two bowls and top them with the lettuce, a small handful of cheese, some salsa and a dab of sour cream.

7.  Serve, eat and watch as your girlfriend/boyfriend/buddy suddenly finds you incredibly impressive.

Done and done.

If you've tried this or have any variations you'd like to share, comment!

Live Like a Mother@#%!er.

Two days ago I went to the bank to deposit my Subshack check.  I was excited as I was almost broke at the time and I had just run out of several important items (protein powder, for one) and well, payday is always an exciting day for everyone, right?  As usual, I was making plans in my head for all the things I was going to do once I had that sweet, sweet cash in my hand.

"I'm gonna buy a French Press and use it for loose-leaf tea!"

"I'm gonna buy seven pounds of protein powder!" 

"I'm gonna start drinking red wine!" 

You know the deal.  Payday is awesome.

Payday brings hope.

I made my way into the grocery store where the nearest branch of my bank is located, walking with that world-on-a-string feeling.  I think I may have had a little too much spring in my step, as I vaguely remember time slowing to a crawl and effortlessly leaping over an elderly woman who had fallen seconds earlier.  Her cries for help were distorted and converted into the peaceful harmonies of Celtic new age artist Enya's  Athair ar Neamh.

 Hey, when you're feeling this good, you don't stop for anything, baby.

Anyway, the world took a sudden, violent turn for the worse when I finally made it to the bank to deposit my check.  You see, the guy ahead of me in line started arguing with the clerk, which had become heated and distracting enough to break me out of my bliss and into an uncomfortable funk.  I have no idea what the argument was about, but what I'd gathered was that he wasn't able to receive the money he'd come there for, and to say he wasn't very happy about it would be an understatement.  

He turned around, started walking away with the grace of a drunken Sasquatch and said loud enough for everyone in a twenty-foot radius to hear:

"Alright, cunt!  See ya later, cunt!"

  

Now, I consider myself to be pretty adept at handling awkward situations, but in this sort of situation I'm pretty useless.  I can't say I was shocked at the guy's reaction; I've been working in a sandwich shop for years and I've had people throw bitch-fits because I put too many pickles on their sandwich.  It really makes you wonder how anyone could flip out over such trivial things.  You don't put what they consider to be "extra" mayonnaise on a person's sandwich and they react as if you just took a shit on their grandmother's corpse.

(This is where I'd normally put an awesome MSPaint drawing.  Sorry, it ain't happening.)

I didn't do anything aside from give him the stink eye as he walked away.  For the rest of the day, I looked back on that situation with much shame on my part.  How could I just stand there and let this nice young lady, who has deposited my paycheck so many times on payday, the greatest of days, be insulted and possibly have her entire day ruined by this piece of trash?  Why didn't I say anything?

Why didn't I rip my shirt off and follow him to his dark tower of evil, kicking the asses of all of his cronies as I made my way to the top for the final battle between good & evil?

Alright, it may not have worked out quite that awesomely.

 I spent the rest of the day reliving that moment in my head, contemplating what I'd do if I could go back in time.  Yeah, I dwell on things.

The truth is, most of us have more than likely had many moments like the one I just described.  A time when somebody, anybody, should have stood up, if only to say "What the hell is wrong with you?"  Sure it may have lead to confrontation, but isn't a little discomfort worth the risk when you're doing what's right?

I'm not saying that next time a guy cuts you off when you're driving you should follow him home and piss on his dog or anything.  It's not even necessary to get physical.  I'm just suggesting that we start living like a motherfucker.

That's right.  Don't do anything by half.  When you work out, train like a motherfucker.  When you have sex, bang the living shit out of her.  When you eat a bagel, well...put the bagel down and lose fat like a motherfucker.

Put your entire heart, soul and balls into whatever you're doing.  I guarantee that in the end, we'll be happier with ourselves and what we've accomplished.

Now get out there.  I'll be right behind you, all the way.

I Saw the Future (And You Can Too!)

The first version of this article was originally published by myself on Feb. 16th, 2009 on another site.   

Not all of it is relevant now, but me thinks it still makes for a decent read.

So I worked out today with the intensity of a coked-up barbarian...and vomited.

Apparently, it has something to do with a reaction to the breaking down of proteins in the system.

Disgusting, right?

Well my experience today was far from the disgusting.  My vision blurred, I could barely stand, and I kind of felt like Charlie when he ate an entire pizza and drank 24 beers all in a single sitting.


"Guys, if I'm peeing wake me up!"



The thing that happened next, however, is what I'm here to tell you all about:

I saw the future.

At least I think I did.  Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't.  But I've gotta admit, it all seems pretty damned possible.  I've never been one to think about what is yet to come.  I hate making plans.  The very thought of what I'm going to do with the rest of my life makes me immediately hop on the computer and go to one of those Youtube-style porn sites and start jerking away, just so I can live in the moment again.

Some will support me.  Some will betray me.  And some, well...let's just say that they give a darn good blow-J.  I'm damn proud of what I've accomplished, though.  I'm going to write a novel, and not like any of the trash I've started and thrown aside in the past.  This one gets finished, and published on a global scale.  Oprah wants to make it one of her book club selections, which would easily make me millions of dollars, but I decline. I say something along the lines of  "If you're taking suggestions from that yoyo-dieting messiah of the housewife, there's a good chance I don't even want you reading it."  It turns out this was just an awful, awful decision and choice of words. 

My tv series will begin airing in 2015 on Showtime.  The two main characters are based on my good friend Ian and myself, and the two actors emulating us will eventually grow to hate the characters because they're so identified with them.  It's going to be the next Seinfeld, only with hot, nude women with little butterfly tattoos on their hips bathing in the background of every scene.  David Duchovney, eat your heart out.

Being on the cover of Men's Health and the article that was published in the issue inspires me to write a book full of healthy versions of your favorite meals.  Full of protein and other muscle-building goodness.  Try the Chicken Kiev; it's fuckin' delicious.

Now, onto the darker side of my future:

Despite my successes, my love life is in shambles.  You see, I have a certain predilection toward unavailable women.  Taken?  Lesbian?  Would rather make love to a pine cone than me?

I love you.

As it turns out, this is my downfall.  They're going to find me dead on a hotel room floor surrounded by bottles full of unrequited love.  No note, no phone call.  I'm discovered by a married chambermaid, who had rejected my advances just hours before.

God damn, I can't let this happen.  I won't let myself go that way.

There's got to be a way to break this curse.  Anybody have some charred cat bones?  Maybe an eyeball taken from one of those horse/zebra hybrids?


Turns out witchcraft is more of a hassle than it's worth.

The way I figure it, there's only one possible solution:  Get out while I can.

If I come across a woman who's unavailable and also completely irresistible, I'm not walking, I'm running in the opposite direction.  No more attempted courtship.  No more becoming "the other man".  No more self-emasculation.

No more time wasted.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some broadband-speed internet porn to jerk off to.


Carry on, my wayward son.

Photo by David LaChappelle