Caldo Tlalpeño – Chipotle-Spiced Chicken And Vegetable Soup.
My cousin Miguel? He tried to make fideo once. ¡Ay Dios mío! Like watching a telenovela starring a disaster.
Now, Caldo Tlalpeño. That’s a different story. It’s soup that hugs you back, you know? A cure for everything from a broken heart (too much tequila, usually) to a bad haircut (usually my tío Ricardo). It comes from a special place, this soup.
See, back in the day—we're talking the 1930s, Mexico City—there was this señora, Dolores Tlahuilli. She wasn’t rich, not fancy, just a woman who could cook. She ran a little fonda, a small restaurant, in the Tlalpan neighborhood (hence the name!). People said her caldo was legendary. Each bowl held a piece of her soul.
But it wasn’t just about flavor, mija. It was about using what she had. Simple ingredients, fresh vegetables, a little bit of chile chipotle for that smoky kick. She fed artists, revolutionaries, people from all walks of life. The recipe spread like wildfire, passed down through generations, tweaked and perfected by countless hands. Every family has their version, naturally. Ours is…well, ours involves a lot of drama. A LOT.
Abuela Elena was the guardian of the family recipe. She ruled the kitchen with an iron spoon, and if you dared to add too much salt? Look out. The chancla would fly. Seriously. I saw my older brother, Javier, grounded for a WEEK because he questioned her epazote-to-cilantro ratio. ¡Ay Dios mío! The boy never learned. He still puts ketchup on his tacos.
Then came my mother, Sofia. She tried to modernize things, right? "Mama, we need a food processor!" Abuela nearly fainted. Said a good pico de gallo needed to be chopped by hand, felt the love, understand? Mom compromised, used the food processor for the chicken stock. That was a mistake. Abuela found out. Let's just say there were no tamales for Christmas that year.
And me? Well, I’m the peacemaker. The one who tries to keep everyone from killing each other over a pot of soup. Which isn’t easy, trust me. My sister, Isabel, thinks she makes it better. She adds sherry. SHERRY. Like that's necessary! It's a fight every single time we have a family gathering.
Last Thanksgiving, it escalated. Isabel started bragging about her “refined” caldo while I was prepping. Abuela’s old stockpot, the sacred vessel, was on the stove. Suddenly, Isabel "accidentally" bumped into me. Spilled half a jar of salsa roja ALL OVER my new blouse. It was a setup, I swear! A calculated attack.
My cousin Raul tried to intervene. Big mistake. He took Isabel's side. Apparently, she promised him access to her prized collection of telenovela DVDs if he supported her. Men. Always easily distracted (don't tell my husband I said that).
Tía Mildred showed up mid-chaos. Now, Tía Mildred…she’s a character. She always wears too much perfume and tells stories that are probably 80% embellished. But she has a knack for diffusing tense situations. She grabbed the salsa-stained blouse, declared it “avant-garde,” and then started telling everyone about the time she accidentally set her wig on fire at a quinceañera. Everyone forgot about the soup, and we all ended up laughing.
But the real drama? That came after. My husband, Mateo, bless his heart, tried to help me clean up the salsa. He used vinegar. VINEGAR! On salsa stains. I nearly lost it. Luckily, my abuela’s ghost seemed to guide my hand and I was able to save the blouse.
Even now, making this caldo brings back those memories: the chancla threat, the sherry debate, the great salsa spill of ‘23. It’s chaotic, messy, but ultimately, it's love. Pure, unadulterated, family love in a bowl. And honestly? That’s what makes it so special. You need the arguing, the laughter, the near-disasters...otherwise it just tastes like chicken soup.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 1 (3-4 lb) whole chicken
- 8 cups water
- 1 onion, quartered
- 2 cloves garlic, smashed
- 2 bay leaves
- 1 teaspoon salt
- ½ teaspoon black pepper
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 green bell pepper, chopped
- 1 red bell pepper, chopped
- 2 carrots, peeled and sliced
- 2 celery stalks, chopped
- 1 zucchini, chopped
- 1 ear of corn, kernels removed
- 1/2 cup green beans, trimmed
- 2-3 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, plus 1 tablespoon adobo sauce (adjust to taste!)
- 1 small bunch cilantro, chopped
- 1 avocado, diced (for garnish)
- Juice of 1 lime (for garnish)
- Epazote sprigs (optional, but highly recommended)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large stockpot
- Cutting board
- Knife
- Blender or immersion blender
- Skimmer or slotted spoon
- Ladle
Steps
- Place the chicken, water, onion, garlic, bay leaves, salt, and pepper in the large stockpot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 1.5 - 2 hours, or until the chicken is cooked through and falling off the bone. This is where your kitchen smells amazing—like abuela’s kitchen!
- Remove the chicken from the pot and let it cool slightly. Strain the broth through a fine-mesh sieve to remove solids; discard the solids. Shred the chicken meat, discarding the skin and bones.
- In the same pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the green bell pepper, red bell pepper, carrots, and celery. Cook for about 5-7 minutes, until softened. Don't overcrowd the pan, mija! Do it in batches if you have to.
- Add the zucchini, corn, and green beans to the pot and cook for another 3-5 minutes, until tender-crisp.
- Pour the strained chicken broth back into the pot. Add the shredded chicken and chipotle peppers in adobo sauce. Blend 1-2 chipotles plus the adobo sauce (start small, taste as you go!). Simmer for 10-15 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld.
- Stir in the chopped cilantro and epazote sprigs (if using). Taste and adjust seasoning as needed (more salt? More chipotle? It's YOUR soup now!). Serve hot, garnished with diced avocado and a squeeze of lime juice. And watch out for Isabel sneaking sherry into hers.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- The chicken stock can be made up to 3 days ahead and stored in the refrigerator.
- Leftover caldo tlalpeño can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
- This soup also freezes well; portion it into freezer-safe containers for up to 2 months. Reheat gently on the stovetop.
- The prepped veggies can be chopped and stored separately for a day or two – just add a little water so they don’t dry out.
Side Dish Pairing
- Esquites—street corn salad with mayonnaise, cheese, chili powder, and lime juice. It adds a creamy, spicy kick that complements the smoky soup perfectly. Or maybe some homemade tortillas with queso fresco!
Tía Mildred siempre decía, “A little drama makes everything taste better!”
