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Mushroom — Broccoli Soup — The Steam That Rises When No One Is Taking Care of You

Mid-April and the quarantine has settled into a rhythm that is neither comfortable nor unbearable — it is simply the shape of life now, the way the apartment is the shape of the world now, and I am adapting because adaptation is what Nakamuras do. We endure. We always endure. The endurance is in the DNA, placed there by grandparents who survived internment and parents who survived a loveless marriage and a daughter who is surviving a pandemic and a marriage that is dying in real time, in a two-bedroom apartment, with a three-year-old as witness.

I made takikomi gohan — the seasoned rice cooked with vegetables and mushrooms and dashi, a one-pot rice dish that is comfort and sustenance in a single cooker. The rice absorbs the dashi and soy sauce and the mushrooms release their earthiness and when you open the lid the steam rises and the smell is the smell of being taken care of, and I need to be taken care of, and no one is taking care of me, so I am taking care of myself with rice, the way Fumiko's mother took care of herself with rice after the camps, the way women in my family have always taken care of themselves: by feeding themselves first, by making the meal, by refusing to stop cooking even when the world has stopped everything else.

Miya asked why we can't go to the park. I said, "Because people are sick." She asked, "Is daddy sick?" I said no. She asked, "Is mama sick?" I said no. She asked, "Then why can't we go?" The logic of a three-year-old is a razor: clean, precise, cutting directly to the truth that adults spend weeks obfuscating. Why can't we go? Because the world is sick, and the sickness is invisible, and the invisibility is the cruelest part, because you cannot point to it, you cannot show a child the danger, you can only say "trust me" and hope that the trust holds.

I wrote three blog posts this week. The writing is pouring out of me the way water pours from a broken pipe — not because I want it to but because the pressure has built and the container has cracked and the words are going somewhere whether I direct them or not. I wrote about cooking with a child in quarantine. I wrote about the sound of rain on windows when you haven't left the house in two weeks. I wrote about miso soup at three AM, alone in the kitchen, the pandemic outside and the dashi inside and the space between them no wider than a windowpane. Eight thousand readers now. The pandemic is bringing people to the blog the way a storm brings people indoors — not because they chose it but because the outside is no longer safe.

The takikomi gohan I made that week — the mushrooms releasing their earthiness into the dashi, the steam rising when I lifted the lid — reminded me that the simplest act of combining mushrooms and broth is already a kind of care, already a language I know fluently. This mushroom and broccoli soup is what I reach for when I want that same feeling but need something I can sip from a bowl on the couch, next to a sleeping three-year-old, with the rain still going. It has none of the ceremony of takikomi gohan and all of the same promise: that earthy, savory depth that means someone thought to make something warm, even if that someone is only you.

Mushroom & Broccoli Soup

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 1 medium yellow onion, diced
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • 16 oz cremini or baby bella mushrooms, sliced
  • 3 cups broccoli florets, roughly chopped
  • 4 cups vegetable broth (or dashi-style broth)
  • 1 cup water
  • 2 tablespoons soy sauce
  • 1 teaspoon sesame oil
  • 1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 1 tablespoon cornstarch dissolved in 2 tablespoons cold water (optional, for thickening)
  • 2 green onions, thinly sliced, for garnish
  • Sesame seeds, for garnish

Instructions

  1. Build the base. In a large pot or Dutch oven, melt butter with olive oil over medium heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add garlic and cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
  2. Cook the mushrooms. Add sliced mushrooms in a single layer as best you can. Let them sit undisturbed for 2—3 minutes to brown, then stir and continue cooking until they have released their liquid and that liquid has mostly evaporated, about 8 minutes total. This is the step that builds the depth.
  3. Add broccoli and liquid. Stir in broccoli florets, then pour in the broth and water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce to a steady simmer.
  4. Season and simmer. Add soy sauce, sesame oil, white pepper, and salt. Simmer uncovered for 12—15 minutes, until broccoli is tender but still bright green.
  5. Adjust consistency. If you prefer a slightly thicker soup, stir in the cornstarch slurry and simmer for 2 more minutes, stirring gently, until the broth takes on a light body. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
  6. Serve. Ladle into bowls and finish with sliced green onions and a pinch of sesame seeds. Eat while the steam is still rising.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 110 | Protein: 4g | Fat: 6g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 620mg

Jen Nakamura
About the cook who shared this
Jen Nakamura
Week 205 of Jen’s 30-year story · Portland, Oregon
Jen is a forty-year-old yoga instructor and divorced mom in Portland who traded panic attacks for plants and never looked back. She's Japanese-American on her father's side — third-generation, with a family history that includes wartime internment and generational silence — and white on her mother's. Her cooking is plant-forward, intuitive, and deeply influenced by both her Japanese grandmother's techniques and the Pacific Northwest farmers market she visits every Saturday rain or shine. Which in Portland means mostly rain.

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