I’ve eaten enough chicken noodle soup to float a battleship. Most of it tastes like sad chicken took a bath in lukewarm depression. But this recipe? This is the real deal, the kind that makes you want to fake a cold just so someone will make it for you. Serves 6-8 normal humans or 4 people with hangovers.
I discovered this version during a particularly brutal winter when my radiator stopped working and my neighbor’s cat kept screaming love songs at 3 am. Between shivering and sleep deprivation, I needed something that would warm my soul without requiring a culinary degree. This is that soup.
Details
6-8 servings
15 minutes
35 minutes
~250 kcal
Ingredients
- The Essentials:
1 tablespoon butter (real butter, not that I Can’t Believe It’s Not stuff)
½ cup chopped onion (about half a medium onion)
½ cup chopped celery (including the leaves, don’t be shy)
4 cans chicken broth (14.5 oz each, or homemade if you’re showing off)
1 can vegetable broth (for depth, like my ex pretended to have – kidding!)
½ pound shredded chicken (store-bought is fine, we’re not martyrs)
1½ cups egg noodles (the broad ones, not those skinny imposters)
1 cup sliced carrots (cut them evenly unless chaos is your aesthetic)
- The Flavor Brigade:
2-3 garlic cloves, minced (or more if you’re not planning on kissing anyone)
Fresh basil and oregano (dried works too, I won’t judge)
1 teaspoon soy sauce (trust me on this one)
Red pepper flakes (optional)
Directions
- The Aromatic Part (10 minutes of your life)
First, grab your biggest pot. Not that tiny one you use for ramen – I mean the big boy. Put it on medium heat and toss in that tablespoon of butter. Wait until it melts and starts to bubble a bit, but don’t let it brown. Nobody wants brown butter in this recipe, save that fancy shit for cookies.
Now, dump in your chopped onions, celery, and garlic. Here’s the thing about chopping: your pieces should be roughly the same size. Aim for pieces about the size of your pinky nail. Stir this mess around occasionally for about 5 minutes. You’re looking for the onions to go translucent, like when I’m trying to lie to my boss about being sick but they can see right through me. - The Liquid Part (5 minutes of opening cans)
Time to add the liquids. Open all your cans of broth – this is where an electric can opener proves its worth, but if you’re stuck with manual, consider it your arm workout for the day. Pour them in like you’re making questionable decisions at an open bar. Add your shredded chicken now too. - The Herb Situation (30 seconds of your time)
If you’re using dried herbs, toss them in now. If you’re using fresh (look at you, fancy pants), roughly chop them first. Add that sneaky soy sauce too – it’s like the secret handshake of good soup. - The Waiting Game (20 minutes of simmering)
Bring this whole situation to a boil. You’ll know it’s boiling when it looks like a hot tub party for vegetables. Once it hits that point, turn it down to medium-low. You want a gentle simmer, not a volcanic eruption. Let it do its thing for about 20 minutes. This is a good time to scroll through your phone or contemplate what you’re doing with your life. - The Noodle Situation (The Most Critical Part, Don’t Screw This Up)
While your soup is simmering, grab another pot. Yes, another one. Fill it with water and a generous pinch of salt – the water should taste like the ocean, not like you’re drinking straight from the Dead Sea.
Bring it to a boil and add your egg noodles. Check the package for timing, but it’s usually around 6-8 minutes. Don’t walk away – nobody likes mushy noodles. Test one every minute or so after the 5-minute mark. You want them just barely done, with a little bite left. They’ll soften more in the hot soup later.
Drain them in a colander and give them a quick rinse with cold water to stop the cooking process. If you skip this step, your noodles will continue cooking from residual heat and turn into sad, soggy strips of disappointment. - The Final Assembly (And Moment of Truth)
Taste your soup base. Need salt? Add it. Pepper? Go for it. This is your show. Want it spicier? Throw in those red pepper flakes. The soup should taste slightly saltier than you think it needs to be – the noodles will soak up some of that seasoning.
NOW, HERE’S THE MOST IMPORTANT PART: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT dump all those noodles into the pot of soup unless you’re feeding an army and planning to eat it all right now. Instead, put a portion of noodles in each bowl and ladle the hot soup over them. This way, your leftover soup won’t turn into a noodle-thickened nightmare overnight.
If you’re feeling fancy (or trying to impress someone), sprinkle some fresh parsley on top and maybe add a squeeze of lemon. If you’re eating this alone in your pajamas while watching true crime documentaries, skip that part. The soup won’t judge you.
And there you have it. Enjoy, I guess.

PRO TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO’S SCREWED THIS UP MULTIPLE TIMES:
- Store noodles separately from soup, or they’ll drink up all the broth like a freshman at their first keg party
- That soy sauce? Adds umami. Don’t skip it unless you hate joy
- Rotisserie chicken is your friend. Sure, you could cook your own, but why?
FAQ:
Q: Can I freeze this?
A: Yes, minus the noodles. They’ll turn to mush faster than your dreams after college.
Q: How long does it keep?
A: 4-5 days in the fridge, or until your roommate “borrows” it.
PAIRS WELL WITH:
- A grilled cheese sandwich made with whatever cheese you have
- A cold winter day
- Existential dread
- Netflix binge sessions
Parting Thoughts
Okay, at the end of the day, this is just soup. But it’s really good soup. The kind that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, everything isn’t completely terrible. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need – a bowl of warm comfort that doesn’t judge us for eating it in our pajamas at 3 pm on a Tuesday.
Now go make this soup. You’ll love it.
