Thick and Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup

Spring. The crocuses are pushing through the frozen ground in the front garden, and I take this as evidence that persistence works, because if a flower can survive a Long Island winter and push through frozen soil toward light, then I can survive this year and push through the frozen thing that has settled in my chest toward something that resembles hope. I am not there yet. But the crocuses are evidence that "there" exists.

Noah is born. David and Jennifer's third child. Noah Feldman, born April second, seven pounds eleven ounces, and I drove to White Plains the same day, because that is what I do — I drive and I bring food and I hold the baby and I say the prayers and I marvel at the mathematics of grandchildren. Three now. Three. Ethan is five, Sophie is three, and now Noah, who arrived in the world on an ordinary Tuesday and made it extraordinary simply by existing.

I brought challah and chicken soup. These are the birth foods. These are the foods you bring to a woman who has just made a person: soup for strength, bread for sustenance, love in edible form. Jennifer was tired and radiant, the two states that coexist only in women who have recently given birth. She drank the soup. She ate the challah. She handed me Noah.

I held him. I held him and looked at his face — new, perfect, ancient — and I whispered the Shema, the way Sylvia whispered it over me, the way I whispered it over David and Rebecca, the way the prayer has been whispered over Jewish newborns since there were Jewish newborns. "Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One." The prayer is a declaration of faith, and faith, for me, is not about God specifically. Faith is about the chain. Faith is about the conviction that this baby, born into a world that contains Alzheimer's and loss and the unbearable fragility of the people we love, is worth the risk. Every baby is a bet on the future. Noah is a bet. I am placing the bet. All in.

I brought Marvin to meet Noah the next day. Marvin held the baby and smiled and said, "He looks like Irving." I don't know if Marvin meant it or if the names are scrambling — Irving, David, Noah, the men in his life blurring at the edges. But Noah does look like Irving. The quiet eyes. The still face. The look of a person who is watching the world and reserving comment. So I took it as a gift. A gift from the part of Marvin that still connects names to faces, faces to histories, histories to love. The gift is real. I will keep it.

Every time I drive to a new baby, I bring this soup. Not a recipe I looked up — the recipe that lives in my hands, that I have adjusted over thirty years of births and recoveries and moments when someone needed strength in liquid form. Jennifer drank it that Tuesday in White Plains while Noah slept on her chest, and she said, "Ruth, this is exactly what I needed," and those are the words every grandmother wants to hear. If you are going to someone who has just made a person, bring this soup. Bring challah if you can. Bring yourself. In that order.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large yellow onion, diced
3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into coins
3 stalks celery, sliced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
8 cups good-quality chicken broth
1 cup whole milk or half-and-half
2 cups cooked chicken, shredded (rotisserie works beautifully)
2 cups wide egg noodles, uncooked
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon dried parsley
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
Salt and black pepper to taste
Fresh parsley, chopped, for serving

Instructions

Build the base. In a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven, melt the butter with the olive oil over medium heat. Add the onion, carrots, and celery. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are softened and the onion is translucent, about 8 minutes. Add the garlic and cook one minute more until fragrant.
Make the roux. Sprinkle the flour over the vegetables and stir well to coat everything evenly. Cook for 2 minutes, stirring constantly — this cooks out the raw flour taste and is the step that makes this soup thick rather than thin. Do not rush it.
Add the broth. Pour in the chicken broth gradually, whisking or stirring as you go to prevent lumps. Raise the heat to medium-high and bring the soup to a gentle boil, then reduce to a simmer. Add the thyme, parsley, and onion powder. Season generously with salt and pepper.
Cook the noodles. Add the egg noodles directly to the pot. Simmer uncovered for 8 to 10 minutes, until the noodles are just tender. The noodles will continue to absorb liquid as the soup sits, so pull them slightly before you think they’re done.
Add chicken and cream. Stir in the shredded chicken and the milk or half-and-half. Reduce the heat to low and let everything warm through together for 5 minutes. Taste and adjust seasoning. The soup should be rich, thick, and deeply savory.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh parsley. If transporting — and you should transport this, to someone who needs it — let it cool slightly before sealing in a container. It keeps well in the refrigerator for 4 days and freezes for up to 3 months.

Nutrition (per serving)

Thick and Creamy Chicken Noodle Soup — The Soup You Bring When Someone Makes a Person