Chicken Lima Bean Soup

November. The pandemic Thanksgiving approaching. I'm planning the ER potluck again and the Lourdes feast again and the dual celebration that is my November tradition — feeding two families, the work family and the blood family, the ER and the Santos, the two tables where I belong.

This year I'm inviting Pete to Lourdes's Thanksgiving. Pete has no family in Anchorage — his kids are in Oregon, his ex-wife is in Fairbanks (a geographic fact that makes me wince, the Fairbanks association still carrying a slight charge, a residual spark from the Jason connection that probably won't ever fully discharge). Pete deserves a Filipino Thanksgiving. Pete deserves to see what three hundred lumpia looks like on a table. Pete deserves Lourdes.

Lourdes approved the invitation with the generosity that is her default — "Bring him. I'll make extra." Extra, in Lourdes's vocabulary, means doubling an already excessive amount. The table will groan. Pete will eat until he groans. Both groanings are correct.

I made tinola this week — the gentle soup, the ginger chicken soup that I make in November because November needs gentleness the way December needs resilience and January needs endurance. The ginger bloomed. The chicken fell apart. The chayote softened. The tinola was warm and uncomplicated and exactly what November needed — not a statement, not a thesis, just a bowl of soup that says: you are here. Eat. Be warm. The darkness outside is not inside. The inside is ginger and broth and the particular grace of a meal that asks nothing of you except your presence.

The tinola I made this week reminded me why chicken soup in its simplest form is the most honest thing I know how to cook — no performance, no complexity, just warmth that meets you where you are. This Chicken Lima Bean Soup is in that same spirit: a bowl that’s sturdy enough for a potluck table and gentle enough for a Tuesday night when the dark comes early and you need something that just says here, eat this. I’ve been making a version of this for both my ER family and my Santos family, because some recipes belong to every table you love.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 45 min | Total Time: 1 hr | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, grated
3 medium carrots, sliced into rounds
2 stalks celery, sliced
6 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 can (15 oz) lima beans, drained and rinsed
1 bay leaf
1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1 teaspoon fish sauce (optional, for depth)

Instructions

Brown the chicken. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Season chicken thighs on both sides with salt and pepper. Sear skin-side down for 4–5 minutes until golden, then flip and cook 2 minutes more. Remove chicken and set aside.
Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. In the same pot, add onion and cook, stirring, for 3–4 minutes until softened. Add garlic and ginger and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Add vegetables and broth. Stir in carrots and celery. Pour in the chicken broth, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Add the bay leaf and return the chicken thighs to the pot.
Simmer until tender. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered for 25–30 minutes, until the chicken is cooked through and very tender.
Shred the chicken. Remove chicken thighs with tongs and let cool slightly. Discard the skin and bones, then shred the meat into bite-sized pieces and return it to the pot.
Add the lima beans. Stir in the drained lima beans and fish sauce if using. Simmer for 5 more minutes to heat through and let the flavors come together. Remove bay leaf.
Finish and serve. Taste and adjust seasoning with salt and pepper. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh parsley. Serve with crusty bread or steamed rice.

Nutrition (per serving)

Chicken Lima Bean Soup — The November Bowl That Asks Nothing of You Except Your Presence