Chinese Chicken and Corn Soup

Growing up in suburban Sydney in the 1990s, ordering Chinese takeaway was a Friday night ritual. My parents would call the local Chinese restaurant, place the order, and my brother and I would drive the five minutes to pick it up. The order was always the same: sweet and sour pork, fried rice, spring rolls, and always - always - a large container of Chicken and Corn Soup. We'd eat it straight from plastic takeaway containers with white plastic spoons, the soup still steaming, while watching Friday night television. That soup meant the weekend had officially started.

Chicken and Corn Soup became a Chinese-Australian restaurant staple in the 1980s, adapted from traditional Chinese egg drop soup and corn soup recipes. Chinese immigrant families running restaurants across Australia modified traditional recipes to suit local tastes - making soups thicker, sweeter, and heartier than their mainland counterparts. The result was something uniquely Australian-Chinese: silky, slightly sweet, comforting soup that became as iconic as dim sims and honey chicken.

The soup's appeal is universal - it's mild enough for children, comforting enough for cold nights, affordable enough for family dinners, and satisfying enough to feel like a proper meal starter. The texture is key: thick and velvety from cornstarch, with tender chicken shreds, sweet corn kernels, and delicate egg ribbons throughout. Every spoonful should be silky, warming, and slightly sweet from the corn.

Years later, when I learned to cook, I asked Uncle Chen at our local Chinese restaurant for the secret to great Chicken and Corn Soup. He laughed and said, "No secret! Good chicken stock, good creamed corn, cornstarch for thickness, fresh egg ribbons, white pepper. That's it. But you have to get the consistency right - thick enough to coat a spoon, thin enough to sip easily. That's the skill." He showed me his technique: chicken stock brought to a boil, creamed corn and corn kernels added, cornstarch slurry whisked in to thicken, shredded chicken stirred through, and finally beaten eggs drizzled in while stirring to create those characteristic silky ribbons.

Making it at home, I realized this soup is more technique than ingredients. The cornstarch slurry must be added slowly while stirring constantly to avoid lumps. The egg must be drizzled in a thin stream while stirring gently in one direction to create ribbons, not scrambled chunks. White pepper is essential - not black - for that distinctive Chinese restaurant flavor. And the soup should be thick but pourable, coating the back of a spoon without being gloopy.

Now when I make Chicken and Corn Soup on Friday nights for my own family, using Uncle Chen's technique, that first spoonful transports me back to 1995 - sitting on the couch, plastic spoon in hand, weekend stretching ahead like a promise. Some flavors are deeply connected to memory and comfort. This soup is both.