i wasn’t hungry.
not really. just cold.
the kind of cold that settles in your joints and doesn’t leave, even with socks and three cups of tea.
the broth was already thawing in the fridge—leftover from some roast i barely remember making. the barley was at the back of the cupboard in a jar with no label.
i think i made this soup once when mae was little.
she called it “beefy rice” and wouldn’t eat the carrots.
that version’s gone. this is the one i made today. tired. fogged in. needing steam.
What the Original Looked Like
martha’s is measured.
a tablespoon of oil, a half-pound of beef cut neat and even.
the onions go in slow. the carrots sliced perfect, like coins that buy warmth.
her broth is homemade. of course.
barley gets rinsed like a ritual.
she adds thyme and finishes with parsley—always something green at the end, like hope.
it’s a quiet kind of soup.
not flashy. not fast.
just solid. like the kind of meal you’d make if you were still trying to feel like yourself again.
What I Did Differently
i didn’t cut the beef small enough.
some of the pieces were still half-frozen when they hit the oil.
i used store broth. low-sodium, but still too salty.
added water and a splash of red wine, because it felt like the right kind of mistake.
used dried thyme instead of fresh.
no parsley. forgot completely.
the barley? i didn’t rinse it.
just poured it in, shrugged, stirred.
sometimes things still work.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
the beef browned unevenly.
some pieces too fast, some not enough. didn’t care. pulled them out anyway.
the onions melted slow.
i leaned on the counter while they went translucent.
my back hurt. i didn’t move.
mae texted “what are you making that smells like 2009?”
i didn’t answer.
carrots in. garlic next.
i used the old garlic press—the one that sticks unless you squeeze it with both hands.
the broth hissed when it hit the pot. i flinched.
then stirred.
and stirred.
barley poured in like gravel.
i watched it sink.
the soup bubbled. the windows fogged. something softened. maybe me.
A Few Things I Learned
barley waits for no one—but also doesn’t rush.
it thickens the broth in that slow, starchy way that feels like a blanket.
the beef stayed tough until it didn’t.
everything gave in. eventually.
What I Did With the Rest
left the pot on low.
ladled some into a chipped bowl, sat on the floor, ate in silence.
mae came home, stole a bite, then another. said “this tastes like when i was small.”
i didn’t know if that was good or not.
but i smiled anyway.
Would I Make It Again?
yes.
but only when the sky looks like dishwater and i need something that doesn’t ask too many questions.
That’s As Much As I Remember
the spoon clinked against the bowl.
the house smelled like thyme for hours.
and it helped.
just enough.
FAQs
Yeah. It Holds Up Okay. The Barley Goes A Little Soft, But The Flavor Deepens. Just Stir It Well When You Reheat.
Yep. That’S What I Used. Mostly Because It’S What I Had And I Wasn’T About To Go Back Out In The Rain. Cooks A Little Faster Too.
Martha Says Yes. I Say Store-Bought Works Fine If You’Re Tired Or Human. Just Add A Splash Of Wine Or A Spoon Of Tomato Paste To Fake The Depth.
Very. This Is Sit-Down-And-Exhale Soup. You’Ll Be Warm By The Third Spoonful.
Don’T Panic. Rosemary Works, Or Skip It Altogether. The Beef And Barley Do Most Of The Heavy Lifting Anyway.
Check out More Recipes:
Martha Stewart Beef And Barley Soup
Description
Slow, Foggy, And Soft In The Middle—Like Wednesday.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Heat oil and brown the beef: warmed the oil in my big pot. added the beef. it hissed, it stuck, it browned in patches. pulled it out when it looked halfway done.
- Cook the onions: dropped in more oil. onions went in and i stopped moving. stirred them twice in ten minutes. they melted. that was enough.
- Add carrots and garlic: in went the carrots, then the garlic. waited until they smelled like something real. poured in a splash of broth and scraped the bottom like i was trying to forget something.
- Add remaining stock, beef, and barley: dumped in the rest of the broth. the beef. the barley. the dried thyme. turned the heat up until it all bubbled like it meant it.
- Simmer until tender: turned the heat low. let it go for almost an hour. skimmed the foam once. maybe twice. the soup thickened on its own.
- Serve and garnish: served it in whatever bowls were clean. no parsley. ate it hot. it tasted like pause.