Mum's Chicken Soup
From Mum · "when you're crook"
every winter since forever
There is no scientific evidence that Mum's chicken soup cures anything. There is, however, overwhelming anecdotal evidence from every member of this family that it does. Got a cold? Soup. Heartbroken? Soup. Failed an exam, lost a job, had a fight with your sister? Soup. It arrives in a pot that's too big for whatever you're going through, with a stern instruction to 'eat the lot' and a quiet hand on your shoulder that says more than any words could.
Mum learnt the bones of it from Nanna June but made it her own over the years — more garlic, a squeeze of lemon at the end, and tiny pasta shapes because 'you need something to chew on when you're feeling sorry for yourself.' She's never measured a thing. The recipe below is Mum's best guess at what she actually does, dictated while standing at the stove, stirring.
Put the whole chicken in a large pot. Cover with cold water. Bring slowly to the boil — slowly is the key word. Rushing makes it cloudy. Mum has opinions about cloudy broth.
Skim any scum off the surface. Add the bay leaves and thyme. Reduce heat to a bare simmer.
Simmer for 1 hour if using a whole chicken (45 minutes for thighs). The chicken should be falling-off-the-bone tender.
Carefully lift the chicken out and set it aside to cool slightly. Don't throw away the broth — that's the whole point.
While the chicken cools, heat olive oil in a separate pan. Sauté the onion, garlic, carrots, and celery until softened — about 10 minutes. "Don't brown them," says Mum. "This isn't a stir-fry."
Add the sautéed vegetables to the broth. Simmer for another 20 minutes.
Meanwhile, shred the chicken into bite-sized pieces. Discard the bones and skin.
Add the pasta to the broth. Cook until al dente — the pasta will keep absorbing liquid, so if you're saving leftovers, slightly undercook it.
Return the shredded chicken to the pot. Add the lemon juice and chopped parsley. Season generously with salt and pepper.
Taste it. Adjust. Mum says "you'll know when it's right because it'll taste like a hug."
Ladle into big bowls. Serve with thick-cut crusty bread. Eat under a blanket on the couch.
Accept that you feel better. Don't question it.
before the cards fade...
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