Jewish Chicken Soup: The Original Jewish Penicillin

The Cure for Everything

There is a joke — and like all good Jewish jokes, it contains a truth: A Jewish grandmother is watching her grandson play on the beach. A wave comes and sweeps him out to sea. She falls to her knees and prays: “God, please bring back my grandson! I’ll do anything!” A moment later, a huge wave deposits the boy safely on the sand. The grandmother looks up to heaven and says: “He had a hat.”

But here is what the joke does not tell you: the first thing that grandmother would do after retrieving the hat is make chicken soup. Because chicken soup is the answer to everything. Cold? Chicken soup. Flu? Chicken soup. Heartbreak? Chicken soup. Existential despair? Chicken soup with extra dill.

This is not mere folk wisdom. Maimonides — the great 12th-century rabbi, philosopher, and physician — prescribed chicken broth for respiratory ailments in his medical treatises. Eight hundred years later, a study at the University of Nebraska Medical Center confirmed that chicken soup has measurable anti-inflammatory properties. Science has validated what Jewish grandmothers always knew.

The Recipe

Yield: 3–4 quarts of soup Prep time: 15 minutes Cook time: 3 hours Total time: About 3.5 hours (plus overnight chill, if you have time)

Ingredients

• 1 whole chicken (about 4 pounds), or 4 pounds of chicken parts (legs, thighs, backs, wings — dark meat gives the best flavor)
• 4 large carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
• 4 celery stalks with leaves, cut into chunks
• 2 large onions, quartered (skins on — they add golden color)
• 1 large parsnip, peeled and cut into chunks
• 1 small turnip, peeled and quartered (optional but traditional)
• 1 bunch fresh dill
• 1 bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley
• 10 whole black peppercorns
• 2 bay leaves
• Cold water to cover (about 4 quarts)
• Kosher salt to taste (about 1 tablespoon, adjusted at the end)

Instructions

1. Start cold. This is the single most important secret of great chicken soup. Place the chicken in a large stockpot and cover with COLD water. Do not use hot water. Do not bring the water to a boil first. Starting cold allows the proteins to release gradually, producing a clearer, more flavorful broth.

2. Bring to a simmer slowly. Over medium heat, bring the pot to a gentle simmer. This should take about 30 minutes. As the water heats, foam and scum will rise to the surface. Skim it off with a spoon or ladle. This step is essential for a clear broth. Do not skip it. Do not rush it.

3. Add the aromatics. Once you have skimmed the surface clean, add the onions (with skins), celery, parsnip, turnip, peppercorns, and bay leaves. Reduce the heat to the lowest possible setting. The soup should barely simmer — tiny bubbles breaking the surface, never a rolling boil. A hard boil makes the soup cloudy and can toughen the chicken.

4. The slow simmer. Let the soup simmer gently for 2 hours. Do not stir. Do not poke. Do not lift the lid every five minutes to check. Leave it alone. The soup knows what it is doing.

5. Add the carrots and herbs. After 2 hours, add the carrots, dill, and parsley. Continue simmering for another 45 minutes to 1 hour. Adding the carrots later keeps them from dissolving into mush — you want them tender but intact.

6. Season and strain. Remove the pot from heat. Remove the chicken (set aside — the meat can be used for chicken salad, sandwiches, or returned to the soup). Strain the broth through a fine-mesh strainer. Discard the spent vegetables and herbs (they have given everything to the broth). Season with kosher salt to taste — start with a tablespoon and adjust.

7. The overnight trick. If you have time, refrigerate the strained broth overnight. The fat will solidify on the surface and can be easily lifted off with a spoon. This schmaltz (rendered chicken fat) is liquid gold — save it for frying onions, making matzo balls, or enriching other dishes. The defatted broth beneath will be clear, golden, and intensely flavored.

8. Serve. Reheat the broth. Add back the carrots (and shredded chicken meat, if desired). Ladle into bowls. Garnish with fresh dill. Serve with matzo balls, egg noodles, or just a piece of challah for dipping.

The Secrets

Every Jewish cook has secrets for chicken soup. Here are the ones that actually matter:

Cold water start. Cannot stress this enough. Hot water causes proteins to seize up immediately, trapping impurities in the broth rather than releasing them to the surface where you can skim them off.

Low and slow. A gentle simmer extracts flavor. A boil extracts chaos. Keep the heat as low as possible — you want tiny bubbles, not a jacuzzi.

Whole chicken. Parts work fine, but a whole chicken — especially an older hen (sometimes labeled “stewing hen” or “fowl”) — produces the richest, most gelatinous broth. The bones, cartilage, and connective tissue release collagen that gives the cooled soup a jiggly, almost solid texture. That jiggle is how you know it is good.

Onion skins. Leave the papery skins on the onions. They contribute a golden color to the broth. Remove them when you strain.

Dill, not thyme. Many chicken soup recipes call for thyme, rosemary, or other herbs. Jewish chicken soup uses dill — lots of it. Dill is the signature flavor that distinguishes this soup from every other chicken soup on earth.

Salt last. Season at the end, after the broth has been strained and (ideally) defatted. The flavors concentrate as the soup cooks, so salting early can produce an over-seasoned result.

Why This Soup Matters

Jewish chicken soup is not just a recipe. It is an institution. It has been served at Shabbat tables for centuries — the traditional Friday night dinner often begins with a bowl of golden broth, sometimes with matzo balls or noodles, sometimes plain. It is the first food brought to a family sitting shiva (mourning). It is what you make when someone is sick, when a baby is born, when the world feels heavy and you need to feel held.

The medicinal reputation is real. Beyond the Nebraska study, the hot liquid soothes sore throats, the steam opens sinuses, the salt replaces electrolytes, and the slow-cooked broth is easily digestible for weakened stomachs. But the healing power of chicken soup goes beyond biochemistry. It heals because someone made it for you. It heals because the act of simmering a chicken for three hours is an act of love — patient, unhurried, irreducible.

Maimonides knew this. Your grandmother knew this. And now you know how to make it yourself. Start with cold water. Simmer slowly. Use dill. And when someone you love is sick, or sad, or just needs to know they are not alone — bring them a bowl. It will not fix everything. But it will fix more than you think.