There’s a reason that bestseller self-help book was called Chicken Soup for the Soul. There’s something special about it that’s so health restoring, nourishing and comforting. After a week on the booze, mixed grill and cream cakes, The Man and I just practically inhaled a pot of chicken soup made to his mum’s recipe.
This kind of European clear chicken soup with fine noodles and/ or knedle (little dumplings) is not something I ate growing up. We ate a lot of soup, but it was but more of the rib-sticking minestrone or Scotch broth type.
My Serbian M-i-L taught me her recipe and, since we’ve been here in Belgrade it’s been on high rotation in my kitchen. I made an especially good batch with the plucked chicken we were sent home with from The Man’s farming family. Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall is right – happy freerange chooks taste better!
My M-i-L, rather controversially, adds a small piece of mild chilli to give it a bit of a kick, and so I do too. I depart from her instructions though, because I prefer to chop the chicken and add it to the soup, rather than more traditionally serving it with the potatoes and carrots as a second course. Obviously, I can’t kick the Crawford thick soup gene.
I’m very proud of this new fave so here’s a pic from the most recent pot –