Caldo De Pollo – Comforting Chicken Soup With Vegetables.

Okay, okay… so you want to know about Caldo de Pollo? This isn’t just soup, mija. It's liquid love—and a whole lot of drama. Honestly, it's the only reason I still talk to some of my cousins. ¡Ay Dios mío!

You see, we take our Caldo very seriously in my family. Like, seriously. It goes back generations. My Abuelita, she learned it from her abuela in Zacatecas, and so on. You gotta understand, life was hard back then. No fancy supermarkets. Everything came from the land or a little trip to the mercado. So every part of the chicken was used – the meat, the bones for broth, even the feet! My Tía Elena used to say, "Waste nothing, because somebody somewhere is wishing they had it." She was always dramatic, that one.

Caldo wasn’t just food, though. It was medicine. A cure for heartache, a boost when you were sick, and, most importantly, proof that someone loved you enough to spend hours simmering a pot. If you got Caldo, you were special. And if you didn’t…? Well, let’s just say you might have been on someone’s bad side. (Don't ask me about Cousin Ricardo. That's another story.) It was the ultimate comfort, the kind that makes everything feel just a little bit better—even dealing with Tía Mildred.

Speaking of, Abuelita always said you could tell a good Caldo by the color. It had to be golden, like the sun setting over the mountains. But it also needed…something more. A soul. And she believed that soul came from the love you put into making it. I remember once trying to rush it, you know? Had a date with Carlos (he wasn’t much help, just mostly admired my hair). Figured I could throw everything in a pressure cooker and call it a day. ¡Ay, no! Abuelita tasted it, took one look at me, and shook her head. “This tastes like hurry,” she said. “It needs patience, mija.” Patience. From Abuelita, that was a major scolding.

Then there was the Great Cilantro Incident of '98. My cousin Maria decided, in her infinite wisdom, that cilantro was "too peasant-y" and tried to substitute parsley. The uproar! My Abuelita nearly fainted. Tía Mildred declared it an affront to our ancestors. Honestly, you would've thought Maria had insulted the Virgin Mary. It took weeks for things to cool down. And Maria still gets teased about it every family gathering. Every. Single. One. She brings parsley now, just to prove a point – which is exactly what we expect from her.

Last year, I tried to make it “healthy” – you know, less fat, more vegetables. Abuelita was visiting. She took one sip, and her eyes narrowed. "What is this… rabbit food?" she demanded. “Where is the flavor? Where is the soul?” Then she proceeded to add two extra chicken thighs and a generous knob of butter. Healthy went right out the window. (Carlos just smiled and ate another bowl.) Sometimes, tradition trumps everything. You can try to improve on perfection, but, trust me, you will fail.

And don’t even get me started on Tía Mildred. That woman has opinions on everything. Especially Caldo. She claims hers is the best, naturally. She always adds a secret ingredient—which she refuses to reveal, obviously. It’s probably just extra garlic. But she insists it's something ancient and mystical. Every time I make it, she hovers over me like a hawk, offering “helpful” suggestions. “A little more epazote,” she’ll say. “No, no, too much cumin!” It’s exhausting, honestly. But I know she means well. Sort of. She just wants her Caldo to be remembered as the greatest of all time.

I remember one Christmas Eve, everyone was sick with the flu. Abuelita, despite being weak herself, spent the entire day making Caldo for everyone. The whole house smelled like herbs and chicken broth. It wasn't fancy, it wasn’t perfect, but it was filled with love. And somehow, it made us all feel better, even if only for a little while. We huddled around the table, sipping our soup, and for a few precious hours, we forgot about being sick and just enjoyed being together. Even Tía Mildred was quiet, content to simply eat her Caldo and offer small smiles.

Making Caldo is also a good way to measure how long family visits will last. If someone starts talking about their ailments while hovering near the stove, you know they're angling for a bowl. My Aunt Rosa is notorious for this. She'll start describing her arthritis, then casually mention how Caldo "always helps her joints." It’s manipulative, but effective. Honestly, I usually just give her a bowl to avoid a lengthy medical history lesson.

Then there was the time my neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, asked for the recipe. She swore she could replicate it perfectly. I gave it to her, thinking nothing of it. A week later, she brought over a pot for me to try. It tasted… okay. But it lacked that certain something. That magic touch. “It’s missing the love,” I told her gently. She looked confused. “Love? What does love have to do with soup?” I just smiled. Some things you can’t explain. You just have to feel them.

And it isn’t always the big moments that stand out. Sometimes, it’s the small ones. Abuelita stirring the pot, humming a little tune. The smell of cilantro filling the kitchen. My cousins laughing and teasing each other. Tía Mildred complaining about everything, but secretly enjoying the warmth of the family around her. Those are the memories that I cherish. Those are the moments that make Caldo so special.

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 1 whole chicken (about 3-4 lbs)
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 1 large onion, quartered
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 carrots, peeled and chopped
• 2 celery stalks, chopped
• 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced (optional)
• 1 bunch cilantro, tied with kitchen twine
• 1 tsp cumin powder
• ½ tsp oregano
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 8 cups chicken broth (or water)
• 2 medium potatoes, peeled and cubed
• 1 zucchini, chopped
• 1 ear of corn, cut into pieces
• Juice of 1 lime

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large stockpot
• Cutting board
• Knife
• Ladle
• Kitchen twine

Steps

1. In a large stockpot, heat olive oil over medium heat. Add chicken and brown on all sides—don’t worry about cooking it through! You just want some color.
2. Add onion, garlic, carrots, celery, and jalapeño (if using) to the pot. Cook until softened, about 5-7 minutes. This is where the smell starts getting good.
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3. Pour in chicken broth (or water). Add cilantro bundle, cumin, oregano, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for at least 1 hour, or until the chicken is cooked through and tender. Keep skimming off any foam that rises to the surface – Abuelita would be appalled if you didn't!
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4. Remove chicken from the pot and let it cool slightly. Shred the meat, discarding the skin and bones. Don't throw out those bones though! You can use them to make more broth later. Seriously.
5. Return shredded chicken to the pot. Add potatoes, zucchini, and corn. Continue to simmer for another 20-30 minutes, or until vegetables aretender.
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6. Stir in lime juice. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.
7. To serve, ladle soup into bowls and garnish with fresh cilantro, avocado slices, and a dollop of Mexican crema or sour cream. A sprinkle of chili powder adds a nice kick too!

Recipe Facts 💡

• Prep Time: 20 minutes
• Cook Time: 1 hour 30 minutes + 20-30 minutes
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• Yields: 6-8 servings
• Cuisine: Mexican

Make-Ahead / Storage 🥡

This soup actually tastes even better the next day! Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. It also freezes well for up to 2 months.

Side Dish Pairing 🥗

Warm tortillas or crusty bread for dipping are perfect with this soup. A side of Mexican rice would complete the meal beautifully.

Don’t forget to squeeze a little extra lime on top—it really brightens everything up!

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