Here Is How I Make My Mom’s Potato Soup

She gave me the recipe when I went away to college

Here Is How I Make My Mom’s Potato Soup

by Jim Reynolds | www.reynolds.com

There were five kids in our family, spread across sixteen years from oldest to youngest. Feeding that crew was less a matter of money than logistics — just getting everyone in the same room at the same time was an achievement.

My mother solved it with a simple idea: make one enormous pot of soup and let everyone serve themselves whenever they appeared. It was democracy by ladle — perfect for a household of highly individualistic (and occasionally combative) personalities.

Of all her creations, potato soup was my favorite. During my eighteen years in the Reynolds household, I must have eaten it hundreds of times. It filled you up, tasted like home, and you could always go back for seconds. I often helped Mom peel the potatoes, slice the carrots, and stir the white sauce as it thickened and began to bubble.

When I left for college, I took the recipe — or rather, the memory of it — with me. Potato soup became my student survival strategy: inexpensive, filling, and popular with everyone who came by. One big pot could feed me for a week. In those days, each bowl probably cost pennies.

I still have the same crinkled scrap of paper my mother handed me before I left Bakersfield in 1968. It isn’t really a recipe, just a quick list of ingredients written in her hurried hand so I wouldn’t forget. I already knew how to make it.

In the following pictorial, I include the entire process of making this cherished family tradition. But while reviewing the photos, I realized I’d left out a few things.

First — in the white sauce shots that come later — it isn’t clear that you must melt the butter first, then stir in an appropriate amount of cornstarch and mix it smooth before adding the milk. You can use flour instead of cornstarch; it works just as well. Neither Mom nor I ever measured anything in this recipe. You simply use your eyes, your hands, and your common sense.

And second — the coup de grâce.

She always sliced up a package of Oscar Mayer wieners and added them at the end. Vegetarians go nuts over this, of course. What I consider essential, others may see as culinary heresy.

So, in honor of Rose Reynolds, and all the kitchens that taught patience, thrift, and love by the spoonful—

here is my potato soup story, without words.

And Now I Break the Silence Once Again

Right after the thermometer photo above, I went straight to the finished soup. What I didn’t show was the step that comes just before that: take out a potato masher and gently mash all the soup ingredients together. Careful — the water is hot and can be splashy if you’re not paying attention.

By this point, the potatoes will have been boiling for about an hour. The carrots are usually the last to soften, but everything should mash easily. My mother never used the baby carrots shown here — she sliced up whole carrots, sometimes peeling them first.

The thermometer, by the way, is a later addition. For years I lost count of the times I boiled milk over the edge of the pot. Now I simply watch the thermometer climb toward 200 degrees and know exactly when to ease off.

The last photo is critical — it shows the other essential part of Mom’s recipe: powdered cheddar cheese. Kraft hasn’t made it in years, but you can still find it on Amazon (look for Hoosier Hill Farms). This is a make-or-break ingredient. Do it.

I hope you try this simple recipe. I think you’ll love it — with or without Oscar’s contribution.

And one more thing.

Pass it along to your son, daughter, or grandchild when they head off to college.

They’ll always remember your kindness — and maybe, someday, they’ll pass it on again.

My mom would love that.