Chicken & Rice Soup, Puerto Rican Style: Asopao de Pollo
aka Sopita pa’ revivir muertos (The Real Deal Boricua Way)
A NOTE FROM
This ain’t just any chicken soup. This is sopita pa’ revivir los muertos. Alongside sancocho, it holds a sacred spot on the Caribbean comfort food altar. Born from Spanish colonial kitchens and blended with African and Taíno cooking traditions, asopao is a hallmark of Puerto Rican survival—part soup, part stew, thickened with arroz and loaded with flavor. It was made for hangovers, heartbreaks, hurricanes, and hungry bellies after long-ass days. The kind of caldo that doesn’t just sit pretty. It wraps you up, slaps you awake, and whispers, “Dale, mija—you got this.”
But let’s give this sopa its flowers. It didn’t just pop up in Puerto Rico outta nowhere.
Back in 1954, Carmen Aboy Valldejuli—La Doña of Puerto Rican cookery—published her version of this dish as Asopao de Pollo in Cocina Criolla. It was thick, stewy, seasoned with sofrito, and meant to stretch. That blueprint is still with us.
It traces its roots to Spanish caldo de arroz con pollo, a colonial export that collided with African techniques, Taíno ingredients, and centuries of survival and flavor. Over time, Puerto Ricans made it ours. We stripped it down, rebuilt it with sofrito, ajicitos, and whatever was on hand. We called it asopao when it got thick, caldo when it was brothy, and sopita when someone made it with love.
We don’t eat soup because it’s cold outside—we eat it because we need it. Even in the middle of the PFKNR heat, we’ll sip sopita while the fan’s spinning overhead. Oh that sound!
Why? Because sweat is our body’s AC. Because comfort doesn’t wait for the weather to change. Because one pot of soup can feed a whole family. And because abuela said so! “¡Comételo todo!”
This version is what I grew up on—a working-class miracle that turns scraps into soul food. You’ll find it bubbling in back kitchens after blackouts, at funeral receptions, if someone in the tribe is sick or on random Tuesdays when life just feels like mucho. It’s food for when you need to be held without asking.
Why It Matters
Every barrio has its version. Maybe there’s coconut milk in Loíza. Maybe it’s disque spicy out west.
No matter where you are, it’s the same truth: a slow-simmered resurrection built from whatever you’ve got. A pot full of memory, grit, and cariño. The edible version of “I got you.”
Make it. Share it. Add your twist. And pass it on. Because this sopita doesn’t just feed people—it revives them.
CHICKEN & RICE SOUP
aka Sopita pa’ revivir muertos
Start to finish: 45–55 minutes
Yield: Serves 6–8 generous bowls
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