Southwest-Style Wedding Soup

August is approaching and the pandemic has settled into something worse than crisis ╬ôçö routine. The case numbers climb. The news cycles. James and I move through the condo in the choreography of two people who have memorized each other's patterns: he takes the desk from nine to twelve, I take it from twelve to three, we both work from the couch after that with laptops balanced on knees and the TV on mute showing whatever documentary James has queued. This week it was about octopuses. Last week, fermentation. I told him he was algorithmically profiling me through Netflix. He said, "The algorithm knows you better than I do. You watched that kimchi documentary three times." Four. But who's counting.

I made doenjang jjigae on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. Three batches. James said nothing on Tuesday, raised an eyebrow on Wednesday, and on Friday said, very gently, "Steph, you've made this six times this month." Seven, actually. But the Friday batch was different. I changed two things: I soaked dried shiitake mushrooms for four hours instead of using fresh, and I made my own anchovy-kelp broth from scratch instead of using the dashida powder I'd been relying on. The difference was ╬ôçö I don't have the right word. Deeper. The broth had a backbone the powder version lacked, something mineral and marine that held the doenjang's funk instead of competing with it. The shiitakes gave it an earthiness that rounded the whole thing out. I sat at the counter with the bowl and thought: this is closer. This is very close.

Kevin called Sunday. Twenty-three months sober, counting toward two years in November. He told me about a new roasting technique he's experimenting with ╬ôçö something about adjusting the temperature curve during the development phase to bring out fruit notes in Ethiopian beans. He described it with such specificity and passion that I realized we are the same person, Kevin and I, obsessing over minute variables in pursuit of a version of something that exists mostly in our heads. He chases the perfect roast. I chase the perfect jjigae. We are both trying to master a craft as a way of proving we can build something beautiful from nothing. Maybe that's the adoption thing. Maybe it's just us.

The perilla leaves from H Mart were perfect this week ╬ôçö tender, fragrant, tasting like a cross between mint and basil with something underneath that has no English equivalent. I wrapped them around rice and leftover pork from James's lu rou fan and the combination was Korean and Taiwanese and entirely ours and I thought: this table is a country. Population two. Borders open.

After that Friday bowl of jjigae — the one where the from-scratch broth finally clicked, where I sat at the counter and thought this is closer, this is very close — I wanted to stay inside that feeling a little longer. Not doenjang, exactly, but the same principle: a soup that earns its depth, built from real stock and coaxed aromatics rather than a shortcut packet. This Southwest-Style Wedding Soup scratches that same itch. The meatballs give it body the way the shiitakes gave mine earthiness, and the long simmer asks the same patience — the kind Kevin and I seem to share without ever having agreed on it.

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 35 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 lb ground pork (or a half-and-half mix of pork and beef)
1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
1 large egg, lightly beaten
3 cloves garlic, minced, divided
1 tsp ground cumin, divided
1/2 tsp smoked paprika
1/2 tsp chili powder
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 tbsp olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
2 stalks celery, thinly sliced
1 poblano pepper, seeded and diced
8 cups low-sodium chicken broth (homemade preferred)
1 cup frozen or fresh corn kernels
1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
3/4 cup orzo or acini di pepe pasta
3 cups baby spinach or roughly chopped kale
Juice of 1 lime
1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

Instructions

Make the meatballs. In a medium bowl, combine ground pork, breadcrumbs, egg, half the minced garlic, 1/2 tsp cumin, smoked paprika, 1/4 tsp salt, and a few grinds of black pepper. Mix gently until just combined — do not overwork. Roll into 3/4-inch balls (you’ll get roughly 36). Set aside on a plate.
Brown the meatballs. Heat olive oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium-high heat. Working in two batches, brown the meatballs on two sides, about 2 minutes per side. They don’t need to cook through. Transfer to a plate.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. In the same pot, add onion and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add poblano, remaining garlic, remaining 1/2 tsp cumin, and chili powder. Cook 1 minute more until fragrant.
Add the broth. Pour in chicken broth and bring to a gentle boil, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Taste and season with salt and pepper.
Simmer with the meatballs. Return meatballs to the pot along with corn and black beans. Reduce heat to a steady simmer and cook uncovered for 10 minutes, until meatballs are cooked through.
Cook the pasta. Add orzo directly to the simmering soup. Cook 8–10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until just tender. The pasta will continue to absorb broth as it sits, so don’t overcook.
Finish with greens. Stir in spinach or kale and cook just until wilted, 1–2 minutes. Squeeze in lime juice. Taste and adjust salt.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh cilantro. A warm flour tortilla on the side is never wrong.

Nutrition (per serving)

Southwest-Style Wedding Soup — The Broth That Finally Had a Backbone