Soups & Stews

There’s a moment — right after you hear the school’s canceled and you peek outside to see thick flakes still tumbling down — when the world slows down just enough to feel like childhood again. Around here, that moment has a tradition attached to it: Amish Snow Day Soup. Now, let’s be honest. It’s technically just a corn chowder. But in our house? It’s a signal. A signal that we’re staying in. That socks will stay on all day. That puzzles might get dusted off, and someone will inevitably ask for hot cocoa by 10:15 AM. And while the world …

I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. I just wanted something warm. Something that didn’t need me to babysit it. Something that felt like a hug without requiring me to assemble actual lasagna (because nope, not today). So I threw some things into the slow cooker—beef, tomatoes, a handful of broken lasagna noodles I had left in a half-torn box—and crossed my fingers. By dinnertime? It smelled like my house had turned into an Italian grandma’s kitchen. My teenage son walked in and said, “What is that? It smells really good.” And listen, he doesn’t even look up for pizza. That …

A.k.a. the soup I could eat every day and never get tired of. I’ll be honest — this chowder is less of a recipe and more of a love story. There’s just something about it. It’s not flashy or “fancy” food. No hard-to-find ingredients. No twenty-step process. Just warm, creamy, bacon-y goodness that tastes like you’ve been cooking all day — even if you barely touched the stove. I’ve made this chowder so many times I could probably do it in my sleep. (And I’m not convinced I haven’t.) It started as one of those “what can I throw in …

If you ever pushed a bowl of soup away as a kid with dramatic suspicion, you’re in good company. Childhood taste buds are curious, sure — but also fiercely loyal to what feels safe. Smooth textures? Great. Sweet flavors? Even better. Anything murky, chunky, oddly colored, or unfamiliar? Nope. Hard pass. Funny thing is, many of those “absolutely not” foods grow into quiet favorites later in life. Somewhere between learning how to cook, paying attention to ingredients, and discovering what comfort actually tastes like, our opinions shift. Slowly. Sometimes reluctantly. Let me explain — here are ten soups that most …

I don’t know about you, but some days I just want a meal that doesn’t try too hard. Not fancy, not trendy — just warm, filling, and made from things I already have on hand. The kind of meal that makes you feel like everything’s going to be okay, even if the laundry’s piling up and the weather’s gone gray and moody. That’s exactly what this soup is. Ribollita — which just means “reboiled” in Italian — is like the lovechild of pantry cooking and a big cozy hug. It’s thick. It’s rustic. And it tastes like something someone’s nonna …

I don’t know what it is about this stew, but it’s the kind of meal that just settles you. Like, deep in your bones. Maybe it’s the smoky pulled pork. Maybe it’s the sweet corn and that tiny kick of heat. Or maybe it’s just the memory of it simmering away on the stove while someone you love is shuffling around the kitchen barefoot, humming to the radio. For me, Brunswick stew has always felt like fall. Like flannel shirts, football in the background, and that golden hour light coming through the windows. My first taste was at a church …

Ridiculously cozy. Slightly dramatic. Unapologetically creamy. I’ll be honest—this recipe has a silly name, but I swear, it lives up to the hype. The first time I made it, I wasn’t aiming for anything fancy. Just one of those days where you’re staring at a few sad fridge leftovers, thinking, “Please become dinner.” And somehow, through a little sun-dried tomato magic and a whole lotta stirring, it did. When my husband took the first bite, he looked at me like I had just rewritten history. “You better write this down,” he said, mid-chew. “This tastes like something you’d propose over.” …

A little smoky, a little buttery, and a whole lot of comfort in a pot. So here’s the thing —These butter beans? They’re not glamorous. They’re not gonna end up on the cover of Bon Appétit. But they’ve shown up at more family reunions, Sunday dinners, and post-church potlucks than I can count. And every time I make them, my kitchen smells like someone loves me. That’s not a metaphor.That’s bacon, garlic, and butter doing their job. I remember standing on a chair next to my mama at the stove, watching her stir a pot of these beans like it …

Okay, so here’s the thing—I wasn’t planning on falling in love with a bowl of soup in Milan. But that’s exactly what happened. It was one of those gray, damp afternoons—you know the kind where your jeans cling to your ankles and your umbrella’s flapping around like it’s got a grudge? I ducked into this little corner café just to warm up, and there it was: a steaming bowl of minestrone that smelled like it had been simmering all day. Rich, cozy, just slightly creamy with bits of pancetta and rice, and a broth so good I nearly asked for …

You ever have one of those days where all you want is a big ol’ bowl of something warm, simple, and made with love? That’s what this soup is. No bells and whistles. Just tender chicken, slurpy glass noodles, and a broth that tastes like someone gave you a hug and said, “You’re okay.” I first had this soup at a backyard potluck in Maui. There were folding tables, paper plates, kids running barefoot, and this one quiet auntie in the corner stirring a big pot. She didn’t say much—but honey, her soup spoke. I’ve been trying to recreate that …