Hungarian Mushroom Soup

February. I have always had a complicated relationship with February—it's the month that runs out of reasons to be here after about the twelfth, and Boston in February has a gray weight to it that gets into you. But this February I'm thirty-three weeks pregnant and the due date is in March and February feels like waiting, which is something I'm not particularly skilled at but am being taught.

Liam is running out of room. The kicks have changed—less like kicks and more like someone rearranging a small apartment, elbows and heels pressing against the walls. At night I can sometimes see the movement through my shirt and it's the strangest and most remarkable thing I've ever looked at, this evidence of a person who is not yet here.

I packed the hospital bag this week. I'm a nurse. I know exactly what to bring and exactly what's unnecessary, and I still stood in the nursery with a list for forty minutes because it turns out clinical knowledge and emotional readiness are different skills. I packed the handmade quilt in a plastic bag even though we won't need it at the hospital because the quilt is coming with us and that's not negotiable.

Sean's father came over for dinner on Saturday and Sean made his mother's lamb stew, from memory, the one Maureen taught him years ago. Sean Sr. ate two bowls without saying anything and then said "your mother would be pleased" and Sean nodded and they didn't say anything else about it. I sat at the table and ate and watched two men communicate through food and absence and it occurred to me that Liam is being born into something very specific, this particular Boston Irish web of what you say and what you don't have to say.

I’ve been thinking about that dinner all week — not because of anything dramatic, but because of how quiet it was, how the stew did all the work that words couldn’t. I don’t have Maureen’s lamb recipe, and it didn’t feel right to reach for it. But I wanted something in the same spirit: deeply savory, made with patience, the kind of thing you ladle into a bowl and set in front of someone without ceremony. This Hungarian mushroom soup has been in my rotation for years, and right now, thirty-three weeks in and waiting, it’s exactly the bowl I keep coming back to — earthy and paprika-warm and a little sour from cream stirred in at the end, the way good stews always seem to hold something back until the last moment.

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

Ingredients

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 lbs cremini or baby bella mushrooms, sliced
2 tablespoons sweet Hungarian paprika
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon fresh dill, chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried)
3 cups vegetable or chicken broth
1 cup whole milk
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup sour cream, room temperature
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
Salt and black pepper, to taste
Fresh parsley, for serving

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Melt butter in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 6–8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
Build the mushroom base. Add the sliced mushrooms to the pot. Cook undisturbed for 3 minutes, then stir and continue cooking until the mushrooms have released their liquid and it has mostly evaporated, about 8–10 minutes total. The mushrooms should be deeply browned and fragrant.
Bloom the spices. Stir in both paprikas, the soy sauce, and the dill. Cook for 1 minute, stirring constantly, until the spices are fragrant and coating the mushrooms evenly.
Add the broth. Pour in the broth and bring the soup to a gentle simmer. Cook uncovered for 10 minutes to let the flavors come together.
Thicken the soup. In a small bowl, whisk the flour into the milk until completely smooth with no lumps. Slowly pour the milk mixture into the simmering soup while stirring continuously. Continue to simmer, stirring often, for another 5 minutes until the soup thickens noticeably.
Finish with sour cream. Reduce heat to low. In a small bowl, temper the sour cream by stirring a ladleful of hot soup into it, then pour the tempered mixture back into the pot. Stir gently to combine. Do not let the soup boil after this point. Add lemon juice, then season with salt and pepper to taste.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh parsley. Crusty bread or egg noodles on the side are not optional so much as expected.

Nutrition (per serving)

Hungarian Mushroom Soup — The Kind of Warmth You Make Without Explaining Why