Lads lads lads.
This soup is basically free if you play your cards right. Ok, maybe not free but like, a bonus meal that comes as a nice tasty surprise because you’ve previously thrown out your chicken bones and not used the massive woody stem of the broccoli, because GUESS WHAT those are the two main ingredients.
This soup is banging. This soup changes things. This soup, dare I say it, doesn’t even need bread to make it tasty. This soup is also ballsy, and hearty and all of those other adjectives you need when you’re talking about something that’s quite flavoursome and chonky.
This soup is the tits.
So, how to make it.
I’m not going to put it up as a conventional recipe but instead as a conversation between someone who knows how to cook and someone who doesn’t, in an entertaining dialogue rarely seen in the recipe genre. Not for any reason in particular. I’m just feeling a bit nuts and you’re probably not gonna cook it anyway plus the old brain needs a good old fart. Enjoy.
How to make chicken soup in a short section of weirdly written prose
“What are you doing with those all chicken bones, Edith?” Said Polly, squeezing her tea bag against the side of the mug and looking quizzically at her flatmate who was piling gnawed chicken drumstick bones from a plate into a big fuck-off saucepan.
“I’m boiling them to make a stock, Polly,” said Edith.
“Righto. How are you doing that then?” Said Polly, forgetting that the milk had gone off and essentially slopping yogurt into her mug.
Edith transferred the pot to the hob and poured a kettle full of boiling water over the chicken bones. There was around 500g of bones in the pot, she reckoned, so they’d need about 1.5 liters of water. She also scattered in about a tablespoon of salt and a few peppercorns. They’d run out of bay leaves which was annoying.
“You basically just boil the bones for ages until the flavour is really nice and strong,” said Edith in reply to Polly’s question.
Polly was fishing floating milk curds out of her mug. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?” Edith added, pointing to Polly’s horrific tea.
“Urgh what’s the difference between milk and yoghurt anyway,” Polly shrugged. “And what are you going to do with the stock when it’s ready?” she asked, bringing the mug towards her lips.
Edith winced but said nothing as Polly drank her stanky tea. “I’m making soup out of it with those three broccoli stalks I’ve got in the freezer”.
“Oooh yummy,” said Polly sincerely, swirling her mug on the counter. “Can I watch?”
“Whatever floats your goat mate,” said Edith, immediately regretting her use of the word ‘float’. She was trying desperately not imagine what Polly’s tea tasted like.
Ignoring the shivers down her spine, Edith chopped her broccoli stalks into roughly centimeter cubes. She rummaged around in the cupboard and found a large white onion and diced it roughly. (“I hope it appreciates its vegetable privilege” said Polly)
In another big saucepan, Edith melted what Polly thought was far too much butter for the amount of onion present.
“That’s the secret, though” said Edith when this was pointed out. “All things that taste good involve lots of butter”.
“What about gummy worms?” Asked Polly. Edith was about to respond but then she remembered that Polly was currently drinking gone-off milk and therefore shouldn’t be reasoned with. She raised an eyebrow in reply.
Edith fried the onion in the butter, along with some sage, some nutmeg and some black pepper. She then added the broccoli stalks and put the lid on for everything to soften. The kitchen was starting to smell less of gone-off milk and more like warm onions.
The stock had been boiling a while now, but Edith reckoned it needed around 15 minutes more to reduce with the lid off. Polly took the opportunity to go to the shop and buy gummy worms and some fresh milk. Edith tipped the rest of the old milk down the sink and switched the onion and broccoli off.
“Are you ready for the final installment of Soup Time?” Edith asked Polly when she returned with her bounty.
“I’m one-hundred-percent intrigued” said Polly distractedly, eating all the yellow coloured gummy worms out of the packet and waiting for the kettle to boil again.
Edith tipped the stock into the onion pan using the lid as a colander to stop any bones going in. She then brought the mixture to a rapid boil, switched it off and used an immersion blender (“a fucking what?” said Polly) to blend it until it was a lovely smooth texture. She seasoned it again with salt and pepper.
“Looks like the colour of snot when you’re a bit ill,” said Polly, peering into the pan when Edith had finished immersion-blending.
“Thanks,” said Edith. “I think it tastes better than that though.”
Edith ladled the soup into two bowls and swirled a touch of double cream through each. Polly made them both another cup of tea with fresh milk this time, and they sat down to a nice hot bowl of fictional soup.