Cream of Chicken Soup

Mark called from San Diego. He and Carmen are officially serious — moved in together, talking about the future, the whole trajectory that means "we're going to be a family" without anyone using those exact words yet. He asked about Jason. I told him — the move, the long-distance, the calls. Mark was quiet for a moment and then said, "Long-distance is hard. I did it for years in the Navy. But it either works or it doesn't, and you know which it is pretty fast."

Mark is not a man of many words. Navy training and Santos genetics combined to produce a person who speaks in condensed sentences that carry the weight of paragraphs. When Mark says something, it's already been through three rounds of internal editing. So when he says "you know which it is pretty fast," I hear: I think you already know. I hear: it's okay to know. I hear: your brother, who crossed oceans for the Navy and came back to tell about it, is giving you permission to look at the truth.

I don't know what the truth is yet. Or I do and I'm not looking. Both are possible. Dr. Reeves would say both are the same thing.

I made arroz caldo — Filipino rice porridge, the ultimate comfort food, the food for sick days and sad days and days when the truth is sitting in the room and you're not ready to look at it. The rice cooked down into a thick, gingery porridge, the chicken falling apart, the fried garlic on top adding its crispy punctuation. Arroz caldo is what Lourdes made when any of us were sick. It's what I make when I need the culinary equivalent of a hug — warm, thick, requiring no chewing, asking nothing of the body except the willingness to be nourished.

I ate the arroz caldo at the table. I thought about what Mark said. I thought about Jason in Fairbanks, three hundred sixty miles away, building a life that doesn't include me in it except by phone, except by visit, except by the approximate presence of long-distance that is never quite presence and never quite absence. I thought about what I know and what I'm not looking at. The arroz caldo was warm. The truth can wait until I'm ready. Some truths can wait. Some truths are patient. This one sits in the corner, eating nothing, taking up space.

I didn’t have all the ingredients for a proper arroz caldo — no jasmine rice soaking, no ginger knob in the crisper — but the need was the same: something warm, thick, and forgiving. This Cream of Chicken Soup is what I reach for when the spirit of arroz caldo is more important than the letter of it; it has that same slow-cooked tenderness, the same quality of asking nothing of you except that you sit down and let yourself be fed.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 50 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 stalks celery, sliced
2 medium carrots, peeled and sliced
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
4 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried parsley
Salt and black pepper to taste

Instructions

Cook the chicken. Place chicken in a medium saucepan, cover with water, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 15–18 minutes until cooked through. Remove, let cool slightly, then shred or chop into bite-sized pieces. Reserve 1 cup of the cooking liquid.
Sauté the aromatics. In a large pot over medium heat, melt butter. Add onion, celery, and carrots and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Build the roux. Sprinkle flour over the vegetables and stir to coat. Cook for 1–2 minutes, stirring constantly, until the flour smells slightly nutty and the mixture is pale golden.
Add the liquids. Slowly pour in the chicken broth and reserved cooking liquid, whisking constantly to prevent lumps. Add the milk and bring the soup to a gentle simmer, stirring frequently, until it thickens — about 8–10 minutes.
Finish the soup. Stir in the heavy cream, shredded chicken, thyme, and parsley. Simmer on low for 5 minutes. Season generously with salt and black pepper.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and serve warm. A thick slice of crusty bread alongside is not optional.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cream of Chicken Soup — The Warmth You Make When You’re Not Ready to Know