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5-Ingredient White Chicken Chili -- The Soup You Make When You Have Nothing

Week two of lockdown. James and I have developed a rhythm that I suspect every couple in America is either developing or failing to develop right now. He takes the dining table. I take the desk in the bedroom. We meet in the kitchen at noon like diplomats at a neutral border, and we cook lunch together because lunch has become the event of the day, the thing we build toward, the only appointment on the calendar that matters.

Monday I made kongnamul-guk ╬ôçö soybean sprout soup, the simplest Korean soup there is, four ingredients, twenty minutes. My mother ╬ôçö Jisoo, the one I haven't met yet, the one someone in Seoul is maybe looking for ╬ôçö probably made this soup a thousand times. Every Korean mother has. It's the soup you make when you have nothing, and right now, in a pandemic, with the grocery shelves half-empty and the world half-stopped, the soup you make when you have nothing feels exactly right. James ate two bowls and said, "This tastes like being taken care of." He's not wrong. Soup is care. Korean soup especially ╬ôçö the broths that simmer for hours, the anchovy stock that smells like the ocean, the doenjang that smells like earth. Care, in liquid form.

We FaceTimed Karen and David on Wednesday. David is restless in retirement-that-isn't-quite-retirement ╬ôçö he still goes to his home office every morning out of habit, reads engineering journals, reorganizes his tools. Karen is knitting. They look okay. They look like two people in their late seventies who have survived worse than a virus and know it but are scared anyway. Karen asked what we were cooking. I listed the week's meals ╬ôçö kongnamul-guk, kimchi fried rice, James's dan dan noodles, a failed attempt at hotteok that stuck to the pan in a way that was personally offensive. Karen laughed. The laugh was medicine.

Kevin called Thursday. Two weeks sober in lockdown, which is its own kind of test ╬ôçö isolation is not a friend to recovery. He's going to virtual meetings. He sounds steady. He's roasting coffee at home because Stumptown is closed. He sent me a bag ╬ôçö Ethiopian single origin, light roast, a note that said: "Made this thinking of you." The coffee is excellent. My brother, who I used to find sleeping under bridges, roasts excellent coffee and thinks of me while he does it. That's the whole story, really. That's enough.

That week, James’s words stayed with me — this tastes like being taken care of — and I kept thinking about the particular mercy of a meal that asks almost nothing of you and gives so much back. When the next round of pantry-scraping anxiety hit, I turned to this 5-Ingredient White Chicken Chili for the same reason I turned to kongnamul-guk: it’s the soup you make when you have nothing, and somehow it still feels like plenty. Five ingredients, one pot, thirty minutes — and on a Tuesday in lockdown, that is more than enough.

5-Ingredient White Chicken Chili

Prep Time: 5 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

  • 2 cups cooked shredded chicken (rotisserie works perfectly)
  • 2 cans (15 oz each) cannellini or great northern beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 can (4 oz) diced green chiles, undrained
  • 3 cups low-sodium chicken broth
  • 4 oz cream cheese, cut into cubes and softened

Instructions

  1. Combine the base. In a medium pot over medium heat, combine the shredded chicken, drained beans, green chiles (with their liquid), and chicken broth. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle simmer.
  2. Simmer. Let the chili simmer uncovered for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the flavors meld and the broth deepens slightly in color.
  3. Mash for body. Use the back of a spoon or a potato masher to gently mash about one-third of the beans directly in the pot. This thickens the chili without any flour or cornstarch.
  4. Add cream cheese. Reduce heat to low. Add the softened cream cheese cubes and stir continuously for 3—4 minutes until fully melted and incorporated into the broth. The chili will turn creamy and rich.
  5. Taste and serve. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Ladle into bowls and serve as-is, or top with sour cream, sliced scallions, shredded cheese, or a squeeze of lime if you have them on hand.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 30g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 29g | Fiber: 7g | Sodium: 620mg

Stephanie Park
About the cook who shared this
Stephanie Park
Week 209 of Stephanie’s 30-year story · Seattle, Washington
Stephanie is a software engineer in Seattle, a new mom, and a Korean-American adoptee who spent twenty-five years not knowing where she came from. She was adopted as an infant by a white family in Bellevue who loved her completely and never cooked Korean food. At twenty-eight, she found her birth mother in Busan — and then she found herself in a kitchen, crying over her first homemade kimchi jjigae, because some things your body remembers even when your mind doesn't.

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