Chicken Poblano Soup

I should write about the steak I made Tuesday. I should write about the conversation I had with my defensive coordinator about the new blitz packages we're installing. I should write about how Elena has started asking for green chile on her eggs in the morning, which is a development that fills me with a pride that is disproportionate and real. There are things worth writing about this week. But I'm sitting at this keyboard on Thursday evening and I can't make myself write about any of them because we got the call on Monday.

My brother Ruben was killed in Afghanistan on Saturday, July 22nd. A sniper. A patrol in Helmand Province. He was thirty-two years old.

I've been trying to write this sentence for three days. My mother's scream when she called me — I don't have a way to write about that sound. I drove to Las Cruces in nine hours. I didn't stop. I don't remember most of the drive. I remember the Organ Mountains appearing through the windshield as I came into the valley, and thinking that Ruben had seen them too, hundreds of times, and would not see them again. I remember pulling into my parents' driveway. I remember my father at the door, smaller somehow than I'd ever seen him.

Gloria was in the kitchen making green chile stew. She makes it when she doesn't know what to do with her hands. She makes it when there's nothing to say. The pot she uses is the same pot her mother used, and before that her mother's mother. She was making the stew when I walked in and she didn't stop and I stood there and watched her stir it and neither of us said anything for a long time and that was the right thing. That was the only right thing.

I don't have a food connection this week. The only food this week is my mother's stew, which she made because her son was dead and she needed to keep her hands moving, and which is the oldest and most fundamental reason food exists. I'll write more when I can. I can't write more now.

I can’t give you Gloria’s stew — that recipe lives in her hands and in that pot and in forty years of knowing exactly how much chile is enough, and I don’t think it can be written down any more than her mother’s version could be. But this chicken poblano soup is the closest thing I know how to point you toward: green chiles, a heavy pot, something that fills the kitchen with a smell that means someone is trying to hold the house together. Make it when you need your hands to keep moving. Make it for someone who doesn’t know what to say. That’s what it’s for.

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 40 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless skinless chicken thighs
3 poblano peppers, roasted, peeled, seeded, and diced
2 Anaheim or Hatch green chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded, and diced (or one 7 oz can fire-roasted green chiles)
1 medium yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 cup whole milk or heavy cream
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano (Mexican oregano preferred)
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Juice of 1/2 lime
Sour cream, shredded jack cheese, and warm flour tortillas, for serving

Instructions

Roast the chiles. Place poblanos and Anaheim chiles directly over a gas flame or under a broiler, turning occasionally, until charred on all sides, about 8–10 minutes. Transfer to a bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and let steam 10 minutes. Peel, seed, and dice. Set aside.
Sear the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Season chicken thighs on both sides with salt and pepper. Sear until golden, about 3–4 minutes per side. Remove to a plate; the chicken will finish cooking in the soup.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Add the onion to the same pot and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, cumin, and oregano and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Simmer. Add the roasted chiles, diced potatoes, and chicken broth to the pot. Nestle the seared chicken thighs back in. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a steady simmer. Cook uncovered for 20–25 minutes, until the potatoes are tender and the chicken is cooked through.
Shred the chicken. Remove the chicken thighs to a cutting board and shred with two forks into bite-sized pieces. Return the shredded chicken to the pot.
Finish the soup. Stir in the milk or cream and the lime juice. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Simmer gently for 5 more minutes — do not boil after adding the cream. The soup should be thick, fragrant, and a deep green-gold color.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with sour cream and shredded jack cheese. Serve with warm flour tortillas on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Poblano Soup — The Stew Gloria Makes When There’s Nothing Left to Say