Rosemary Chicken Noodle Soup

Three years. One hundred and fifty-five weeks. I've been writing this blog for three years. Three years of soup beans and fried chicken and stack cake and the slow excavation of a life told through recipes. Three years of Betty's kitchen reconstructed in a kitchen in Lexington. Three years of a man standing at a stove talking to strangers on the internet about pinto beans and cast iron and the particular grace of Appalachian food.

What has changed in three years: Clay was a fifteen-year-old sophomore when I started. He is now a nineteen-year-old infantry soldier in Afghanistan. Amber was a nineteen-year-old college freshman. She is now a twenty-two-year-old graduating nurse. Travis was an unattached twenty-two-year-old landscaper. He is now a twenty-five-year-old engaged man with a business plan and a fiancée with a binder. Betty was a seventy-six-year-old alone in Evarts. She is now a seventy-eight-year-old alone in Evarts with diminishing vision and undimished will. Connie was forty-seven. She is now forty-nine. She hasn't changed. Connie doesn't change. Connie is the constant. Connie is the fixed point around which the rest of us orbit.

What hasn't changed: Monday is soup beans. The cast iron is on the stove. The kitchen is where I go when the world is too much. Betty's recipes are in my hands. The blog is still here.

For the end of year three, I'm not sharing a recipe. I'm sharing a thank you. To the people who read this. To the people who wrote me about their own mothers' kitchens and their own fathers' grills and their own mountains, coal and sand and metaphorical. To the woman from Letcher County who makes her dead husband's soup beans every Monday. To Rodriguez's abuela, who apparently now reads the blog (in translation, through Rodriguez's sister). To Betty, who is the source of everything I cook and everything I am. To Connie, who is the reason I cook and the reason I am. To Clay, who is reading the soup bean recipe card in a bunk in Afghanistan and finding home in a list of ingredients. To Travis, who is about to marry a woman who does the dishes without being asked. To Amber, who is about to graduate and save lives. To Earl, who is dead but who is in every pot of beans I make because the beans remember and so do I.

Year four begins. The soup is on. The stove is lit. The mountain is still there. Keep going. We keep going.

I said I wasn’t sharing a recipe this week, and I meant it — the thank-you was the thing. But then Monday came, like it always does, and I needed something in the pot. Not soup beans, because soup beans belong to Betty and to Earl and to the whole weight of that tradition, and I didn’t want to put that on a week that was already carrying so much. So I made this instead: rosemary chicken noodle soup, simple and warm and exactly the kind of thing you make when you want to feed people without making a statement about it. Clay is a world away. Amber is almost done. Travis is almost married. The soup doesn’t fix any of that — it just keeps us in the habit of showing up at the stove, which is the whole point.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 35 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 medium carrots, sliced into rounds
3 stalks celery, sliced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 teaspoons fresh rosemary, finely chopped (or 3/4 teaspoon dried)
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
8 cups low-sodium chicken broth
2 cups cooked chicken, shredded (rotisserie works perfectly)
2 cups wide egg noodles, uncooked
1 tablespoon fresh parsley, chopped
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Instructions

Build the base. Heat olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion, carrots, and celery. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened — about 7 to 8 minutes. Add garlic, rosemary, thyme, salt, and pepper and cook for another minute until fragrant.
Add broth and simmer. Pour in the chicken broth and bring to a gentle boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and let the vegetables simmer for 10 minutes until the carrots are nearly tender.
Add chicken and noodles. Stir in the shredded chicken and egg noodles. Cook uncovered for 8 to 10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the noodles are tender but not mushy.
Finish and adjust. Remove from heat. Stir in fresh parsley and lemon juice. Taste and adjust salt and pepper as needed. The lemon juice brightens everything — don’t skip it.
Serve. Ladle into bowls and serve hot. Good bread alongside is never a mistake. Leftovers reheat well; add a splash of broth if the noodles have absorbed too much liquid.

Nutrition (per serving)

Rosemary Chicken Noodle Soup — Because the Soup Is Always On