Italian Chicken Pastina Soup (aka Italian Grandmother’s Penicillin Soup)

I believe good soup is an act of love and minor defiance — especially at Thanksgiving when someone suggests canned gravy is a “time-saver.” If you are the person rifling through Trader Joe’s freezer at 10 p.m., clutching a sad bag of gnocchi and calling it a plan, we are related. (Also: soup fixes nervous hosts. Fact. Probably science.)

How I Turned a Kitchen Disaster into a Soup That Actually Helps

There was a time I made something that should have been named “Sad Welcome Soup” — watery, under-seasoned, and smelling faintly of burnt shallot because I got distracted by an argument over who left the cranberry sauce on the stove (not me, obviously).

I remember the SILK-SMOOTH onion-scent turning into a charred apology, and the pastina exploding into gummy blobs that clung to spoons like grudges. The kitchen was warm, my phone buzzed (kids? a friend? Trader Joe’s sale alert?), and the soup sulked. It was humiliating, and also very teaching. You learn the hard way which textures make people smile and which make them squint at your face and say, “Is this supposed to be dinner?”

Why This Version Actually Feels Like Medicine (and Not Sad Canned Broth)

I finally landed on a formula that works — and yes, it’s called Italian Chicken Pastina Soup (aka Italian Grandmother’s Penicillin Soup) because it does the thing: warms, soothes, and demands seconds. The learning curve: balance aromatics (onion + shallot), never skimp fat (olive oil + butter = mood), and pureeing a portion of the veggies so the broth is silk, not pond.

Also, rotisserie chicken is my cold-weather soulmate (no shame). If you’re a purist, fine, simmer your own chicken, but if you want this on the table while someone unpacks the dishwasher in a panic, grab the store bird — and don’t feel guilty. For a different but equally comforting take, compare notes with my my chicken soup recipe — similar vibes, slightly different bravado.

Stap-by-Step Ingredients (Yes, You Need the Bell Pepper)

• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tablespoon butter
• 1 large onion (diced small)
• 1 large shallot (finely chopped)
• 4 stalks celery (diced small)
• 1 large yellow bell pepper (diced small)
• 4 medium cloves garlic (minced)
• 8 cups low-sodium chicken broth (maybe more)
• 1 pound carrots (diced small)
• 1 parmesan rind ((optional))
• 1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt (more to taste)
• ⅓ cup uncooked pastina (tiny pasta, double if you like a lot of pasta)
• 2½ -3 cups rotisserie or leftover chicken
• grated Parmesan (for serving)
• finely chopped fresh rosemary and/or fresh thyme leaves

Opinion corner: buy the tiny pastina at Trader Joe’s if they have it (they usually do something cuter than necessary). The parmesan rind is optional but it’s like secret jewelry — it makes the broth sing. Budget note: rotisserie chicken is cheaper than a meltdown at 6 p.m. Texture note: pastina doubles in people-pleasing power, so I sometimes cheat and double it.

Quick Unit Help (Because Conversions Are My Second Least Favorite Thing)

If you prefer metric or want to eyeball like a boss, here’s a tiny helper to make sure your soup isn’t a sloppy math experiment.

The Actual Cooking (A Little Chaotic, Very Doable)

• Heat a large Dutch oven or soup pot or medium heat. Add the oil, butter, onion, shallot, celery and bell pepper and stir to combine.
• Cook for 4-5 minutes or until the onions are translucent, stirring occasionally. Add the garlic, stir well and cook for another 2 minutes.
• Add the broth, carrots, parmesan rind (if using) and salt.
• Bring the mixture to a boil then reduce to a steady simmer and cook for 20-25 minutes (uncovered) or until the veggies are nice and tender.
• Remove the parmesan rind, if you used one. With a slotted spoon, remove 2 cups of the diced veggies and set aside.
• With an immersion blender (or a regular blender) puree the broth/veggie mixture in the pot until smooth.

NOTE: If you use a regular blender, be sure to let the mixture cool down a bit before blending. Also, remove the center cap on the blender top and cover it with a clean kitchen towel or several thicknesses of paper towels. This will allow the heat to vent and prevent it from building up., Add the pasta, bring the mixture to a boil then reduce to a steady simmer.

Cook, uncovered for whatever the time on your bag or box of pastina instructs. (Acini de pepe takes 9 minutes.), Add the rotisserie (or leftover) chicken and the reserved veggies. Stir to combine. Cover and allow the soup to rest for 20 minutes., Taste the soup and adjust the seasoning, adding more salt if needed., Serve with grated parmesan, a scatter of finely chopped fresh rosemary or fresh thyme leaves (or both) and fresh ground black pepper. Enjoy!

(Interruptions: peel carrots faster by using the peeler while you answer a text. Tip: reserve veggies before blending — texture wins. Also, be dramatic about the parmesan rind. It deserves it.)

Real-Life Timing: Kids, Dogs, and Burnt Edges

Look, you will be interrupted. Someone will need a snack the second the soup simmers; the dog will stare as if you are conspiring to steal its soul; a kid will announce they hate rosemary right when you were planning to use it. That’s fine. This soup forgives interruptions.

Make it while cramming Thanksgiving leftovers into Tupperware or between hosting chaos and a last-minute grocery run. If you want a richer creamy sibling-soup to impress the aunt who judges your life choices, check out this broccoli soup — the perfectly creamy recipe; similar technique, more smug vibes. And if someone asks for noodles instead, remind them gently of the virtues of pastina — or send them to this chicken noodle soup recipe and call it research.

FAQ:

I am emotional about this soup — dramatic, maybe — because it saved me during colds, bad dates, and that one Thanksgiving where the turkey went rogue. It’s forgiving, like a grandmother who remembers your birthday but loses the RSVP. Make a pot. Bring it to people. Or make it solo and eat it standing at the counter while you judge your life choices (I do). Okay wow, I said I’d be quick and look — there’s steam on the window, the dog is begging, and I haven’t even sprinkled the parmesan so I should probably stop typing and start serving…

Estimate Your Calories (Because People Ask)

Quickly estimate your daily calorie needs to see how this cozy bowl fits into your day.