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Mexican Pulled Chicken Tortilla Soup — Monsoon Season in a Bowl

Monsoon season is back. The dust walls, the lightning, the rain that hammers the desert for thirty minutes and then vanishes like it never happened. Phoenix monsoons are my favorite weather — not because they're gentle (they're violent) but because they break the monotony of summer heat with something dramatic and temporary and beautiful. The desert needs the rain the way I need the grill: not constantly, but deeply, and when it comes, everything changes.

On shift we ran calls during a monsoon that knocked out power to half of central Phoenix. Downed lines, flooded streets, a car in a wash (again — NEVER DRIVE THROUGH A FLOODED WASH, I will say this until I die). We also got a call for a house fire that turned out to be a lightning strike on a palm tree in someone's front yard. The tree was on fire. Just the tree. The homeowner was standing on his porch filming it for Instagram. I told him to get back inside. He said "but the content." I said "sir, your tree is on fire." He said "exactly." I love this city. I hate this city. Both things are true.

Jessica is thirty-five weeks. The monsoon energy matches her energy: turbulent, powerful, and unpredictable. She sneezed on Tuesday and pulled a muscle in her side. She tried to pick up Sofia's toy and got stuck halfway down and had to call for help. She ate an entire sleeve of Oreos at midnight and denied it in the morning despite the evidence — a trail of crumbs leading from the kitchen to the bedroom like the world's most incriminating breadcrumb path. I love this woman more now than I did on our wedding day, which is saying something because on our wedding day she wore a white dress and my dad grilled for 150 people and it was the happiest day of my life.

Made monsoon food again — chicken tortilla soup, same as last year. The recipe hasn't changed because it doesn't need to change. Roasted tomatoes, charred onion, garlic, chicken, corn, black beans, cumin, oregano, lime. Crispy tortilla strips on top. Jessica ate two bowls and said "this tastes like last monsoon season" and she's right — some recipes are connected to weather and memory, and every time the dust wall rolls in and the rain hits the roof, my body wants this soup. Food is memory stored in flavor. The monsoon is the trigger.

Five weeks. Five weeks until Diego. The nursery is ready. The hospital bag is packed (Jessica packed it at thirty-two weeks because she is an accountant and accountants prepare early). My bag — a duffel with a change of clothes, snacks, and the phone charger — is by the door. The car seat is installed. Everything is ready except us, and we'll never be ready, and that's fine. Readiness is overrated. Showing up is what matters.

So here’s the soup. The one that shows up every monsoon season like clockwork, the one Jessica said tastes like last year’s storms. After running calls through flooded washes and talking a man out of filming his burning palm tree, after watching Jess navigate thirty-five weeks of pregnancy with the force of a dust wall rolling through central Phoenix — this is what I made. It doesn’t need to be complicated. It just needs to be exactly what it’s always been.

Chicken Tortilla Soup

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 1 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breasts
  • 4 Roma tomatoes, halved
  • 1 large white onion, quartered
  • 4 cloves garlic, unpeeled
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
  • 1 tablespoon ground cumin
  • 1 teaspoon dried oregano
  • 1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
  • 6 cups chicken broth
  • 1 can (15 ounces) black beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 cup corn kernels (fresh, frozen, or fire-roasted)
  • 1 can (14.5 ounces) fire-roasted diced tomatoes
  • Juice of 2 limes
  • Salt and black pepper to taste
  • 6 corn tortillas, cut into 1/4-inch strips
  • Vegetable oil for frying

Toppings

  • Diced avocado
  • Sour cream or Mexican crema
  • Fresh cilantro, chopped
  • Shredded Monterey Jack or cotija cheese
  • Lime wedges

Instructions

  1. Roast the vegetables. Preheat broiler to high. Place halved Roma tomatoes, quartered onion, and unpeeled garlic cloves on a sheet pan. Drizzle with 1 tablespoon olive oil and season with salt. Broil 8 to 10 minutes, turning once, until charred in spots and softened. Peel the garlic when cool enough to handle.
  2. Blend the base. Transfer the roasted tomatoes, onion, and garlic to a blender. Blend until smooth but still slightly chunky.
  3. Cook the chicken. Heat the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium-high heat. Season the chicken breasts with cumin, oregano, smoked paprika, cayenne, salt, and pepper. Sear 3 to 4 minutes per side until golden brown. Remove and set aside.
  4. Build the soup. Pour the roasted vegetable puree into the pot and cook 2 minutes, stirring to pick up any fond from the chicken. Add the chicken broth, fire-roasted diced tomatoes, black beans, and corn. Return the chicken to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low, cover, and simmer 20 to 25 minutes until the chicken is cooked through and shreds easily.
  5. Shred and finish. Remove the chicken, shred with two forks, and return it to the pot. Stir in the lime juice. Taste and adjust salt, pepper, and cumin as needed.
  6. Fry the tortilla strips. While the soup simmers, heat 1/2 inch of vegetable oil in a small skillet over medium-high heat. Fry the tortilla strips in batches, 1 to 2 minutes per batch, until golden and crispy. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate and season immediately with a pinch of salt.
  7. Serve. Ladle the soup into bowls. Top with crispy tortilla strips, diced avocado, a dollop of crema, cilantro, cheese, and a squeeze of lime.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 380 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 12g | Carbs: 36g | Fiber: 7g | Sodium: 890mg

Marcus Rivera
About the cook who shared this
Marcus Rivera
Week 69 of Marcus’s 30-year story · Phoenix, Arizona
Marcus is a Phoenix firefighter, a husband, a dad of two, and the kind of guy who'd hand you a plate of brisket before he'd shake your hand. He grew up watching his father Roberto grill carne asada every Sunday in the backyard, and that tradition runs through everything he cooks. He's won a couple of local BBQ competitions, built an outdoor kitchen his wife calls "the altar," and feeds his fire crew on every shift. For Marcus, cooking isn't a hobby — it's how he shows up for the people he loves.

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