The Soup I Make When I Can’t Stand Another Salad

You ever just need a bowl of something hearty (and no, I don’t mean instant noodles yet again)? That’s the story of how I first stumbled on this roasted root vegetable chowder. It’s sort of like throwing every last wonky carrot and absolutely wrinkly parsnip into a pot, only it ends up tasting like you planned it all along. My first attempt came on a day I decided my oven deserved more than just frozen pizza. Even my cat came sniffing around, which, if you knew her, is both a compliment and a warning sign.

Why You’ll Love This (Or At Least Why I Do)

I usually whip this up on those evenings when my hands are cold and I can’t even spell salad (seriously, who decided winter was a good idea for salads?). My family goes wild for this chowder because it feels like you’re eating a big, creamy hug. And, if I’m being honest, it’s the only way I get my nephew to eat turnip without the wrinkled-nose routine. Oh, and it makes my kitchen smell like a place where something magical—like, properly magical—just happened.

(Full disclosure, I used to hate peeling parsnips. Now I just leave half the skin on and act like it’s a rustic twist. No one’s ever called me out.)

What Goes In: Ingredients (With My Usual Caveats)

3 medium carrots (or two, or four, depends what’s lurking in the fridge)
2 parsnips (swap sweet potato if you must—my friend Dave swears by it, though he also puts ketchup on rice)
1 medium turnip, peeled-ish and diced (sometimes I use rutabaga, or just 2 more potatoes if the shops are out…)
2 Yukon Gold potatoes (or really, any kind—my grandma always insisted on the waxy ones)
1 big yellow onion, chopped not too finely
3 cloves of garlic, smashed (or 4 if you want to keep vampires at bay)
3 tablespoons olive oil (sunflower oil works, but tastes a bit, well… sunflower-y)
1 teaspoon dried thyme (or a handful of fresh if you actually remembered to buy some)
1 teaspoon smoked paprika (plain will do in a pinch—makes it less fancy-smelling though)
4 cups vegetable broth (I’ve used chicken stock for my carnivorous cousin—works a treat)
1/2 cup cream or oat milk (sometimes I skip this, but it’s a bit less silky)
Salt and pepper, to taste (I am always too generous—go easy if you’re cautious)

Here’s How I Do It

Preheat your oven to 220°C (about 425°F). Don’t stress about a perfect temperature; even 400°F works, it just takes a few more minutes. While that’s heating, chop all your veggies into hefty chunks—think bite-size but not baby-food size.
Toss them on a big baking tray with olive oil, thyme, paprika, and a pinch (or three) of salt and pepper. Spread everything out. If it’s crowded, just use two pans. (Otherwise, they steam and turn a bit sad. Learned that the hard way—I called it “vegetable flump.”)
Roast for about 30-40 minutes. Stir halfway. You want them golden and just a bit crispy at the edges. This is the first spot I always steal a taste, so don’t judge me if you only see 90% of the carrots at soup-time.
Sauté onion and garlic in a big pot with another oat of oil (on medium). Let them sweat out, but please, don’t burn the garlic. Burnt garlic is the worst—it absolutely ruins your day. I did it once and was grumpy til next Thursday.
Scrape in all those roasted veg, pour in your broth, stir about. Simmer it gently for 15 minutes or so. Don’t worry if it looks a bit like swamp—it’s absolutely normal. The kids always look suspicious at this stage, just ignore the side-eyes.
You can blitz a bit with a stick blender if you want it chunkier or leave it whole. (Actually, I once over-blended and it was like baby food, so now I go for a half-and-half situation.)
Pour in your cream or oat milk, give it another stir over low heat. Taste and adjust seasoning—sometimes I add a squeeze of lemon here, sometimes I forget, and no one notices.

Stuff I Wish I’d Known: Notes

The more caramelized your veggies are, the better the soup tastes. I once thought a bit burnt was fine, but that’s not a flavor you want front and centre.
Try not to rush the roasting. I’ve tried skipping this step when I was in a hurry and, honestly, it tasted… kind of beige. Sorry beige lovers, I prefer more oomph.
Soup gets a little thicker if you let it stand for an hour or two (sometimes I like it even more the next day—or whenever it’s had a nap in the fridge).

Stuff I’ve Tried: Variations (The Good, The Bad, The Lumpy)

Once, I swapped half the root veg for cauliflower. Not my finest moment—it came out super bitter. But hey, live and learn.
Add a can of white beans for extra bulk. Seriously, this makes it more filling (and stretches it further, which I usually only need to do after surprise visitors—you know who you are).
I tried sprinkling parmesan on top once. Actually, that was solid. Highly recommend.
I’ve heard curry powder is good here… haven’t tried it yet. If you do, let me know if it blows your socks off, or just your tastebuds.

The Gear (And What If You Don’t Have It?)

You’ll want a decent baking tray, a big pot, and maybe a stick blender. But hey, I made it once with just a mashed potato masher when my blender broke—it wasn’t pretty but still pretty tasty. Whisk works in a pinch (sort of), just don’t expect smooth as silk. Soup’s forgiving!

Keeping It Fresh: Storage

Pop leftovers in the fridge in a lidded container. Probably good for 2-3 days. (Honestly, in my house it never lasts more than a day—someone always finds my secret hiding spot behind the lettuce.) You can freeze it too, but the spuds get a bit mushy when you reheat. Not the end of the world, but just so you know.

How We Serve This: Around Here, Anyway

Bowlfuls with heaps of black pepper, usually with crusty bread and a bit of real butter (sometimes garlic bread, if it’s been a “day”). If it’s Sunday, I’ll toss on chives or parsley just to feel fancy. My brother adds hot sauce—each to their own, I suppose.

Lessons Learned: Pro Tips from Actual Blunders

I once tried roasting everything together with the onions and garlic. Don’t. They turned pretty black and sort of sad-looking by the end.
Let it cool a bit before blending, unless you love chasing hot soup around your kitchen. Trust me, that’s a pain you only need once.
If you dump in all the stock at once, sometimes the soup’s too thin. Now, I start with half and add in more until I like the texture (plus then there’s more room for taste-testing…)

Just Ask: Real Questions I’ve Actually Gotten

Do I have to peel everything?: Honestly, I rarely peel carrots. Parsnips—sometimes; that skin’s pretty gnarly. Potatoes, depends on my energy. The chowder tastes just as good either way, just wash ’em well!
What can I use instead of cream?: Oat milk, cashew milk, or even just more broth. Once, someone tried coconut milk—tasted like a holiday, but a weird one.
Can I add meat?: Oh absolutely—bits of shredded roast chicken or even bacon (for the meat lovers). It’s not traditional but recipes are just guidelines, right?
What’s the best bread for this?: Crispy sourdough or anything from Sally’s baking addiction—I am obsessed with her no-knead loaf. But, genuinely, even supermarket baguette works fine.
Is this better the next day?: I tend to think so. The flavors muddle together after a night in the fridge (assuming you can guard it from midnight snackers…)
Where can I learn more about blending soups like a pro?: Honestly, Serious Eats has a great guide if you’re feeling fancy or want to nerd out.

Oh, bit of a tangent—if you’ve never accidentally dropped a whole tray of roasted veg on the floor, consider yourself luckier than me last winter. Five second rule, right?

Anyway, that’s my roasted root vegetable chowder. Make it your own, share it with those you like, and don’t let the cat taste-test too much. (Or do, but I can’t take responsibility.)

Roasted Root Vegetable Chowder