Homemade Cream of Chicken Soup

The running group has become a fixture. Every Saturday, rain or shine or the gray mist that Boise specializes in during January. Six women and a river path and the kind of conversation that only happens when you're moving — unguarded, breathless, honest in the way that physical exertion makes you honest. Jen talks about Dave (still going well). Becky talks about the ER (she's a nurse; the stories are horrifying and hilarious in equal measure). Pam, at sixty-two, talks about retirement and her grandchildren and the fact that she can still outrun all of us, which she attributes to "spite and good genetics."

I talk about the kids. About the clinic. About the garden I'm planning for spring. I don't talk about cancer much anymore — not because I'm avoiding it, but because it has become one thread in a larger tapestry, not the whole cloth. I had cancer. I survived. It shaped me. It does not define me. The definition is something I'm still writing, and it includes cancer the way a river includes the rocks at the bottom: they're there, they changed the current, but they're not the river.

Mason has become interested in maps. He found an old atlas at the library and has been studying it with the intensity of a cartographer, tracing river systems with his finger, memorizing state capitals, asking me questions I can't answer ("Mama, why is Delaware so small?"). I don't know why Delaware is so small. But I admire the question.

I made clam chowder this week — New England style, creamy, thick, with potatoes and bacon and fresh clams from the fish counter at WinCo. It's not a recipe from my family. Nobody in Idaho makes clam chowder. But I had the craving, and acting on food cravings is a privilege I don't take for granted, not since chemo stripped me of the ability to crave anything beyond saltines and ginger ale. Every craving is a celebration. Every meal I want to eat is proof that I'm alive.

I didn’t have clams that particular Saturday — WinCo was out, the fish counter bare — so I pivoted to what I did have: a roast chicken carcass in the freezer, good stock, a full bag of flour, and the desire for something thick and warm and mine. This homemade cream of chicken soup is what came of that pivot, and it turned out to be exactly right: creamy in the way chowder is creamy, simple in the way all the best things are simple, and worth every minute of standing at the stove. After years of not being able to trust my own appetite, I’ve learned that the craving itself is the point — whatever form it takes.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 30 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 1/2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 cup cooked chicken, finely diced or shredded
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
Pinch of dried thyme

Instructions

Make the roux. Melt butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Once foaming subsides, whisk in the flour and cook, stirring constantly, for about 2 minutes until the mixture turns pale golden and smells nutty.
Add the broth. Slowly pour in the chicken broth while whisking continuously to prevent lumps. Bring to a gentle simmer and whisk until smooth and beginning to thicken, about 3–4 minutes.
Add the milk. Pour in the milk in a slow, steady stream, whisking as you go. Continue cooking over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until the soup is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 5–7 minutes. Do not boil.
Season and add chicken. Stir in the diced chicken, salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, and thyme. Reduce heat to low and cook another 3–5 minutes until the chicken is warmed through and the flavors have melded.
Taste and serve. Adjust salt and pepper as needed. Serve hot as a standalone soup or use as a rich base for casseroles, pot pies, or pasta bakes.

Nutrition (per serving)

Homemade Cream of Chicken Soup — Every Craving Is a Celebration